Darkness Descends: A Skye Faden Novel

by Alisha Ashton

  Taran, her... mate (that was going to take a while to get used to), was walking by her side. He moved so comfortably with her that it seemed as if he had always been there. She surprised him by seeking out his hand and intertwining their fingers, drawing reassurance from his touch in a moment of insecurity. He smiled down at her warmly and gave her hand a squeeze of appreciation for the gesture.

  Ciaran, her... dark one (whatever the hell that title entailed), was in front of her. He was walking backward so that he could look her in the eyes as he happily chattered away. One of those beautiful smiles was set on his lips. He barely paused to take a breath as he joked with her and regaled her with tales of his brothers’ most embarrassing moments.

  Drostan, her... Maker (the memory of the bite was still too fresh for that to be an honor), was behind her, laughing and calling for someone to silence Ciaran’s motor-mouth.

  Ailean, her... clansman (or was it brother? Friend, perhaps?), rushed forward. While the others laughed, he tackled Ciaran and tossed him over one of his shoulders. Skye was wholly unsure of what Ailean was supposed to be to her, but one thing was perfectly clear: he was the immortal that had looked after Elijah. He was the one that had kept safe the only family she had left from her mortal life. For that, he had her eternal (literally now, huh?) gratitude.

  Eògan and Aodh (more brothers?) stepped around her to assist Ailean in the near-impossible task of restraining Ciaran. It was heartwarming to watch them all interact. They dropped their guards with one another. They abandoned the ancient air of authority which was expected of them. Unlike their behavior with younger pack members, the ancients treated one another as equals. Average pups never saw this side of them, Skye realized. She was grateful that they were making an exception and allowing her to share in these moments.

  Latharn, the leader of the clan (and, according to her wolf, the ‘first bitten’), was at her other side. A warm smile was on his lips, all but hidden away beneath his white beard. Unlike the rest, he never seemed to shed the air of timelessness that surrounded him. The looks he gave her when she shyly glanced over at him made her feel hopelessly young. It was obvious that he saw her as a child, but not in a demeaning way. He respected her, yet wished to protect and teach her. It awed her to note that he looked at all of the others in the same fashion. All of the men surrounding her, all over 4,000 years old, were children in his eyes. He had no equal in the clan. Latharn was the patriarch. She smiled up at him when he reached over and tugged on her braid good-naturedly.

  With her ever-expanding group, she entered a dining hall that was quite possibly a mile long and already packed with men. It was one of the thousands of rooms that she had never entered before. For the first time, she noted the presence of staff beyond Christie. In all directions, strangers... mortals... were busily carving meat and pouring wine. She wondered where they had all been hiding. Taking in the impressive feast laid out across the hundreds of tables, her brows drew together. She had not seen any of this being prepared in the kitchen and knew for sure that she should have at least smelled it if it was cooked in a different part of the castle.

  “It’s magic, a stóirín,” Ciaran teased close to her ear.

  She turned and looked at him incredulously.

  “All right, fine,” he groaned in feigned disappointment. “It’s catering – but magic just sounds so much better, yeah?”

  Latharn pulled out her chair for her and though she typically considered such gestures to be ridiculous and insulting, she smiled and thanked him. Taran and Ciaran took their places on either side of her, while Latharn sat across from her with Drostan and Ailean at his sides. Surveying her surroundings and noting the distance this table sat away from the others, she realized two things: A) she was at the grownup table and B) the positioning of said table was intended for private conversation. Grownup table for grownup talk – it was about damned time.

  The staff did not flutter around this table as they did the others. They only approached when Latharn raised his hand to request their presence. After the drinks were poured and food was covering their plates, the servers kept well away.

  Skye took the opportunity to start asking some questions. In her mind, she promptly pulled out the ‘WTF’ notebook. She knew from Taran’s reluctance to answer most things that she would not get very far in her attempt, but wanted to test the waters anyway.

  “So, Drostan,” she began casually, arching a brow at him as he placed a forkful of meat in his mouth. “Since you’re chewing on something other than my shoulder tonight...”

  Drostan nearly choked on the bite he had just taken.

  “How about a little explanation?” She continued. “I mean, I know you’re not from the States, but I gotta tell you, it’s sorta customary there for a guy to engage a girl in small talk and buy her a drink before mounting her and sinking his teeth into parts of her anatomy.”

  She suppressed a laugh at the conflicting reactions of the men at her sides. Taran gave her a pleading look on Drostan’s behalf. Ciaran, however, squeezed her hand under the table to discretely express his amusement.

  Across from her, Latharn hid his smile behind his glass and watched the exchange with interest.

  Finally finishing his coughing fit, Drostan nodded and cleared his throat.

  “S’pose tha’s a reasonable request,” he wheezed. “Well... there are a great many things I can nah tell ya, as I’m sure Taran’s explained.”

  Skye rolled her eyes and cut in. “Yeah, yeah – secrets, honor, not your place to tell me, blah, blah and more blah – I got it. Just give me the cliff-notes, k?”

  Latharn grinned over at her. “Nah the type to suffer long-windedness, I see. Go on then, Drostan. Give the girl the edited short and sweet.”

  Drostan nodded, but had a hard time figuring out how to start. He had to avoid the entire reason she had been chosen, as well as why he had been following her in the first place. “All right, what I can tell ya is tha it was my only option. The fògaraich ya fought in tha club were nah the only ones ya were to face tha night. I caught wind of an order tha had been handed down. By sunrise, and by any means necessary, ya were to be one of their kind. They did nah count on my presence and ability to grant ya a second option. It was the only way I could guarantee your safety from being taken by them.”

  Skye crossed her arms over her chest and gave him an unimpressed look as she leaned back in her chair. “You were watching me so you must have heard my reputation at some point. I can’t even tell you how many times vamps threatened to make me one of ‘their kind’ or dead by sunrise over the years. I’d been fine before that, why’d you jump in and make with the teeth?”

  He locked eyes with her, resting his arms on the table and speaking gravely. “Because, my dear sister, the order had nah been given by the leader of a single coven... it had come from the very top.”

  “The ‘very top’?” She scoffed. “Since when is the fang-gang organized? I mean hell, covens barely last more than a few years before they turn on each other. You’re telling me they actually have someone who calls the shots over all of them? And they listen?”

  “Aye, my love,” Taran said softly.

  She turned to find his brutally handsome features tensed with concern.

  “What ya’ve seen of the fògaraich are but children,” he warned. “Nah only in age, but in strength as well. Their ancients are rarely ever seen, but believe me when I tell ya, they are something altogether different. The first of their kind is worst of all. He’s nah one to be trifled with, ya must realize tha. It is within his ability to command the entire race in whatever task he requires.”

  Skye tried not to let her alarm show at his words. Considering what the ‘children’ of the fògaraich had done to her and her family, she could only imagine what the first of their kind would be like.

  “Ah,” she finally breathed. Despite her outward appearance of unaffectedness, her pulse raced. “So... I’ve finally reached the status of vampires’ most wanted?”
>
  “Tha ya have,” Drostan told her with a solemn nod.

  “Huh,” she said, leaning forward and taking several gulps from her wine out of habit.

  Unpleasant thoughts + alcohol = no longer give a fuck. It was an equation that she had come to rely heavily upon over the years. As she placed the glass back on the table, she smiled over at Ciaran. He had been kicking her foot in silent protest that she was not waiting to drink with him.

  “But ya are part of our clan now, child,” Latharn assured her. “Any attempts to harm ya will invoke the wrath of all our kind.”

  This would usually be the part where she would shrug it off, act like she was not the least bit concerned. Unfortunately, it would be pointless. She knew that they could all sense her fear.

  “The ‘peace’ between the races will be broken if they draw first blood,” she said softly to herself.

  Latharn sighed and shook his head. He had not intended to lead her to this train of thought.

  “What happens if they kill me?” She asked curiously.

  The instant the question fell from her lips, she regretted voicing it. Both Taran and Ciaran shot her wounded looks in response. She had not realized how those words would affect them. It needed to be asked, though. She steeled herself and tried to keep her eyes locked with Latharn’s as much as possible.

  “Just... hear me out,” she urged, holding a hand up imploringly as she leaned forward. “What if that’s how this war starts? What if that’s how I ‘end the peace’? I mean, given what I’ve heard, it seems possible that my purpose might be to die – to give the clan a reason to kill off the fògaraich once and for all.”

  Conversation ceased for a long moment after that.

  Skye refused to look over at Taran as he clasped her hand tightly in his. She was afraid of the pain that she would find in his eyes. This subject was not one he wanted to address.

  Latharn was the one to finally break the tense silence.

  “What are your thoughts on tha possibility?” He asked quietly.

  “And now you’re answering questions with questions,” she muttered. “Honestly, I’ve already made this choice. My answer is still the same. As long as my dying means that the fògaraich die, too, I’m fine with it. The more the merrier. If killing me will earn gruesome deaths for the whole lot of them, I’m tempted to hand myself over for an execution tonight,” she answered calmly as she took a drink from her glass.

  “It will nah come to tha,” Taran declared determinedly as his grip on her hand tightened severely.

  She finally worked up the nerve to look over at him as she lowered the glass from her lips. She was not used to having someone around that cared whether she lived or died, having to mind her words about death for fear they might cause pain in others. Not that she particularly wanted to die, mind you. In fact, she rather liked the notion of spending an insanely happy immortal life with Taran and Ciaran and the rest of her new companions. She simply found it to be a logical possibility to address. In her eyes, she was expendable in the grand scheme of things. Her mortal life had been destroyed, that ship had long-since sailed... but others had not. There were children out there starting lives full of promise and love, lives never tainted by violence and terror. Her thoughts wandered back to Franco – the frightened but friendly night manager of that shitty motel in NYC. What about the little ones he was risking his life in order to feed? Three boys and possibly a little girl on the way. Those children could have the life that she and her brothers had lost, the years of peace and happiness that had been ripped from their grasp. If she could prevent them from suffering her fate, she would eagerly do so.

  Taran’s eyes burned into hers intensely. His brows were drawn together as he studied her. He did not want to so much as consider the possibility of losing her, she realized. Unfortunately, she could recall in perfect clarity Ciaran’s whispered words from her vision: ‘I’ll nah have ya dying without me.’ A time was approaching where she would have to face the likelihood of death. She could not bring herself to tell Taran that he would not be the one standing beside her for it. She took a deep breath and forced a weak smile for him before changing the subject for his sake.

  “My wolf said that Drostan’s actions prevented the fògaraich from ‘gaining an ally that would have meant defeat’ for all Tàcharain Fhaol. She was talking about me. Anyone care to elaborate?” She looked around at the motionless mouths and sighed. “Don’t all speak at once now,” she muttered sarcastically. “Fine, that’s off limits, but I can always talk to myself about it.”

  Taran shook his head and smiled at her as he ran a hand over her hair. He hoped for the others’ sakes that she did not trick them into saying more than they intended as she had nearly done with him.

  “So, turning me into a fògarach would have meant they’d be able to beat you guys. That tells me that for some unknown reason I’d be stronger than your average bloodsucker, just like I apparently make an exceptional faol. Since none of you are gonna tell me why that is, I’ll just move along. First item of concern, there was some big war between the faoil and the fògaraich way back in the day, but for some reason you all just ignore them now,” she mused.

  “We do nah ‘ignore’ them,” Latharn said with a smirk.

  The others all looked over at him expectantly. He would decide what was safe to say.

  “Why d’ya think we’re spread so far and wide?” He posed, intentionally steering her train of thought. She seemed quite capable of talking herself through things she did not understand.

  Skye grinned victoriously that he was playing along. “Okay... so you don’t ignore them and are set up across the globe.”

  Her wolf provided the assist here, replaying something she had heard earlier in perfect clarity in her mind.

  “Miko said Drostan ‘seems to keep an eye on the vamps over in the States’.” She nodded in understanding. “You guys are tracking their movements, keeping tabs on them. But that still doesn’t explain why my wolf said that my being here would end the peace between the races... or why the fighting was ever called off in the first place.” She frowned and looked around the table. “I don’t get it, you guys all hate them. You could kill them off no problem if you banded together. What gives?” She asked, but knew she would not receive a response.

  “Tha’s the question, now isn’t it?” Latharn said with a sly smile. “But ya said it yourself, the peace will end soon. I s’pose tha means we’ll finally be getting the chance to make our feelings known again. What d’ya think of tha, lads?”

  They cheered, raising their glasses and drinking a toast.

  “There’s a man in white furs with golden eyes that talks to me in my dreams,” Skye announced, smirking when all of them sputtered on their wine and looked over at her in astonishment. “Hey, what d’ya know, we’re right back on topic again,” she observed.

  Latharn struggled to sound casual. “And this... man... tha ya see... what does he say to ya?”

  Skye shrugged as if it was no big deal, taking a bite of her food and enjoying the fact that for once they were all holding their breath waiting for her to tell something.

  After dragging it out for a moment, she finally answered. “It seems like I never hear him say complete sentences. But let’s see... today he told me that they had, ‘lost all hope until now’. Oh, and there’s this woman who hums and talks to me all the time, too. She says she’s ‘sensed’ me and wants me to ‘return’ to her. Wait a minute.” Her brows drew together as another sentence replayed in her mind. “Earlier my wolf told you that the fògaraich were ‘desperate to prevent the Return’.” When she looked up at the stunned faces around her, she rolled her eyes. “Secrets?”

  “Secrets,” they all agreed in unison.

  “Bull is more like it,” she grumbled.

  Latharn laughed and decided a change of subject was in order. Skye was entirely too skilled at this game. “So, I hear ya put a beating to Donnach earlier. What was tha aboot?”

  “He wa
s being a –” she began without hesitation, but somehow managed to stop herself. Her mind filled in that blank with a considerable amount of colorful, graphically descriptive, and profane terms. Her eyes darted over to Taran, finding a knowing smile on his lips. “He was out of line,” she amended. “I simply helped put him back in his place.”

  Taran smirked and nodded his approval of her restraint.

  “Oh? I hear it was over the Asher lad,” Latharn commented.

  Skye winced, wishing that was not common knowledge.

  “What can I say? I guess he’s grown on me,” she confessed.

  “And the rest of ya? What are your thoughts on the whelp?” Latharn asked nonchalantly, but the ancients at the table all knew the real reason for his question.

  “Well, I’ve nah had enough time to get to know him properly, but he’s good in my book,” Ciaran offered. “He’s got a great attitude, doesn’t strike me as the type to compromise.”

  Drostan nodded. “Decent fella. I like him. The only reason he interrupted me when I bit Skye was because he thought he was saving her life. Awfully tenacious, I’ll give him tha much. He just did nah give up. Unlike his associates, he kept well out of my reach, was the only one of the bunch smart enough to know how to take me down.”

  Latharn frowned, casting Taran a meaningful look for not sharing that bit of information. “He interrupted ya at the time of Skye’s Making?”

  “Umm... well... aye,” Drostan finally agreed reluctantly and winced that he had unintentionally let the cat out of the bag. “But from his perspective, it would have seemed the only way to aid her. Skye and the Ashers were all fighting the fògaraich when I gave her the bite. For all he knew, I meant her harm.”

  Latharn scoffed at the absurdity of anyone perceiving Drostan as a threat to innocent lives, but he kept silent, realizing Miko’s concerns.

  “He was wrong, of course, but when he thought tha I was trying to hurt her, he handled me accordingly,” Drostan continued. “He’s a mere mortal – just over 20 years of age – but still, he bested me. Tha’s saying a lot. I had to leave Skye to the care of the Ashers due to his determination alone. Had I nah retreated when I did, he’d have kept firing till I was a walking sieve. It took me days to recover from what he did in her defense. And for tha? I respect the wee bugger. Took a great deal of heart and courage to do what he did. Taran, my brother – you’ve known him longer than the rest of us – what d’ya think?”