Darkness Descends: A Skye Faden Novel

by Alisha Ashton

“Eh shite, she’s gone all mystic again,” Ciaran whispered, but held his breath when she quickly spun to face him. He winced, hoping that she did not intend to bewitch him in front of Taran as she had done earlier in his absence.

  Mercifully, she instead merely reached out and caressed his cheek.

  “My dark one,” she whispered lovingly as her yellow eyes studied his beautiful features. “The time has come for you to make your choice. Do I have your loyalty? Do you bind yourself to me?”

  Ciaran swallowed hard and looked over to Taran, searching for reassurance that his thoughts on the matter had not changed since their earlier conversation. He let out a relieved sigh at the nod of approval that Taran gave in response.

  “Ya already know the answer to tha, a stóirín. As it happens, you’ve a knack for seeing what choices I’ll make,” he teased before answering sincerely. “I am yours as I am no other’s, heavenly Skye. I’ll be by your side for whatever is to come, I swear it.”

  She kissed his cheek sweetly and smiled at both of them, the men she was destined for.

  “Do you see?” She asked Taran. “And so the Trinity binds the Trinity.”

  “Aye, wee one,” he laughed in surprise. “And so it does.” He eyed her in wonder as he drew his hand down the length of her braid. The more he saw of those yellow eyes, the more he recognized the timelessness of their gaze. It seemed impossible, the amount of wisdom her wolf possessed – as if the woman was only 24 years old, but the animal residing within her was every bit as ancient as he was. With a smile, he put his arm around Ciaran’s shoulders. They followed closely behind as she pushed the double doors and entered.

  The meeting hall was crescent shaped. Its entry led down a break in the countless stepped levels, funneling them into the open space at its center. Ancients gazed down at them as they entered and Skye fought back the sensation of being in a cattle-chute. She wanted to smile and wave, seeing Aodh peering down at her, but she was no longer the one driving. From the silent space in her mind where she resided while the wolf was in control, Skye surveyed her surroundings with interest. Unlike the prior hostile takeovers (during her transformations and night in heat when she had been plunged into darkness and kept unaware of her own actions), she had actually conceded to let her wolf take the reins this time. It was mainly due to her discomfort with the level of attention she was sure to receive in this meeting. As she walked, her wolf continued peering up at the crowd that overlooked her. The room was filled to capacity with tables behind which thousands of ancients were seated.

  Latharn stood behind a table of his own, the only one at the center of the ground level. Seeing their approach, he beckoned them closer. “Taran, Ciaran – come and take your rightful places, lads, so tha we may begin.”

  They had barely taken a step before the voice of Skye’s wolf cut in authoritatively.

  “They already have,” she informed him and looked over her shoulder at her men. “Remain with me. It is where you belong,” she told them before turning back to face Latharn.

  The men behind her exchanged troubled looks. Both were wondering how this would go over with the others.

  Latharn studied the girl standing so regally across the room, as well as the two she had obviously chosen for herself.

  “Ya have claimed both Taran and Ciaran as your own?” He asked in cautious bewilderment.

  “They have ever been mine,” her wolf answered simply, “they merely awaited my arrival in this world.”

  Shocked murmurs rippled through the room until Latharn held up a hand and nodded in understanding.

  “Then it is as ya say, lass. They stand where they must,” he agreed and settled down in his chair, imploring her with a wave of his hand to continue.

  Taran swallowed hard and nudged her arm, but he knew damned well that it would not be so simple.

  In response to his reminder, her voice rang out through the hall.

  “I bow to no man,” she declared, and her normal voice intertwined with that of her wolf for this assertion. They were each giving the same response, but for different reasons.

  The room immediately erupted into a heated debate over whether she was out of line.

  “Oh, she’s done it now,” Ciaran muttered.

  Latharn, still in his chair, eyed her appraisingly for a moment before holding up his hand again and motioning for the room to be silent.

  “Skye – come closer so tha I can have a better look at ya and explain to me why tha is,” he instructed.

  The vast majority of the ancients stared down at him in confusion. She had just committed a grievous offense, yet he was still speaking patiently to her.

  The ones she had already met, however, simply smiled and held their tongues.

  Skye nodded and walked confidently across the room until she was standing before him.

  Taran and Ciaran were each avoiding Latharn’s gaze at all costs. 4,000 years of formalities were being ignored by the woman they were bound to. They could not help but feel guilty for it.

  “You were the first bitten,” she began.

  Latharn closed his eyes and shook his head. He knew better than to ask if anyone had told her. He could already see it there in her features – the similarities that he had prayed to find some day.

  “I understand that these men bow to you for this reason. Please know that I, too, deeply respect what you have done for your Maker. The reason I do not bow is simply this: I am who you believe me to be.”

  With that declaration, the room fell to astonished silence.

  After a long moment, she heard Eògan’s familiar gruff voice muse from somewhere in the crowd, “S’pose tha settles tha, then, doesn’t it?”

  “As it was foretold, so at last has it come to be: ‘from one stolen, one lost shall Return’. The time is upon us,” her wolf assured.

  Skye felt as if she was watching someone else speaking in that moment. The words that were leaving her lips, the knowledge the wolf inside of her possessed – they were not within her reach. She forced her mind to be still despite her apprehension, to leave the command of her voice and posture to the animal in her blood. She was too concerned with what was being said to mess this up now.

  The room remained silent. All eyes were on her as they let the severity of her words sink in.

  When she continued, she turned and addressed the room. “As it was destined to, my presence here will end the peace that has held since the time of your creation. War is coming, my brothers – far beyond anything you experienced in the beginning. The world has changed. Our numbers and theirs have grown greatly since the time of the first battle. Victory will not be earned without hardship. This fight will be grueling, painful, frustrating, and difficult. It will take a great many years. Losses will be suffered. Several of us in this room, taking breath together now, will die before all is said and done.”

  The men nodded at the truth of her words. Many were smiling in approval of her frankness.

  She turned and inclined her head to her Maker. “With the gift of his bite, Drostan has at last unleashed me. In doing so, he has provided me absolute protection from what the fògaraich had planned. He has prevented our enemies from gaining an ally that would have meant a sure defeat for all Tàcharain Fhaol. But the fògaraich will not ignore this fact. They know they must act quickly. They rally even as we speak. They are desperate to prevent the Return.”

  With a grave expression, she looked back at Latharn. “The Gathering must be held. There is no time to waste.”

  “Aye,” Latharn agreed softly. Moments passed in silence as the ancients reflected on her words. Finally, Latharn climbed to his feet and slowly approached her. “Ya have yet to reach your Nasgadh?” He asked curiously. For any other pup, that change would still be many decades off in the future. For Skye, he was completely uncertain of the rules.

  “Correct,” her wolf agreed in that ethereal, regal tone that Skye still found strange. “But soon, she will embrace me. We are making progress. She permits me to spea
k with you now of her own volition – a decision I suspect was per the advice of Taran. But for the Nasgadh to begin, she will first require a trigger. As always, it will take rage to make things clear for this mind.”

  At that, Skye felt the need to cut in. Her eyes quickly faded to blue as she spoke. “All right, damn it – that’s it. I draw the line at listening to me talking about me,” she growled in frustration.

  Around the hall, the ancients laughed.

  “We can all commiserate with how disturbing tha is for ya,” Latharn said, smiling down at her and cupping the side of her face in his hand.

  She did not shy away. As he unhurriedly examined her features, she gazed up at him just as attentively.

  “Gods, look at ya,” he finally whispered in awe. “I have waited... to stand here with ya as I do now... for ages, child,” he managed to choke out past the rising lump in his throat. With tearful eyes, he clutched his chest. “It does wonders for this ancient heart to finally see ya where ya belong.”

  Skye’s brows drew together at his emotional response. Her head tilted to the side as she studied him sympathetically. Not that she could say she understood exactly why this was so important to him, but his features attested to the sincerity of his words. She decided she sorta liked this guy – despite his decision to give her a security detail. His appearance was that of a man in his late fifties to early sixties. He was as massive as the other faoil, but not overly muscular. His long, pristinely white hair and beard were well groomed, framing honest green eyes and a warm smile. There was something about him that put her at ease, assured her that he was a good man through and through. He was like a great big teddy-bear with tears of joy in his eyes.

  That thought had her taking a step forward and hugging him without hesitation – an action she instantly decided to pass off as her wolf’s doing.

  Latharn laughed merrily in surprise. The sound echoed through the room as he wrapped his arms around her and clapped her on the back. “Ooh am I glad to have ya with us!” He breathed and gave her a good squeeze as he rocked her. “Welcome to the clan, young Skye.”

  The ancients broke out in thunderous applause and she sighed contentedly, gaining a strange sense of belonging from his words and embrace. Thankfully, as with Aodh and Eògan, she felt no attraction whatsoever to this man. It was a good thing, too. She did not think she could handle any more of that nonsense. Latharn was just... safe. A sort of father-type that was thrilled to have her home.

  Once he released her from his pleasantly crushing grip, he kept her under his arm and turned to face Taran and Ciaran. “Grabbed yourself two totally different flavors, ya have,” he observed in amusement.

  Skye smirked over at them. “I guess I really did,” she agreed as her eyes passed back and forth between them.

  Ciaran/Taran... Irish/Scots. Short/Tall. Pale/Tan. Chatty/Stoic. Funny/Romantic. Crazy/Grounded. Peer/Mentor. Mischievous/Serious. Friend/Mate. Lilt/Brogue. She had everything a girl could ask for, she realized. Apparently, the secret to happiness was figuring out that it takes more than one man to fulfill a woman’s rapidly shifting and often-conflicting needs.

  “Well, I s’pose we covered all tha needs covering for the time being,” Latharn decided. “Ya did well to leave your wolf to speak to us without interrupting as ya did. She cut what could have been a long, drawn-out discussion down to precisely what needed to be said. I’m sure everyone here appreciates the candor.”

  “Aye, the candor is greatly appreciated!” Ailean shouted.

  “I’d forgotten just how unkindly these benches are on the arse,” Eògan whined as he shifted uncomfortably.

  The others laughed and voiced their agreement that carved wood was not the best seating for lengthy discussions. Several of them called out requests that cushions be added prior to the next meeting.

  Latharn shook his head and put his hands on his hips. “When did ya all turn to a pack of sissies?” He taunted. “Is this what the modern world has done to my army?”

  “Has anyone else noticed tha this is coming from the man tha recently cushioned his chair?” Ciaran asked roguishly.

  “Son of a... !” Drostan howled as he confirmed the claim. “He’s right!” He told the others in disbelief.

  “Are ye serious? Ye cannae be serious!” Ailean cried, standing and leaning across the table to see for himself.

  “Aw, ya evil bastard,” Eògan taunted. “Ya were gonna sit there just as comfortable as can be for hours on end whilst the rest of us developed sores on our backsides? Tha’s just cruel.”

  Latharn grinned. “Well, had I known how delicate your arse was, Eògan, I’d have brought a wee pillow for ya to set it upon. I’ll be sure to provide ya with one next time.”

  “Ooh, can it have flowers stitched on it?” Eògan asked and batted his eyelashes coquettishly. “I’m partial to pink, just so ya know.”

  “Now, now, Eògan,” Cathal’s deep voice cut in chidingly. “We all know very well there’s only one arse around here tha deserves such attention.”

  “Aww nooo...” Taran groaned and covered his face.

  “Another item to thank Skye for. She’s had Taran standing for us this whole time!” Latharn declared.

  The men instantly broke into applause, catcalls, and whistles as they gave his backside a standing ovation.

  Skye laughed in amazement at the tribute and realized from Taran’s reaction that such praise must be a common occurrence.

  “Come on, lad. Give us a strut so we can feast our eyes upon the pride of Scotland,” Latharn teased.

  “Have they added it to the scenic tour yet?” Cathal asked.

  Unable to resist the opportunity to torment his brother, Ciaran stepped forward. Holding a hand to his mouth as if speaking into a microphone, he addressed the room. “And if I may direct your attention to your left, ladies and gents, you’ll see the arse tha armies followed into war... without even realizing tha’s where they were headed.”

  Impressed ‘ooh’s and ‘ah’s came in response from the crowd.

  “Yes, it’s true, folks,” he continued. “You’re gazing upon the very rump tha single-cheek-edly brought kingdoms to the ground in its wake. A noble arse, famed throughout the land for its unwavering fortitude and refusal to show its many years...”

  “Enough aboot it!” Taran pleaded.

  “Ye need nae be modest, brother,” Ailean laughed. “Skye, dae ye ken tha ye broke many a heart in this room by claiming him?”

  “And I’d nearly worn him down, too!” Eògan cried.

  The ancients seated closest to him rubbed his back sympathetically and offered handkerchiefs as he pretended to weep.

  “But then she had to come in here, all double x-chromosomes and firm feminine parts and such to draw him away!” He sobbed and crossed his arms over his chest before grinning and winking down at her.

  “Ya’d best insist he still show it off!”

  “We were to be married!”

  “What aboot me, Taran?”

  “I thought ya cared!”

  Skye cracked up and shook her head in astonishment as every ancient in the room voiced his displeasure at the loss. She stretched to kiss Taran and put an arm around his waist as she addressed the room.

  “Sorry guys, them’s the breaks,” she offered and they all groaned. “But hey, maybe I can get him into a pair of jeans as consolation.”

  Catcalls and whistles instantly filled the air again.

  “Jeans?” Taran repeated with a curled lip.

  “I think your ‘arse’ would look fantastic in jeans,” she declared and he chuckled. “Then again, I’m with everyone else on the fact that it looks great no matter what it happens to be clad in,” she mused. “And, I have to admit, bare is pretty awe-inspiring, too.”

  “I’ll make a deal with ya. I’ll wear jeans for ya the day ya start wearing dresses for me,” he challenged.

  She grimaced. “You drive a hard bargain, bub... but sorry, no deal.”

  “Well, Skye has pu
blicly praised Taran’s arse,” Latharn announced with a nod of approval. “Tha was the final prerequisite for being a part of the clan. You’re official now.”

  Ciaran rubbed his hands together greedily and looked around the group. “So we drink now, yeah? I’ve been gumming for some hard tack all day. Skye being made all official-like seems sufficient cause to celebrate, don’t ya think?”

  “The word ya meant to use was ‘excuse’, my brother, nah ‘cause’,” Drostan called as a younger faol entered and muttered something in his ear. He thanked the man as he took his leave. “The dining hall is ready for us. The others are already seated. What d’ya think, Ciaran – should I just save the servers the trouble and tell them they need only leave a glass at your place?”

  Ciaran nodded that it would probably be wise.

  Latharn shook his head, though. “I think for once in my lifetime the lad can wait till after he’s finished his meal to get blitzed,” he said in feigned disapproval.

  And now Ciaran was pouting, falling in beside his brothers as they patted him on the back and offered their condolences for his sentence of sobriety.

  32: Fangirls

  As they walked to the dining hall, Skye took the opportunity to marvel at her rapidly expanding group of companions. Less than two weeks prior, she had been completely alone in the world. She used to spend months at a time without speaking to another living being. Now, she was a part of a clan, a part of a family. These men crowding around her actually, amazingly seemed to care for her.

  Out of habit, the instincts of her former existence warned her not to trust them. They were strangers, after all. She had only known Taran for less than a week. She had only met the rest of them within the past 24 hours. She could not decide which frightened her worse, the possibility that this was all just a trick being orchestrated by the fògaraich, or that it was wholly genuine. Her new instincts – the instincts of the wolf – were certain it was the latter and that their words and actions were sincere. That knowledge was just as alarming to her as it was comforting. It made her heart ache terribly inside her chest. What if she failed them? What if she lost them all?