Darkness Descends: A Skye Faden Novel

by Alisha Ashton

  Aodh stared down at him, considering it for a moment before looking up at Skye.

  “I’ll tell him. You just focus on not dropping me,” she instructed. Aodh nodded, getting a grip on her legs to hold her in place. “Eògan, Aodh says to tell you: ‘the pups will just have to look up to wee Skye... as well they should’.”

  Aodh gave him a nod and satisfied grin, unaccustomed to having his words relayed in such a clear fashion.

  The group of pups eyed Aodh fearfully and cowered behind their elders and ancients. Apparently, they did not find him to be quite as cuddly as Skye did.

  “D’ya know tha you’re riding around atop the man who, for many centuries, was considered to be the highest point of elevation in all of Scotland?” Eògan teased. “But I agree with him,” he said with a nod. “Ya do intend on setting her down before the meeting, I hope?”

  Aodh simply rolled his eyes and nodded.

  “He says if he has to he will, but he thinks it might be easier for everyone to see me if he doesn’t,” Skye relayed.

  “We’re having a meeting?” Miko asked hopefully.

  “Sorry, Lance, I’m afraid it’s nah a thing ya can attend,” Taran said and watched as his shoulders slouched. He sighed sympathetically and called over to one of the younger faoil. “Ruarachan, ya and two others take Miko here to the closest electronics store ya know of.”

  “Right away, Lord Taran,” Ruarachan said and inclined his head to him respectfully.

  Noting the confusion on Miko’s face, Taran pulled a seldom-used, but ever-present credit card from his wallet. He still marveled at the thought of a bit of plastic being used for currency. “Are ya nah needing a new computer?”

  Miko was instantly grinning. “Oh, bless your prehistoric little heart!” He gushed before eagerly snatching the credit card away and tucking it into his back pocket. “I thought I’d go nuts if I had to sit around here doing nothing.”

  “Wait, what happened to your laptop?” Skye asked and eyed them suspiciously from atop her perch. “And how did you get that lump on your head?” She demanded, able to see it for the first time on account of her new height. She seethed at the possibility that someone had ignored her orders to leave him alone.

  Aodh scowled down at them. He was unsure of the reasons for the annoyed tone that Skye was suddenly using, but he was willing to clobber whoever had caused it.

  The pups all took a collective step backward, lest they be blamed.

  “Yeah, Tar...” Miko began in amusement as he crossed his arms over his chest. “How did I get this lump on my head? Do explain.”

  Taran cleared his throat guiltily. “Ah, right...umm... just a bit of clumsiness, tha was,” he offered, scratching the back of his neck. Seeing more questions forming on Skye’s lips, he quickly cut in. “Hey, ya really ought be going if ya want to catch the shops before they close,” he urged, giving Ruarachan a meaningful look.

  Ruarachan smiled knowingly and stepped forward, putting an arm around Miko’s shoulders and leading him away.

  “You? What did you do to Miko?” Skye asked in surprise.

  Hearing the change in her voice, Aodh relaxed beneath her. He eyed Taran curiously as he waited for the explanation.

  “Ever seen in the cartoons where a guy gets run over and goes all flat like?” Ciaran called.

  Skye winced, not sure if she was ready to see him again after their earlier incident.

  Aodh waved at him excitedly before wrapping an arm around him and pulling him to his side possessively.

  Skye smiled as he gushed to her about how much he had missed his crazy little Irish friend.

  “Yeah, total crock as it happens,” Ciaran continued, barely batting an eyelash that he was being pawed at like Aodh’s favorite toy. “Miko turned a corner, got plowed into by Taran and bounced off him just like rubber into a wall.” He cracked up and shook his head at the memory. “Was quite the sight to behold, as ya can imagine. Which reminds me, brother; perhaps we ought have your brakes checked.”

  “Aye,” Eògan laughed. “A 4,000 year inspection or something along those lines may be in order.”

  “Means we’re all long overdue,” Taran reminded.

  “Speak for yourselves. I still get carded when I visit the States,” Ciaran announced triumphantly. “According to the US government, I’m a tender, innocent, and impressionable young lad of only 23 years.”

  “Well, we can’t have tha,” Eògan breathed. “I’ll be sure to make a call to them straight away. If they only knew a quarter the things I’ve seen ya do over the centuries, you’d be banned from most the countries in the world. Come to think of it, the vast majority of religions, as well.” He turned to Taran and stroked his chin thoughtfully. “What d’ya s’pose, brother? Isn’t it considered an unforgivable sin for a man to –?”

  Ciaran’s eyes grew wide and he coughed noisily to block out the rest of that question. His brothers immediately exchanged ill-behaved smiles.

  “All right then, no need to be giving any lengthy examples. We don’t want to bore anyone, yeah?” Ciaran said hopefully.

  Skye smiled in intrigue realizing that her earlier decision to brand him as a troublemaker had been well founded.

  “In a house of God,” Eògan whispered in a scandalized tone.

  “Repeatedly, no less,” Drostan reminded with wide eyes.

  The others nodded and muttered their agreement of the fact.

  “For shame, brother,” Taran said with a scowl of mock disapproval and shook his head condemningly. “For shame.”

  “So, Skye...” Ciaran began, attempting to cut in on the torment his brothers were dishing out.

  “A heathen, he is,” Eògan declared. “Is tha nah what the nice monks with the torches and pitchforks called him as they chased him, bare-arsed, all the way back to our doorstep from the convent?”

  “Which time?” Taran asked deadpan.

  “Ya know, up until tha point I did nah think men of worship could be driven to violence,” Drostan mused. “And the language they used?” He said, gasping and clutching his chest. “My word.”

  “Can ya blame them?” Taran asked, frowning in feigned sympathy for their plight. “Had one of them damned ‘Celt pagans of the wild’ shamelessly corrupting the morals of all those pure, innocent –”

  “Nah to mention, virginal... ” Eògan added.

  “For the last time, Christianity was still new!” Ciaran finally blurted out and the others shared victorious grins. “I thought it’d just pass in a few years like all the other imported religions, but noooo, they had to come in and sweep the whole nation off its feet. If they hadn’t, ya’d all have dropped it by now and ya damned well know it. Much the same as how I never hear ya mention me visits to the temple of –”

  He somehow managed to stop the words from leaving his lips just in the nick of time, abruptly changing the course of his rant so he would not further incriminate himself.

  “Regardless!” He declared of his own near slip and waved it off. “How was I to know it’d catch on and ya’d be holding this over me head for the rest of our immortal lives?” He demanded. “Besides, it’s been centuries since tha happened, I’m a changed man,” he insisted, though his voice cracked at the strain of the blatant lie.

  “Oh, so tha’s a fact then, is it?” Drostan asked skeptically as he narrowed his eyes on Ciaran. “Then how’s aboot telling us, ‘changed man’, when ya last visited a church?”

  Ciaran blinked repeatedly in response and turned away from them in an effort to avoid the question.

  “So, Skye...” he tried once more.

  “Aww, seems someone’s fallen off the wagon again,” Eògan teased with a grin and wagged a disapproving finger.

  “Still has a weakness for the wimples, I’d imagine,” Taran mused.

  The others nodded and muttered that it was likely.

  “Well, here’s the thing I’ve been wondering,” Eògan began, crossing his arms over his chest and rubbing his beard. “D’ya s�
�pose when he launches into those, ‘holy Mary, mother of Chreest’ and ‘sweet, merciful Jesus’ lines, he’s actually just having flashbacks?”

  They all chimed in adamantly with their agreements that it was a legitimate possibility.

  Ciaran scowled, muttering something under his breath in Gaelic before continuing his attempts to speak with Skye.

  “As I was trying to say, sister, I see ya made quite the impression on our colossal comrade here,” he called up to her, winking at Aodh as the giant tousled his hair.

  “Hell, tha’s bound to bring back the memories,” Drostan whispered behind a hand to the others.

  Eògan exhaled sharply. “Aye, the poor addicted bastard will be saying ‘sister’ all the time now? She’d best avoid wearing black and white together in an ensemble, lest he harm himself recalling the image in privacy.”

  “Or work himself to the point of blindness by divine intervention,” Taran added in feigned concern.

  Skye laughed at the withering glare and obvious threats of injury Ciaran gave his brothers in Gaelic. At Aodh’s request, she held on tight so that he could release his hold on her legs and sign with his hands.

  “Tha’s right, my super-sized sibling. I’m at your service and here to amuse ya,” Ciaran agreed with a dramatic bow and grin, only to have it falter a second later. “What?” He asked, watching as Aodh signed expressively. “I recall no such incident,” he said with a scowl.

  “Well he does,” Skye chimed in. “He says he remembers the angry mob in perfect clarity. And, as he recalls, he was woken in the middle of the night on more than one occasion to save your hide from the aforementioned pitchforks.”

  Ciaran frowned deeply in confusion before realizing that Skye was somehow able to communicate with Aodh telepathically. His brow arched at that surprising revelation, but at this point, he would be hard pressed to rule anything out as being possible for Skye.

  “All right, tha does it!” He huffed. “It’s bad enough I’ve these bastards to contend with aloud. Now I’ve got ya divulging details inside her head? How’s a man s’posed to defend himself against tha?” He demanded indignantly.

  Aodh continued signing and Ciaran rolled his eyes.

  “No, I’m nah mad at ya,” he grumbled. “Yes, I still love your crazy ass,” he said with a sigh and finally smirked up at him. “All right, fine, I missed ya, too. You’ll need to fill me in on what ya’ve been up to since last I was over there.” After a few more signs from Aodh, Ciaran’s eyes locked with Skye’s intensely.

  He licked his lips.

  Her heart skipped a beat.

  “We’ve met,” he answered and gave her a private smile before tearing his gaze from her. “Yeah, she’s something else, all right. And hey, plus side here, at least you’re nah carrying me around like a ragdoll for once in our lives,” he said in relief. At the reminder, Aodh reached for him. Ciaran quickly tensed and held up his hands. “No, no – thanks, really – but I think one shoulder-rider at a time is enough for ya. How ya doing up there, by the way? Nah gonna get a nosebleed or anything, right?” He called behind a cupped hand as if she was standing on the 12th floor.

  “I’m just fine,” she assured softly and smiled when Aodh cast her a curious look. Through whatever link they were using to communicate, he was apparently picking up on her inner turmoil where Ciaran was concerned. “All right, let’s get on with the meet-and-greets before I lose my voice from all this gabbing,” she urged in a steady tone that belied her frazzled state.

  “Come on, whelps, ya heard the Lady,” Eògan called and motioned for them to approach. “Get on over here and introduce yourselves. Oh, and best to mind your manners,” he warned. “Any disrespect to his new wee friend and Aodh is liable to eat ya for it.”

  The giant holding Skye up like a trophy nodded to the terrified pups that it was true. He even patted his stomach for emphasis.

  Introductions were far more entertaining from this new vantage point, Skye decided. An endless precession of pack leaders and their corresponding members anxiously stepped forward to introduce themselves to her. Despite the unwanted attention, she was having entirely too much fun watching the pups’ fear of Aodh to feel out of place. So what if he was the size of a Lincoln Navigator and unable to speak to them? That did not mean he was scary. In fact, the voice he was using to mentally communicate with her was rather child-like. It saddened her to know that he had been living alone for the past few centuries – in New York City, of all places. The thought of anyone being cruel to or taking advantage of him broke her heart as much as it boiled her blood. He was just so... innocent.

  She had no idea how much time had passed before the vast majority of the men waiting to meet her had wandered into the castle. There were only a few stragglers left to speak with, but most of them were heading inside – including the ones that she had been keeping tabs on. Many times, while atop her perch, Skye had noted the position of a small gathering of men. Five of them, to be exact, standing a short distance away and keeping themselves separate from the group. They had waited through all of her introductions, watching her intently, but had never once approached. Being the (justifiably) suspicious person that she was, Skye made a point of memorizing their faces. Their out-of-place somber demeanor amongst the celebratory mood of the crowd served to put her on guard. Taran’s comforting presence, Ciaran’s comedic conversation, and the wall of muscle (aka hundreds of her new clansmen) standing between her and the issue were the only things keeping her from confronting it head-on. She tried to put the men’s strange behavior from her mind, rationalizing that perhaps they were planning to give her a break before approaching.

  Her instincts, however, were not so easily convinced. She exchanged appraising glances with the leader of the five men before he slipped into the castle and out of sight.

  Seeing the thinning of the herd, Aodh at last set her down beside Taran.

  “Thanks for the lift,” she said, trying to keep her concern from her voice. She must have succeeded because none of the men noticed. Aodh nodded and patted her on the head adoringly while telling her that it was no problem. “You know what?” She said, smiling up at him. “I’ve decided that I’m keeping you, Aodh. I don’t know exactly where I’m heading or where I’ll be calling home, but I think us loners ought to stick together from here on out. How does that sound?”

  Aodh grinned and nodded before signing to Taran excitedly. After getting permission from Taran to do so, he knelt down and carefully hugged her. She squeezed him tightly, laughing at the way he was treating her as if she was made of glass.

  “I’m sturdy, trust me.” She insisted.

  “Would ya look at tha?” Ciaran breathed with an impressed nod as Aodh turned and walked away. “Refuses to be part of a pack for four millennia, blue-eyes here gives the invite and suddenly he’s all about it.”

  Skye laughed before directing his attention to the pup standing behind him, patiently waiting to speak to him.

  “Oh, hey,” Ciaran said in feigned surprise once he turned to face the pup. “Well? What the hell d’ya want?” He asked with a playful scowl.

  The pup flushed at that. He was obviously unaccustomed to ancients speaking to him in such a casual manner. Nervously, he leaned closer and whispered the message that he had been sent to relay.

  With a nod of understanding, Ciaran thanked him and turned his attention back to the others. “Tha’s our cue, I’m afraid. We should be heading inside. The others will be in the meeting hall by the time we get there.”

  30: A Rare Reunion

  They started toward the main entry, but before they could take two steps, a Scotsman was bellowing for them.

  “Taran! Ciaran! Drostan!”

  The three looked back at the blonde striding toward them.

  “Aw no,” Ciaran groaned. He rolled his eyes dramatically before giving Taran an exhausted look. “I thought we were finished. Ya’d think he’d at least have the decency to let us get inside before mauling us,” he complained
and flashed an impish grin at the new arrival.

  The blonde laughed heartily at that. “Aye, right! Since when huz a thrawn wee de’il such as ye e’er havered aboot wanting ‘decency’?” He asked incredulously.

  It was at that point that Skye realized just how desperately she needed a Scots slang to English dictionary. She could not understand 90% of what this latest arrival was saying. One thing was inescapably clear, though. He was frigging gorgeous. She tried not to let her near loss of motor functions become too obvious. Two words just about fell from her lips involuntarily when she focused on him: ‘Holy HELL!’

  The man was built like a pit-bull; thick and shorter than most of his brothers, but looking every bit as formidable. His spiky hair was bleached blonde with black roots. A gold ring pierced the end of his left brow. In combination with his black beard, light blue eyes, and tanned skin, his tousled hair gave him the appearance of a surfer. Skye decided that he was a hell of a lot hotter than any surfer that she had ever seen down at the Jersey shore.

  He was clad in low-riding khakis and a loose, white cotton shirt that – like Taran – he had purposely neglected to button. Thankfully (as Skye did not think she could handle the sight of another completely bare, devastatingly masculine chest in the vicinity), he was wearing a white tank top beneath it. As tightly as it hugged the contours of his pecs and abs, however, it left very little to the imagination. To make matters worse, she could make out the distinct outline of a nipple piercing through the cotton.

  Inwardly, she groaned at her plight. Here she stood, surrounded by thousands of studs with her mate at her side. Every male for as far as the eye could see was able to sense any hint of arousal she experienced. It was difficult to feign indifference when your body was broadcasting its eagerness to sample the goods. She felt as if she was wearing a great big sign that read:

  ‘Hi, my name is Skye and I would spread my legs for you in a heartbeat.

  By the way, what’s your name?’