Darkness Descends: A Skye Faden Novel

by Alisha Ashton

  Let’s see now, how do you put ‘excruciating pain followed by transformation into hulking, psychotic werewolf’ into eloquent words...

  “Miko, trot your happy little ass down here right now or I swear to GOD I am calling Aiyana when I get out of this cage!”

  At that, he climbed from his chair angrily and stomped down the stairs.

  “She’s not my mother, ya know!” He snapped when he reached the basement. “Now, what could possibly be so damned urgent?”

  She watched him intently as he approached, looking down at the ground once he was close enough to see her clearly.

  “I need to use the bathroom,” she replied calmly.

  Miko arched a skeptical brow.

  “Do you really think Taran intended for me to have to use the corner like some prisoner in a third world country? Just let me out for a minute and I’ll get back in here after I’m done,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and keeping her eyes averted from his. It simply wouldn’t do to spoil the surprise just yet.

  Miko chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. She had a point. Even if Taran had not explained his reasons for wanting her caged when there was not a full moon, he surely would allow for bathroom breaks. He sighed and grabbed the keys off the table.

  “Fine, but as soon as you’re done, you have to get right back in here. If Tar comes home and you’re –” he grumbled as he opened the door, only to stop the instant her eyes locked with his.

  Yellow. No blue.

  Not even a trace of it.

  “Oh fuck,” he whimpered, but she already had him. He closed his eyes, expecting the shredding to begin any second...

  But to his complete shock, horror, and all right, delight, she instead gripped him up by the front of his shirt, forced him back against the cage, and began kissing him passionately. He moaned into her mouth in surprise before pulling her to him and eagerly returning the kiss. His eyes rolled closed as he inhaled her intoxicating scent. His entire body was succumbing to her will. She was pulling his hair and raking her nails down his back. Her fingers wandered beneath his shirt and up his abs as her mouth fed on his savagely.

  Just as quickly as it had started, she was gone.

  He opened his eyes slowly, wanting to know why she had stopped...

  And she slammed the cage door closed with him inside.

  As realization passed over his face, she gave him a satisfied smile.

  “That’s for drugging me, prick,” she said before promptly turning on her heel and racing up the stairs.

  “Tar is gonna kill me,” Miko groaned as he regained his senses. He had just let Skye... no, not Skye... the female faol out of her cell. He pressed his forehead against the bars and whined thinking about how much trouble he had just gotten himself into. A silent prayer was made that she would come back and eat him instead of leaving him here to explain.

  Sunset was just a few hours away by the time Taran returned to the castle’s main estate. He was already becoming both excited and nervous about the Gathering that would take place in the next few days. They had not had one in thousands of years. Every member of the clan together in one place had been a remarkable sight all that time ago. Their numbers grown immensely since then. Originally, he had looked forward to introducing Skye to her clan, her new family. Now he was worried about them even being on the same grounds as her. He did not want to consider what would happen if he saw one of his clansmen touching her, even in a casual embrace, before he had earned his place at her side, before he had the security of their bond to assure him of her heart’s loyalty.

  He put his car in park and climbed out, casting a glance up the drive at his collection of vehicles (his one pleasure of the modern world). He stopped mid-step when he spotted an empty bay amid the cars. It was right where his baby... his brand new, fire-engine red, never even test driven Jaguar S-type should have been. His eyes widened and jaw dropped open in disbelief.

  “Nah...” he told himself, shaking his head as he cautiously started up the drive toward the garage. He fought to keep his anger in check. It’s just being washed, he hoped. It can’t possibly be what I’m thinking because I was VERY clear with Miko in my instructions. Then again, this is Miko we are talking about...

  He groaned and broke into a run for the mechanics’ bay.

  “Brody!” He called as he slammed through the doors.

  Camron Brody was one of a handful of mortals kept on staff by the clan. Needless to say, their schedules gave them three very specific days off every month. Each staff member was from one of four local families entrusted with the secret of the Tàcharain Fhaol’s existence for many centuries. Their pay was substantial enough to ensure silence and loyalty. Brody had been working at the castle since he was barely 20. Taran was shocked to realize that he must now already be in his late fifties. As with all members of the staff, Brody’s actual duties were relatively minor. The castle grounds themselves were mostly self-sufficient. Brody maintained the vehicles, brought mail in from the box beyond the gates, and other such small things. While these items were always seen to for the sake of appearances, Brody and the rest served a far more essential purpose than taking care of chores and errands. Their presence in the outside world had proven to be an invaluable way of squashing rumors about the castle’s seldom seen inhabitants. Every decade or so, the details had to change:

  ‘The Lord is gravely ill, bedridden, crippled.’

  ‘The Lady is widowed now, mad with grief and wishes nothing more than to spend the rest of her days in the castle where her love once lived at her side. Such a shame, the poor dear can barely look after herself.’

  ‘The Lady has passed away, God rest her soul. The children came to say their farewells before she went in her sleep.’

  “The children? They live in (Paris, Prague, London, New York, etc.) They keep residence there, but wish their ancestral home to be tended to in their absence’.

  ‘A pack of monsters, ya say? Shame on ya for speaking ill of such a fine family. Ya should know better than to trust pub gossip. I see the eldest son every few months, myself. Always has a fine greeting and a smile for me. A good man, he is. Misses his parents something fierce, though’.

  Yes, the staff had proven themselves quite useful throughout the centuries. Any time suspicions were raised, they were there to explain them away. It was strange to watch them age, though, Taran found. He stood witness to every similarity between generations. Unbeknownst to the mortals, personality traits invariably passed from great grandfather to great grandson and to all in between. Unfortunately, these uncanny resemblances caused Taran to constantly slip and use the wrong names. For this reason, he usually made it a habit to call them by their surnames when addressing them.

  Camron, the seventh of the Brody family line to serve during Taran’s current guardianship, slid out from beneath one of the vehicles on a creeper. It was nearly time for his son to take over his duties, Taran noted sympathetically as the man gradually worked himself to an upright position.

  “Sir?” He asked warily, unaccustomed to hearing anger in Taran’s tone.

  Realizing that he must be frightening the man, Taran tried to mask his displeasure. He offered a hand to Brody, helping him to his feet. “Where is my Jag?” He asked in an even tone.

  Camron smiled and nodded, as if his explanation would surely be enough to clear up any confusion. “Your lady friend said she was taking ya up on your offer to borrow it. Asked for directions to Glasgow, said she wanted to see the sights,” he answered. “A fine woman, she is, sir – a real keeper, if ya don’t mind my saying. Ya should hold onto her.”

  Taran growled and called bitterly over his shoulder as he raced out the door, “Tha, ol’ friend, is proving to be far more difficult than ya could imagine!”

  Camron smirked as he watched him leave, thankful that a woman had finally come along to ruffle the ancient’s feathers.

  Taran was cursing and snarling the entire jog through the castle, already knowing what h
e was going to find, but refusing to believe it.

  “For fook’s sake!” He spat once he reached the bottom of the stairs and found Miko sitting inside of the cage. Muttering under his breath furiously as he approached, he began flipping through the keys on his ring looking for the spare.

  “Hey there, Tar!” Miko said with a nervous laugh and wave. “Funny story – true story – you see, I was upstairs just minding my own business –”

  “‘Funny story’? Ya will nah find it so funny when I’m feeding ya to the wolves!” Taran snapped as he yanked the cage door open.

  Miko’s eyes widened. “Or you could just leave me in here to think about what I’ve done. That’s always an option.”

  Instead, Taran reached down and hauled Miko up onto his feet by his collar. His eyes narrowed in on the mortal when he caught Skye’s scent. Dragging him closer, he brought his nose to Miko’s shirt and inhaled deeply.

  “Ooohh my God. I can so totally explain that,” Miko squeaked in terror, knowing damned well what Taran was smelling.

  “Save your breath. Let’s go!” Taran growled, releasing his hold on the mortal as he turned and stalked toward the stairs.

  Miko let out a choppy sigh of relief and leaned forward, putting his hands on his knees as he recovered from the fear that had gripped him. With a trembling hand, he crossed himself before mouthing a quick ‘Thank you!’ skyward. It seemed the big man upstairs had answered his prayers and spared him a painful death at Taran’s hands.

  “Where are we going?” He called as he jogged to keep up with the ancient faol.

  “To save the men of Glasgow, tha’s where,” Taran groaned, lifting the phone from its cradle and dialing quickly. “Grab those drug-darts of yours. Ya better believe we’ll be needing them,” he advised as he pressed the phone to his ear.

  On the second ring, Cathal answered. Much like Taran, Latharn disliked telephones. Even after all this time, he refused to carry his own. “Missed us already, did ya, brother?” Cathal joked.

  “I wish tha’s all I was calling for.” Taran said glumly. “Listen, I need ya to tell Latharn to remain on the grounds. He must take over as Guardian for a few hours. Ya see... Skye’s run off to Glasgow.”

  “Glasgow?!” Cathal cried.

  Miko winced at the volume of the man’s voice. It was loud enough that, even through the receiver, it echoed through the room.

  “Well, what the devil is she doing there?” Cathal demanded. “I thought ya said tha she was locked up!”

  “She was. It seems she figured out a way to get free of her cage while I was gone,” Taran explained and glared over at Miko, who cowered guiltily in response.

  “Ah, Chreest. You’ll be needing the rest of us to come help ya find her then?” Cathal asked.

  “Definitely nah,” Taran answered quickly. “Last thing I need is more of our kind near her while she’s like this.”

  “Oh, yeah... in heat, almost forgot. Then I s’pose you’re right. If her scent is having the effect ya described, it’d be safer for us to stay out of it, if at all possible. Ya do realize, however, tha if ya can nah find her by nightfall, we’ll have no choice but to come looking, right?”

  Taran grumbled that he did. “I’ll let ya know as soon as I find her.”

  “Good. Go on then, get her back before she draws unwanted attention to herself,” Cathal said worriedly. “Keep in touch.”

  “Aye, I will,” Taran agreed before quickly replacing the phone in its cradle. Gripping Miko by the scruff of the neck, he dragged him out the door.

  18: Officially Fooked

  The city was loaded with men, teaming with them, crawling with them. She left the top down and inhaled their scents as she drove deeper into the heart of the testosterone.

  “Oh, and I’ll take one of you... and one of you... and you...” Skye said as she pointed and blew kisses at the men on the street. “Mmm... the nose knows, honey,” she breathed, allowing her senses to guide her until neon lights and the scent of hundreds of large, sweating men in their prime told her that she had most definitely arrived.

  The Jag’s undercarriage scraped along the concrete as she hopped the curb and parked. She grinned to herself as people jumped out of the way, cursed at her, and called her daft.

  ‘Daft’, she liked that – it had a nice ring to it.

  The line of people waiting to get in ran their mouths as she hopped out of the car, demanding for her to be turned away. The bouncer at the door glared at her as she approached; undoubtedly thinking he would prevent her from entering.

  Silly man... she thought.

  “You can nah leave your car there,” he said gruffly.

  Skye winked at him once she was standing before him. Without saying a word, she stripped off her top and draped it over his shoulder. His jaw hung open in surprise as he stared down at the black lace bra that barely managed to cover her breasts. She purred at the way his eyes were passing over her body, her muscles tensing as she leaned back to give him a better view of her stomach. Releasing a level of pheromones that could have dropped the entire city, she curled her finger at the man.

  “You... tall, dark, and fuck-able. Come with me,” she said with a smile.

  As she entered the club with him, every other man that had been standing at the entrance followed along dumbly behind her. The entryway of the club overlooked the dance floor and she leaned on the railing taking in the view. She laughed and clapped at her good luck seeing what appeared to be an entire drunken rugby team waiting below.

  “GOD BLESS SCOTLAND!” She called to the crowd and they cheered wildly in agreement.

  When she turned back, she found a small army of bouncers gathered behind her. Her brow arched and she smirked at the way they were all staring at her like a piece of prime rib, too intoxicated by her scent to even attempt to speak.

  Mmm... instant strong and silent types, she mused.

  Every blessed one of them was heavily muscled and in excellent shape. They looked like they spent hours in the gym each day. It was perfect. She would be in need of men with such impeccable stamina, and the club had already done all the work of finding acceptable male specimens for her. They trailed after her as she descended the stairs, all drunk off her and wanting more. She laughed at the indignant screams of the females whose dates had just walked away from them mid-sentence. With every step she took toward the dance floor, her army of candidates grew.

  “Good evening. Your Jaguar S-Type has been located,” the voice on the GPS announced.

  Seeing that she was already in the club district, Taran pressed down harder on the accelerator. “Great Mother help them,” he groaned.

  Miko looked over at him in puzzlement. “So, are you gonna explain to me just what the hell is going on or what? One minute Skye is all ‘down with men’ and ‘men are bad’, the next she’s damned near raping me in a cage. Did I miss something here?”

  Taran cast him an incredulous sideways glance. If she had actually intended to follow through, Miko would not have gotten away from her. She had obviously only used her scent to distract the dopey mortal.

  “Skye is... ,” he rolled his eyes at the explanation, “in heat.”

  Miko’s jaw nearly dislocated, it dropped open so quickly.

  “¿Qué dijiste?” He demanded in a shrill tone, falling back on Spanish in his utter shock at the statement.

  Taran growled angrily in response. He was not sure about any of this. It was an odd feeling for someone his age. He was used to the knowledge that nothing could catch him off guard.

  “Look, there just are nah any female faoil, all right? I’ve only known of two – nah even met them, just heard of them – and they did nah survive long enough for me to ask how the change affected their bodies. This is new to me as well, but I started...”

  His heart raced recalling the urge to – let’s call a spade a spade here – mount her. He cleared his throat and sugarcoated it.

  “... to sense something different aboot her. Considering fema
le wolves go through this, I thought it safer to keep her caged until I’d asked around.” He punctuated that statement with an accusatory glare.

  Miko was suddenly far more interested in staring out his window than continuing this discussion.

  The bass was pumping. Sweat was thick in the air as the men danced around her. A few of them were more assertive than the others, pulling off their shirts and moving in closer, grinding against her as she moved to the pulsing beat. The ring of men surrounding her was so thick now that all she could see was chests... and dear, sweet, fluffy lord were they some fine chests.

  DJ Asylum was laughing her ass off in her booth, loving the scene playing out on the dance floor below. “We seem to have a candidate for the most chased piece of ass in here!” She announced. “Come on, fellas! Show the girl some skin! Tha’s it! Ladies, let’s get this competition going! Get them shirts off! Tell me, party people – ya all like it loud?”

  A cheer went up as the club turned into a rave. The music was beyond intoxicating, the bass so strong it nearly stole Skye’s breath as clothes were shed. In a matter of seconds, she was surrounded by bare pecs and abs. The air was heavy now with the scent of the heated arousal of the nearly eighty decidedly well-equipped men who were all at her bidding. More were entering the club each moment. The temperature was rising steadily, right along with the tension, but she was in no rush to end it. She was finally free from the restraints that the mind of her human counterpart imposed upon her. Whoever could keep up with her, could have her – and, of course, there would be several runner-ups. There had been a few heated confrontations between the men already. In her eyes, if they fought for her attention, it moved them higher up the list.

  At some point, one of the men had come up with the brilliant idea of water bottles. She was now soaking wet as they poured them over her. She took her time sampling and kissing each of the studs in her rapidly growing mob of candidates. Catching the scent of aroused females in the distance, she grinned knowingly. It was a trickledown effect. Her raging pheromones were stirring up the men. The arousal of the men was, in turn, working up the women. They were on their way to an all-out orgy set to outstanding music.