Darkness Descends: A Skye Faden Novel

by Alisha Ashton

  “Shut it,” Taran said with a mock scowl before turning to Skye. “And whilst I appreciate the concern, I’ve no interest in being ‘in the now’, my love. Your generation and the ones just before are taking all the magic and mystery outta the world, making it smaller, draining it of life. The curiosity of humanity is insatiable, but what happens when all the questions are answered?” He asked and shook his head. “Given the choice, I’d rather nah know everything.”

  “So ignorance is bliss, huh?” Skye asked with a smile.

  “Aye, it is,” he agreed. “There was a great deal more happiness in the world at the time of my birth than there is today.”

  “Well yeah, what’s not to be happy about? I mean, let’s not forget all those groovy plagues that kept springing up,” she teased. “Plus – bonus here – the possibility of dying from a common cold or infected cut,” she said in feigned excitement.

  “Oi, don’t knock a good plague,” Ciaran said with a smirk. “Mother Nature was just doing her part to keep the population in check. Nowadays she has to get more inventive – work up a bloody awful natural disaster or new virus in order to prevent the breeding from running rampant.”

  “And ya can laugh all ya like, but it’s true,” Taran told her. “People were kinder when they had to do for themselves, when their lives were nah spent worrying aboot money to pay for things just to survive. The people of this time can nah care for the needs of their own daily lives, do nah understand the world apart from what they see on tha damned television.”

  “Oh Chreest, nah the anti-television speech! That’s my cue,” Ciaran groaned and quickly crawled from beneath the covers to make an escape.

  “Wait, he hates TV, too?” Skye asked in disbelief. “How the hell did a Generation-Now tech-loving girl such as myself fall for a genuine frigging luddite?”

  “Perhaps ya needed someone to provide ya with a bit of balance,” Taran offered.

  “Well go on and get back to providing it,” Ciaran said as he climbed to his feet. He yawned and stretched, winking at Skye when caught her taking the opportunity to enjoy his nudity. “I’m going to take a bath so ya two lovebirds have about a half hour before I’m gonna come reclaim this section of the bed and pass out.”

  “Ya may very well be sleeping on the floor,” Taran warned as he reached out and yanked Skye across the bed to him.

  She squealed and pretended to try and get away for a moment, but grinned up at him when he pinned her.

  “Where were we? Ah, now I remember,” he said as he settled atop of her and returned to taking inventory with his wandering lips. “This part here... and this part here,” he purred as she giggled beneath him. “Aw and this deliciously ticklish part right here,” he said, spending a great deal of time on her side as she laughed and tried to wriggle free.

  37: A Broken Jaw Between Brothers

  “Ya can nah possibly still be going at it in there!” Drostan shouted as he knocked on the door. “Come on; break it up before I get the hose!”

  “Give it a rest!” Taran growled back from inside, his voice muffled as he rushed around the room looking for his and Skye’s clothes.

  Aodh stepped up beside Drostan, pointing at his wrist and back down the hall with a frown.

  “Aye, they’ll be late for sure,” Drostan agreed before pounding on the door again. “Taran, my brother – I know it’s a joyous occasion for ya to finally be taking a lover, let alone a mate, but I do promise she’ll willingly rush right back to bed with ya after the Call has been made.”

  “Ah, tae be fleeing and fanny-struck,” Ailean breathed with a smile as he and Eògan approached.

  “They’re still in there all locked-hips-and-lips then, are they?” Eògan laughed. “Oi! Taran! Ya’ve an eternity to mattress-dance with tha lass. If ya do nah hurry we’ll miss the rising of the moon!” He called through the door.

  “Shh! Wait... is she giggling again?” Drostan demanded.

  The other three men leaned closer to the door to listen in with him.

  A second later, the four of them plowed into one another clumsily in an effort to back away as the door was yanked open. They did their best to look casual, but failed miserably. There really was no way to look unaffected when you had just been barreled into by Aodh.

  Taran scowled as he backed them away from his doorway. “I think ya are all neglecting to remember tha I could, in good conscience, snap a few legs and arms knowing they’d just heal up in a few hours,” he warned impatiently. “What’s with this sudden interest in my door, anyway?”

  “Ya misunderstand. See, it’s nah your door or ya, brother,” Drostan laughed. “We’re all just trailing along after Skye, waiting to see if she’ll cause any more excitement than she already has.”

  “I think I’m all excitement-ed out,” she laughed as she stepped out beside Taran.

  “Aww, dain’t say tha, wean. Night’s still young,” Ailean teased.

  “He’s right, lass,” Eògan assured. “Give it a few hours and Ciaran will say something to get on your nerves or –”

  “Like she said,” Ciaran cut in with a sly smile as he exited the room pulling on his shirt. “She’s had her fill of excitement – least for now.”

  Ailean and Aodh both stood with mouths agape as realization swept over their features.

  Drostan held up his hands and shook his head. He had somehow, someway managed to keep quiet about how he had found the three lovebirds that morning. The cat was out of the bag now, but at least it was not of his doing.

  Eògan gasped in delight and instantly pulled Skye into a crushing hug, pretending to sob happily against her shoulder.

  “Oh tha was it! Tha was all my heart could stand! Ya fight at the drop of a hat, drink like a fish, curse like a sailor when Taran’s nah around, and are a wee minx, to boot?” He wailed as he rocked her.

  “Really?” Taran asked, arching a brow of feigned disapproval at Skye. “Just like a sailor, ya say?”

  She attempted to give him an innocent look from where she was being pinned against Eògan’s massive chest, but was unsuccessful. His pecs were like rocks and one of them was currently pressing against the side of her face.

  “I do nah think I’ve ever been prouder to call a faol part of the clan,” Eògan gushed, pretending to dab tears of joy from his eyes as he released her. “Will ya be my BFF, sister?” He teased.

  She jabbed two of her knuckles into his bicep in response.

  “Ooh, Chreest, easy with the goods,” Eògan laughed, stretching his arm to alleviate the pain that she had caused with such a seemingly light impact. “What the hell did ya do to me?” He asked as the throbbing grew steadily worse.

  “It’s called a froggy,” she told him with a laugh. “It’ll go away in a few minutes, but it’s gonna hurt like a bitch until then.”

  “And now you’re teaching me new ways to inflict pain? Taran, I’m sorry to have to tell ya this, but I think I’m in love with your mate,” he informed him as they set out down the hall.

  “Aye, ya and most the clan. S’pose I’m lucky I got to her first,” he laughed as she took her place beneath his arm and walked beside him.

  “No worries, I’d have picked you anyway. You’d already gotten to me back when I was still in the States,” she told him.

  “How’d I manage tha?” He asked and tilted his head to the side, studying her quizzically.

  “Well, when you were giving me that sweet Gaelic pillow-talk earlier...” she began and grinned as the whistles and catcalls started.

  “Ooh, Taran – ye big, tender lover!” Ailean purred.

  “Come by my room later. I want to hear some pillow-talk of my own,” Eògan added.

  In response, Taran punched him in the same place that Skye had just given him the ‘froggy’.

  “Ouch!” Eògan howled in pain. “Damn it, tha spot still really hurts! I’d have rather the wee minx stabbed me than do what she did,” he whined.

  “Go on with what ya were saying, my love. When I
was talking to ya earlier... ?” Taran pressed, curious to hear where she was going with this.

  “I was thinking about how I’d heard you saying those exact same words to me before and I realized, I never told you about my dreams. See, back when I was in the Ashers’ hospital after...” she paused and scowled over at Drostan. “... someone who shall remain nameless tried to chew off my freaking arm, I had a really weird, really long dream. I chalked most of it up to the painkillers and didn’t give it much thought,” she said with a shrug. “But the more time I spend here, the more I’m finding that I recognize most of what I saw and heard. I saw two men’s eyes – it turns out they were yours and Ciaran’s. Both of you were talking to me in a language I didn’t understand – which, of course, I now realize was Gaelic. In fact, it seems like almost all of the stuff I hear in the dreams and visions, whether it’s the woman, the man with the golden eyes, or the whispers, they’re speaking to me in your language. It’s only in English occasionally. I wish someone would tell them I don’t speak Gaelic,” she laughed.

  Her brows drew together when she realized that the men had all stopped dead in their tracks. All of them were now staring at her intensely.

  “What?” She asked.

  “She’s hearing the whispers?” Drostan demanded and turned to face Taran in disbelief. “Ya told me she had the sight. Ya did nah mention anything aboot the whispers!” He shouted angrily.

  “Likely because I did nah know she was hearing them,” Taran growled back.

  “Well, congratulations! This is a royal fooking failure if ever there’s been one,” Drostan seethed.

  “Whoa, excuse me?” Skye demanded.

  The tone that he was taking with her mate was getting her hackles up. That is a decidedly bad thing when you are smuggling around a wolf within your blood. She could not mask her confusion, though. The mood of the group had just shifted and she had no clue why.

  Drostan turned and glared at her, opening his mouth to say something undoubtedly harsh in response, but a hand was planted firmly against his sternum before he got a word out.

  “Easy, brother,” Ciaran warned in a low tone.

  His posture was suddenly rigid, his voice possessing a threatening ring that Skye never would have imagined it could carry. The entire hall seemed to still in response to the promise of violence in his gaze.

  “Don’t want to be saying anything you’re sure to regret, yeah?” Ciaran asked with a dangerous smile and, with a shove, forced Drostan back several paces. “Let’s all just settle down a bit.”

  Taran smiled in approval of Ciaran’s intervention on Skye’s behalf, as well as his advice. He took a deep breath and spoke in a calmer tone in an effort to settle this civilly.

  “Look, we did nah know –” Taran began, but was cut off before he could get any further.

  “And why exactly d’ya s’pose tha is?” Drostan snapped, focusing his rage on Taran once more. “She and I should have been speaking aboot this, trying to figure out what’s been said to her! We’ve wasted time we do nah have, brother,” he growled, somehow managing to make what had always been a term of endearment sound scathing and scornful. He scowled in disapproval and spat something in Gaelic that sounded accusatory in nature, inclining his head to Skye and then to Taran and Ciaran as he did.

  She figured he was attributing the ‘wasted time’ to the amount they had been spending in bed. But whatever was said, however bitingly it had been phrased, it did not go over well with her mate at all. She should have known it was on when Ciaran laughed cruelly and shook his head. His eyes were suddenly a cold, ice blue. He took a step back from between Drostan and Taran, holding his hands up as if to say, ‘have it your way, then. You’re on your own’.

  In the blink of an eye, Taran had pushed Skye behind Aodh and launched for Drostan. He drew back a fist and slugged him in the jaw just as quickly, landing the blow with enough force to send him staggering backward across the hall.

  Skye stared at them both in shock as she stepped out from the safety Taran had intended for her behind her giant. She took a step closer, but stopped when Aodh snagged her by the wrist. In response to her inquiring look, he shook his head solemnly; answering her questioning eyes with one word in her mind: “Brothers.”

  Well, ‘brothers’ or not, she knew from sight and sound that the hit that Taran had just landed had dislocated Drostan’s jaw and likely shattered bone. And judging by the look in his eyes, Taran was preparing to inflict a great deal more damage than that. It took all of her willpower not to get involved in the fight, not to respond to her primal instincts to defend her mate.

  Eògan, Ailean, and Ciaran rushed forward and gripped Taran’s arms, dragging him away. He had gotten his shot in for what had been said, it was time to diffuse the situation before it escalated any further.

  But Drostan was apparently too angry to call it quits. He growled as he reached up to his bleeding mouth, popping his jaw back into place without breaking stride as he rushed Taran. He retaliated with a hard right hook to the face, despite his brother’s arms being restrained.

  The instant the cheap-shot was landed, Ciaran spun on a thoroughly surprised Drostan. Evidently, he had forgotten just how quickly Ciaran reacted where Taran was concerned. Ciaran landed a brutal combo that broke Drostan’s nose and left him swaying on his feet long before he could even raise his hands to defend himself.

  At this point, a supremely displeased Aodh intervened. First, he urged Skye behind Eògan and Ailean (who were still fighting to hold Taran back). Then, he reached out and dragged Ciaran aside so that he could grip up Drostan rather roughly for his foul.

  Drostan’s arms were pinned behind his back by Aodh, his face was bleeding profusely, but he and Taran continued snapping words at one another that just sounded profane and unfriendly.

  Skye watched in amazement as the heated and extremely loud argument unfolded. All of it was spoken in the language she decided that she needed to learn in a serious freaking hurry.

  Taran and Ciaran were both apparently screaming at Drostan for his words and actions.

  Does it make me a bad person to note that both of my men are incredibly sexy when enraged, she wondered?

  Drostan was still screaming about whatever had set him off.

  Eògan and Ailean were screaming for the other three to calm down.

  Unfortunately for Skye, she could also hear the snarling inner voice of Aodh as he joined in on the debate. You would think at least that one would be in English but nooo. She was still left in the dark as to what exactly was going on.

  Sensing Miko’s presence, she turned and smirked over her shoulder at the stunned expression on his face.

  “Dude... it’s the fucking UFC Unleashed!” He declared over the screaming as he cautiously approached. “What the hell set this off?” He asked in astonishment.

  Before she could reply that she had no clue, the fight broke out again and Miko was forced to the back of the group.

  Something that Drostan had screamed at Taran must have struck a nerve with Ciaran. Without warning, he went from shouting to launching at him.

  Aodh’s eyes widened when he saw the infuriated look on Ciaran’s inbound face. He instantly released his hold of Drostan. Whether it was an effort to give the man a fighting chance, or to save himself from injury, Skye was not sure.

  Ciaran brought both of his fists across Drostan’s face at once, swinging them back the other direction furiously for a second impact. The assault earned him a right hook to the mouth, knee to the gut and elbow to the back of the head from Drostan.

  Taran snarled in outrage at the sight of Ciaran being harmed on his behalf. He began fighting against Eògan and Ailean’s vice grips like a rabid dog.

  Despite the blood that was running from his mouth (or perhaps in celebration of it), Ciaran laughed maniacally. He peeled off his shirt and smeared blood across his bare chest. He bounced on his feet, watching Drostan with crazed eyes as he circled him. He clapped excitedly, motioning for Dros
tan to come closer. He hooted and hollered what could only be demands for his brother to step up and bring whatever he had.

  Skye smiled at the sight. Ciaran fought in the style of a berserker like her. Though, she knew for him it was only a bluff. It was an effective mind-fuck that he was inflicting on his opponent. His frenzied reaction was throwing Drostan off his game, just as he intended.

  For her it had always been different. She submitted willingly to the violence inside, shed her hold over it like a skin, and loved every second of the release. Fighting was just in her blood, it seemed. The term ‘berserker’ had first entered her vocabulary at only six years of age. The father of the boy that had made the mistake of shoving her to the ground that day used the word to describe her retaliatory assault.

  The hall shook as a guttural growl erupted from Taran, effectively bringing her back from her memories.

  She spun toward him with wide eyes, worried for a second that he might transform. To her relief he did not, but she did turn just in time to see him finally breaking free of Eògan and Ailean.

  Drostan was in the middle of exchanging blows with Ciaran, playing right into his goading. He only had a fraction of a second to marvel at getting a few good hits on him before he found himself standing face to face with an awfully angry big brother.

  Taran gripped him by the shoulders and dragged him forward to give him a sweet Glasgow-kiss (a head-butt with bone-crunching force) before tackling him to the floor.

  Skye watched him intently. Taran fought in a different style entirely. For him, it was not about the pleasure of the release or toying with his opponent. He was the epitome of control, focus, and intent. His eyes saw nothing but the object of his rage, his fists connected unmercifully and precisely. Warrior. He was all about tactical advantage. In this situation, it came by pinning his brother down with his knees on his wrists, leaving his hands free to deliver blows as his weight did most of the work of trapping Drostan.

  After enduring a savage beating, Drostan finally managed to drag himself free. With all of his might, he scrambled on top of Taran and drew back a fist. He never got the chance to throw the punch.