Skye arched a brow and suppressed a smirk. Oh, yes – he was a smoothie, she would give him that. Her temperature had already been rising in response to his overwhelmingly masculine presence. His words were just unnecessary – like kicking a girl while she was down. Clearing her throat, she fought to maintain a mask of unaffectedness.
“Skye,” she answered as she looked up into his spellbinding gray eyes, “Skye Faden.”
His smile widened exponentially. “Ah, but it comes as no surprise at all tha such a beauty should be given such a beautiful name,” he said with a wink. “Skye...” he breathed, letting it flow from his mouth as if savoring the taste of it.
She felt lightheaded hearing him speak her name. It had never sounded so right before. He was giving it an inflection beyond what his accent would cause. It sounded as if he was speaking it in another language entirely. Her name was not simply ‘Skye’ on his lips – it was more like ‘Sgee-yuh-nih’. He had made it his own. She took a choppy breath at the feeling that, on some level, he had claimed more of her for himself than her name.
The memory of her recurring dreams returned to her. The man she could not see... The man that whispered to her through the fog of sleep... urged her to wake... called her by name... That unseen figure had spoken it with the same inflection that Taran was using now. She narrowed her gaze on his eyes... his gray eyes. Was it possible... ?
Taran continued, unaware of her inner ponderings.
“And with an accent like tha, ya can only be from the States,” he declared with a warm smile.
Skye tilted her head to the side slightly, wondering how he could have gathered her origins in the span of two words. It quickly occurred to her that she would have recognized his brogue just as effortlessly back home. Whether he uttered a ‘good mornin’ or an ‘aye, love,’ she could have pegged him for a Scotsman from across a crowded room. Her pronunciations must seem every bit as distinctive to his ears.
“Quite an infestation of the fògaraich in your country, as I hear tell of it. What a lucky chance of fate tha ya were nah turned to a soulless blood-drinker instead,” he stated cheerfully.
Her heart hammered inside her chest as she noted that he was still holding her hand in his, still tracing his thumb tenderly across her skin. “Instead of... ?” She asked in feigned ignorance (and in a voice at least three octaves higher than normal). She knew that Miko had not called ahead and wanted to test this stranger.
In response to her question, and without warning, Taran closed the distance between them. His body brushed against hers as he leaned down to the nape of her neck, closing his eyes and inhaling her scent deeply.
Skye opened her mouth to protest. Instead, her jaw merely hung open uselessly as her eyes closed of their own accord. Every nerve in her body sprang to attention, humming in ecstasy at having his body so close to her own. Her senses went into overdrive. She could feel the blood coursing through his veins, his heart beating in his chest, how warm his skin was even through her clothes. The intoxicating taste of his sweat and flesh filled her mouth with every breath she took. She could not get enough of it.
“Mmm...” he purred, sniffing at her pulse point.
Skye shivered at the sound.
With his eyes still closed, he savored her scent. Slowly, he brought his lips to her ear, so close that they brushed over her earlobe.
“Instead of Tàcharain Fhaol, of course,” he whispered.
As he backed away from her, she struggled to shake off the strange feelings that he had invoked. He had overtaken her senses. For those few seconds, he was the only thing she could feel, breathe, taste, and smell. It was unexpected ecstasy. Attempting to break away now was akin to forsaking rapture.
Taran watched adoringly as she fought to open her eyes and slow her breathing. Her reaction to him conveyed how truly unaccustomed she was to her abilities. Not that he needed any, but there were also visible indicators of her youth. He traced his thumb tenderly over the scar on her brow, nodding to himself as he took note of many others.
“And a pup, at tha,” he added softly.
A beautiful woman brought to his door was a treat in itself – but one of his kind? Females were nonexistent in the species. In fact, their very creation was forbidden. Taran did not want to bring it up at that point, but her Maker had violated the ancient laws. Whoever had done it was going to be in a great deal of trouble. As far as Taran knew, there had only been two attempts to give a woman the bite in the past. Evidently, in both instances, neither pup nor Maker had survived. Regardless of whether her existence meant that her Maker would be put to death for the offense, Skye was a faol. She was a pup without her Maker, an orphan at his doorstep, undoubtedly seeking his guidance and instruction...
This just kept getting better and better.
Miko laughed at the way Taran was staring at her in wide-eyed wonder. He stepped forward as Skye attempted to pull herself together. “Hey man – what’s new?” He asked.
“I should ask ya the same, Miko. Since when do ya make a habit of keeping such... canine company?” Taran teased, still having a hard time taking his eyes off the girl.
“Long story,” Miko offered.
“Aye, indeed,” Taran laughed, but his smile slowly faded. His brow furrowed as he cast a glance skyward. “We should go inside.”
“Shit!” Miko said in sudden realization. “I forgot how much of a rush we’re in. This is going to be her first time.”
Taran did not seem nearly as worried. He simply laid a hand on Miko’s shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.
“Oh, of tha, my young friend, I am already well aware,” he assured. “Please, come in. Lovely Skye, it seems we have much to discuss,” he said, flashing that sexy smile of his as he took her arm and guided her up the stairs.
8: Suffocating Stares
Being so close to him again, it was all Skye could do to keep from falling on her face. Thankfully, Taran pretended not to notice. Her cheeks darkened as images of things she desperately wanted, but would never allow herself to do with him, raced through her mind.
What is wrong with me, she wondered?
The wolves watched her approach intently, moving to either side of their master and the intriguing new stranger as they made their way into the grand hall of the castle.
Miko closed the door behind them, falling back several paces and taking this rare opportunity to survey the castle’s interior. Though he had been here in the past, he had never once been invited inside. All of his previous visits had been for business, kept short and to the point. Usually he was seeking advice or dropping off some ancient object for safekeeping. After all, it did not get any safer than this.
The castle of Faol Seunta had been built on some sort of neutral hallowed ground. This place was held in the utmost respect by both vampires and werewolves (or rather – he reminded himself for the millionth time lest he get his ass kicked – fògaraich and faoil). Both breeds saw this location as important in some way to their origins. It was this fortress, currently guarded by Taran, which prevented the ever-expanding modern world from swallowing up their sacred lands. For a reason that still remained a mystery to Miko, the fògaraich avoided Faol Seunta as vigilantly as they did the midday sun. Nevertheless, he had heard it referred to in the years he spent hunting them. They spoke of this place in hushed tones, as if merely making mention of it might be a grievous enough offense to render them ash.
Miko followed Skye and Taran into a room with ceilings so high that you had to crane your neck to see them. The walls on all sides were covered with shelves of ancient volumes of text – as priceless as they were dangerous. Time seemed to have no hold over this place. The luxurious chairs and couches surrounding the massive fireplace were several centuries old, yet they still looked brand-spanking new. The extravagant rug had been laying there for just as long as the rest, but not a speck of dirt or wear could be found as evidence. Then there was the issue of dust and cobwebs – or rather, the conspicuous and complete lack thereof
. The interior of the castle was so clean it was spooky. Wolves stood guard in all directions, watching the two approaching strangers with cautious interest.
Taran motioned for his guests to sit before taking his place in the armchair across from them.
“Well, I s’pose I should be askin’ this first, despite a niggling suspicion tha the meddlesome stake-wielders are to blame.” He inclined his head to Miko in disapproval before his beautiful eyes locked with Skye’s again. “Where is your Maker? Why are ya nah with the one tha changed ya, love?”
Skye bristled at the question and shifted awkwardly under the power of his gaze.
“Call me crazy, but after he wolfed-out and chewed off part of my shoulder, I wasn’t exactly in a hurry to get his number.”
Taran smiled in approval of her tone. She was a fiery little thing. Her words, however, were troubling. He decided it would be best not to alarm her until he had all of the facts.
“Understandable,” he granted, “but, in turn, ya need to understand tha ya were chosen, wee one.”
Skye’s body went rigid. Her eyes widened in astonishment.
Wee one...
As in, ‘Time to wake, wee one.’
It was him. Taran was the voice from her dream. She could no longer chalk it all up to coincidence. But how could she have dreamt about him days before meeting him?
“The Tàcharain Fhaol,” he continued, wholly ignorant of the fact that his term of endearment had visited her dreams. “Or rather, our kind,” he amended with a warm smile, reminding her that she was now of the same breed, “ne’er give a bite without carefully considering the pup first. Your Maker watched ya for quite a time before ya were bitten. His pack was awaiting your arrival.”
“Wow,” Skye breathed as she let that sink in. After a moment, her instinctive anger got the best of her. Her features twisted in a severe scowl as she continued. “And here I was, thinking that being bitten by a werewolf was the bad news. Come to find out he was literally a stalker first,” she growled contemptuously.
At her use of the slur, Miko noisily cleared his throat and gave her a purposeful look. While she shifted uncomfortably in her chair, he cut in – not only to spare her a lecture from Taran, but also to get a chance to clear his name in this.
“Look, Tar – it’s not like we jumped in there for no reason. We were exterminating a pretty sizable fògarach coven when he showed up and... yeah. ‘Chewed off part of her shoulder’ would be the best way to describe it,” Miko insisted. “We had no choice but to intervene in case he intended to keep... you know... eating,” he finished with a look of disgust.
Taran shook his head and pointed at the young mortal in disapproval. “And it is precisely foolishness such as tha which makes the clan want nothing to do with your kind, Lance,” he admonished.
Miko slouched disappointedly. Once again, Taran had demoted him to his given name.
“Your group of ‘Ashers’, or whatever ya are calling yourselves these days, are ever sticking your noses in where they do nah belong – always messing aboot in affairs tha ya do nah understand,” Taran scolded.
Miko glared at him. His jaw flexed as he fought to hold his tongue. It was a losing battle. He hated the way Taran could make him feel like a hopelessly ignorant child; make him second-guess judgments that he had previously been confident of. So what if the faol was four millennia his senior? Just because Miko was at a disadvantage when it came to years of experience, it did not mean that he was incapable of forming rational thoughts.
“You’re right, we don’t understand. But need I remind you that it’s not for a lack of trying on our part?” Miko finally snapped back, earning a harsh glower from Taran. “Maybe if the clan stopped giving us the silent treatment for God only knows what perceived offense we committed against them, they could explain their customs. Then maybe – here’s a wild concept – we wouldn’t keep overstepping boundaries that only your kind can see.”
Taran scowled, but remained silent.
Miko blinked in surprise. His anger slipped momentarily. In all their debates, this had never once happened before. When it became clear that Taran actually intended to allow him to continue on his rant, he decided to press his luck.
“So, what would you rather I have done? By all means, tell me. Should I have stood back and let her get mauled? For all I knew, that guy was running rogue and either his pack didn’t know what the hell he was up to, or they just hadn’t warned us about it. Aside from you, the faoil never give us the time of day. So, would it have been an outlandish assumption to think they hadn’t kept us in the loop on this? Would you honestly expect me to risk an innocent life on the hope that it was all under control and they just hadn’t gotten around to sending us a memo? Keep in mind that there were no other pack members in sight and she was most definitely NOT a willing candidate. She didn’t even know your kind existed until one of your men pinned her down and reenacted a scene from The Howling. And after he changed – for fuck’s sake, man – she was trying as hard as she could to fight him off of her!”
At those words, Taran flinched as if he had been slapped. Apparently, that statement had struck a nerve. The ancient’s nostrils flared, his eyes darkened, and Miko could have sworn he heard his teeth grinding together even with as far away as they were sitting.
Hearing the event described so vividly, Skye absently rested a hand over her shoulder. The already-healed wound ached with the memory of the attack. While her eyes darted around the room seeking distraction, she noted that Taran’s knuckles were white as he gripped the arm of his chair. She arched a brow at the indents his fingers were making in the wood. Miko was either striking an unknown chord with the faol, or really, really pissing him off.
“Now, from what I’ve always heard, the Tàcharain Fhaol have a pretty lengthy interview process pre-biting,” Miko continued. “So, go ahead and tell me that I was wrong. Tell me that I overreacted. Tell me that it’s normal for your guys to just leap onto random women in the middle of a crowd. Tell me that they make a habit of biting people without saying a word to them beforehand.”
Inwardly, Miko was torn between cheering himself on for finally standing his ground with Taran, and bracing for the beating that he was undoubtedly earning. In a surprising change of pace, however – instead of tossing him across the room for speaking out of turn – the faol merely sighed and thrummed his fingers across the arm of his chair.
“As deliriously happy as it would make me to do so,” Taran finally ground out through clenched teeth, obviously fighting off the desire to give the mortal the worst thrashing of his life. “I can nah, for it would be a lie,” he confessed grudgingly. “Ya are right. It is strange tha she was nah contacted prior to the act... and... had I been in your stead... I s’pose I’d have done the same,” he managed with great reluctance. He rolled his eyes as a grin instantly came to Miko’s face in response. Hoping to avoid any gushing of happiness from the mortal, Taran continued. “After Skye has undergone her change, I will make the necessary inquiries to ensure tha it is nah as ya pointed out as a possibility – tha we have a rogue member on the loose. Where did her Making take place?”
“Miami, Florida,” Miko answered eagerly. He was having an inner celebration that Taran had acknowledged the appropriateness of his actions. Receiving validation from the ancient meant a hell of a lot to him. For obvious reasons, he looked up to the guy. And who wouldn’t? Taran had been kicking ass and taking names since B.C. The opinion of someone who had lived for more than 4,000 years was pretty damned important in Miko’s eyes. It felt good to finally get an ‘attaboy’ from the crotchety old bastard.
“Very well, then. I shall request tha contact be made with the local pack and have the matter looked into straight away, but I am sure there is a logical explanation for this. The one tha turned her will come looking soon enough. He will shed light on the reasons for which she was chosen, as well as why she was given the bite in such a manner,” Taran said distractedly as he thought things through.
Were he a lesser faol, he would be deeply troubled by the inevitable confrontation with her Maker and greatly fear having to explain his actions. It was simply unheard of to train another pack’s pup. Taran’s rank, however, placed him well above the trivial squabbling of territory and claim. Besides, given the severity of the offense of biting a woman, she would likely be in need of a new pack.
When Latharn and the other ancients catch wind of this... Taran thought. He shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment, hoping that the offender was not someone he knew. But speaking of the pup...
His features softened as he looked back to her. He smiled, still unable to believe his luck. She was his charge now. He would guide her through her first transformation. There was no reversing that bond once it had formed. After tonight, none of his clansmen would have the authority to claim her without coming up against him. It would be his decision entirely, whether or not to relinquish his claim over her to her Maker. He could only think of three men that there was a chance of him doing so for, but each was as unlikely to have given her the bite as the next.
“What’s done is done,” he finally continued. “And we have but an hour, nah much beyond tha before the moon will rise. No point havering aboot what can nah be changed. Skye, ya must be filled with questions, love. Please, ask as ya wish,” he said softly as he studied her.
Skye had only gazed into the hypnotic gray pools of his eyes for a matter of seconds before a sharp pain in her head caused her to look away. She closed her eyes tightly and took a deep breath as random images flashed through her mind, like memories or dreams.
Blue symbols...
Tan skin...
Pale skin...
“Are ya all right, wee one?” Taran asked worriedly.
“Oh, yeah. I’m just fucking ducky,” she grumbled as she pinched the bridge of her nose and willed the pain away.
Darkness Descends: A Skye Faden Novel Page 11