Darkness Descends: A Skye Faden Novel

by Alisha Ashton

  Boston, she noted instantly of his accent.

  At the mention of Brandubh’s name, however, Skye visibly flinched.

  “He told me, ‘if you want to lure the bitch from her den, Tony, then you’ve got to go for the pup’. And what d’ya know?” The leader – Tony, apparently – said as he took a step toward her. “The stupid bitch played right into my hands.”

  Skye’s eyes widened.

  Unfortunately, realization hit at the same time as the sedative dart in her neck.

  41: Rise!

  Taran smiled and sighed contentedly at the warmth of the body beside him in the bed. He opened his eyes slowly, expecting to be greeted by the face of his beautiful Skye.

  Instead, he instantly recoiled from the deeply disturbing sight of Ciaran curled up, sound asleep in front of him.

  With a cry of disgust, he shoved the sleeping man away.

  Ciaran yelped and fell to the floor with a resounding thud.

  “Owww!” He whined from the darkness beside the bed.

  “Serves ya right, ya dirty bastard,” Taran called and cringed wondering how long he had unwittingly been cuddling the little bed-hog.

  Sitting up, he looked around his room curiously, searching for any sign of Skye. Gazing out his window at the moon, he gauged that it had only been a few hours since the three of them had fallen asleep. He frowned at that, finding it odd that in her exhausted state, she would willingly leave her beloved sanctuary between them.

  Ciaran struggled to recall what had led to his current position of sprawling on the carpet.

  “All right, what was tha for?” He finally groaned and dragged himself back up onto the bed by fistfuls of the blankets. His brows drew together in confusion when he found only the face of his brother staring back at him. “Hey... where’d the little Misses run off to?” He asked, sniffing in search of her scent.

  “I do nah know, was aboot to ask ya the same,” Taran grumbled as he climbed to his feet. He pushed his senses outward, trying to find her presence in the surrounding area, but came up with nothing. “Well, get up off your arse and help me look! The last time she ran off, she cost me a car and shut down a major city.”

  Ciaran rolled back off the bed grudgingly, pulling on his pants and groggily trailing along after Taran out the door.

  “Shite!” He howled a second later and smacked the side of his neck.

  “What are ya bleating aboot now?” Taran asked impatiently.

  “I think something just bit me!” Ciaran insisted, pulling his fingers away from his neck and checking for blood.

  His eyes rolled closed as it hit him.

  Skye.

  She was frightened.

  She was in danger.

  Skye removed the dart from her neck quickly and tossed it aside. The full dose had not been given the chance to pump into her bloodstream, but she could already feel the drugs taking their toll. Her eyes locked with Miko’s intensely. With every bit of strength she could muster, she willed one word to his mind:

  SCREAM.

  He immediately drew a breath, preparing to do just that, but one of the men clamped a hand over his mouth and wrenched his arm upward until it snapped the bone.

  Skye refused to let her fear reach her scent as Miko shrieked in pain against the faol’s powerful hand. She refused to allow them to perceive how terrified she truly was for his safety.

  “Try to get away, try to scream, and I promise I’ll get more inventive in what I break,” the faol growled into Miko’s ear.

  “You all lower yourselves... to deal with the fògaraich?” Skye managed in disgust as the drugs began to take her. “You disgrace your kind?”

  Her eyelids were growing impossibly heavy. She reached out for the wall, leaning against it for support as the hallway seemed to tilt in her perception.

  “Fuck ‘my kind’,” Tony spat as he watched her slide down the wall to the floor. “But soon enough, it’ll just be ‘fuck you’,” he taunted.

  Miko watched in blind panic as Skye lost consciousness. He was still screaming against the hand that muffled his cries, unable to believe that this was really happening.

  Ailean is close by, he realized.

  With all of his strength, Miko threw his head backward against the face of his captor. It did not serve to free him from the faol’s crushing grip, but that was not his aim.

  The man cried out sharply. Sound.

  Blood gushed from his severely broken nose. Scent.

  He stumbled backward, crashing into a painting on the wall, and cracking the frame. Sight.

  Miko was leaving a trail of breadcrumbs. During their drinking binge, Ailean had boasted about his sense of smell. His brothers agreed that he was gifted beyond them not only in scent, but in all senses. There was no better tracker in all the clan.

  Tony tossed Skye over his shoulder and glared over at his bleeding follower.

  “Stuff a fucking cork in that geyser before we go, would ya?” He spat angrily. “And spray everything down with that bleach shit. I don’t want anybody to smell a thing, got it?”

  “What do we do with the whelp?” One of the others asked.

  Tony stared at the one that had posed the question in stunned disbelief.

  “We leave him here with a great big fucking sign that says, ‘please raise the alarms - someone kidnapped the bitch’,” he whispered in outrage. “What do you think we do with him? We bring him with us, douche bag! And keep him quiet, would you? We still have to get her out of here.”

  Taran had no idea what Ciaran had experienced. He had no clue how it was possible for his brother to be so certain that Skye was being harmed. Those unanswered questions were the least of his worries in that moment.

  “Spread out. Search every hall, every room. I want her found now!” Taran commanded as faoil raced in all directions. “And someone fetch me Ailean and Miko!”

  He and Ciaran tore through the hallways, desperately seeking a hint of Skye’s scent.

  “Ailean’s this way!” Cathal shouted, and just as quickly as they made a b-line for him, he rushed toward them.

  Unfortunately, Ailean was too alarmed by his own dilemma to be understood in English. He knew damned well that he would not be able to convey himself properly and instead fell back on Gaelic.

  “I was just with Miko, not five minutes ago!” He called frantically. “He said he was going to use the bathroom, but by the time I came looking, he was gone. Great Mother help him, I just caught the scent of his blood. What’s happened to him? Is he all right?”

  “We’re nah looking for Miko. We’re looking for Skye. She’s gone missing,” Taran growled.

  “And what else d’ya s’pose would bring Skye outta bed in the middle of the night?” Ciaran posed impatiently. “Show us where ya caught his damned scent!”

  The men rushed into the hall with a mob following along after them.

  Taran ordered everyone else to stand back as Ailean ventured ahead.

  Ailean’s senses had never told a lie in his immortal life. He knew the hall smelled like cleaning spray to the others, but he was not fooled by the pungent, acrid aroma. Beneath it, there was a strong undercurrent of blood. He closed his eyes and followed the scents, tracking what had taken place by scent alone.

  “Skye was here,” he declared before crouching and running his hand blindly along the stone floor. “Several others... all faoil... all young. They were attacking Miko. This spot here was wiped down, but his blood was spattered on the stone. I can still feel the warmth.”

  His brows drew together in surprise as he studied the intermingled scents.

  “There is blood from one of the pups here, as well... and quite a lot of it,” he informed them. “Good for Miko. Mortal or not, it seems as though the whelp did not go down without a fight.”

  He stood and retraced the steps of the unknown members of the group, running his fingers along a crack in the frame of a painting before finding Skye’s faint scent and locking onto it.

  As Ta
ran and Ciaran watched with bated breath, Ailean winced and leaned against the wall, following her scent down to the floor.

  His eyes opened and he stared up at them in blind panic.

  “She is down, brothers. Someone has taken her somehow. They did not make her bleed more than a drop, but somehow they overpowered her.”

  “They drugged her,” Ciaran growled, rubbing the place on his neck where he had felt the sting.

  “Call the gatehouse, see if anyone’s left the grounds in the past ten minutes,” Taran barked at Eògan the instant he stepped into the hall.

  Having missed the explanation for what the fuss was about, Eògan was completely in the dark. The look on the faces of Taran, Ciaran, and Ailean told him quite clearly that they needed an answer like yesterday.

  A moment later, he was breaking what must be awful news.

  “A few pups went out – took an SUV and damned near mowed down the ones posted at the gate. What’s happened?” He asked fearfully.

  In an instant, more emotion passed over Taran’s features than he had experienced in an eternity. He could only manage one word in response as he came to terms with this.

  “Skye...” he whispered.

  Eògan’s jaw dropped open in disbelief. “Someone’s harmed her?”

  “They’ve taken her,” Ciaran choked out as he looked over to Taran.

  Taran’s tearful eyes conveyed fear and outrage and devastation and, at last, sheer determination. He turned and charged for the main hall, bursting through the doors with his brothers following close behind.

  “A Thàcharana Fhaoil! M’ òigridh! Mo dhearbh bhràithrean! Mo chinneadh chòir! Éiribh! Bithibh air mhire-chatha!” He bellowed. As his voice echoed throughout the castle, the weight of his words settled heavily upon his shoulders. He had ordered of his clansmen, “My children! My brothers! My honest kindred! Rise! Rage ye for battle!”

  It had been call to arms – a declaration of war.

  Those words had not left his lips in more than 4,000 years.

  His eyes shifted to those of his wolf, golden as they surveyed his surroundings. He listened intently to the sound of thousands of men hurriedly climbing from their beds.

  From all sides, faoil raced to him seeking commands.

  “Skye has been stolen away from us – away from me – and it was done by our own kind,” he snarled.

  His enraged eyes passed over the faces of his clansmen as shocked murmurs rippled throughout the crowd.

  “The ones responsible... are mine,” he ground out through clenched teeth.

  The thirst for violence in his gaze was enough to send chills up even his brothers’ spines.

  “GO! We bring her home by any means necessary,” he screamed...

  But it was then that a low hum began in the distance.

  Skye fought to open her eyes, swearing in her mind the entire time that she was going to shove that tranquilizer gun up the ass of the one that had shot her. She struggled to focus on the face staring back at her, and was immeasurably relieved to find herself gazing into Miko’s worried brown eyes.

  He was beaten, gagged, and restrained by the faol sitting behind him, but still very much alive.

  As she had before, she willed him to understand her:

  Stay quiet. I’ll get us out of this.

  Miko’s face twisted in bewilderment as her words rang out clearly in his mind again. By a miracle, he managed to stay silent – despite the startled ‘what the fuck?!’ that attempted to tumble from his gagged mouth. The first time, he had convinced himself it was a fluke. I mean, ‘SCREAM’ was a pretty clear thought that could have come from his own mind, right? But this time, it was different. He had heard Skye’s voice in his head speaking calm, coherent words.

  Cautiously, Skye tried to gauge the positions of their captors in the vehicle around them.

  The back seats of the SUV had been laid flat. Three of the five men were sitting up front, leaving her, Tony, Miko, and his captor to fill the remaining space of the interior.

  Her gut twisted as she noted how closely Miko and the faol that held him were seated to the front. Apparently, Tony wanted ample room in the back with her.

  She cried out when he gripped her by the hair and yanked her head backward.

  “Look who’s finally up,” Tony growled in her ear. “Thought you were gonna make me wait to properly introduce myself.”

  “Fuck you,” she snarled back at him. “I don’t care who you are. Faol or not, you’re just another licker.”

  “You’re gonna wish you hadn’t said that, bitch,” he promised and motioned to the man holding Miko.

  His follower quickly pressed a taloned finger to Miko’s throat.

  Skye’s eyes widened in outrage at the sight. She growled so fiercely in response to the threat that it made Miko’s bones ache.

  “Kill him and I’ll stop playing nice,” Skye warned. “The only reason that I’m not shredding this entire fucking car and every traitorous bastard in it is because he’d die in the fight. Keep that in mind, brathadair.”

  The men laughed at that and Tony nodded his agreement.

  “All right, but you’d better start playing real nice if you want him to keep all of his pieces. What do you think – could he live without his eyes?” He asked and grinned when his follower pressed a talon to Miko’s eyelid.

  Skye’s muscles tightened painfully at that and, with her teeth gritted, she remained perfectly still.

  Her mind should have been in chaos in that moment. She should have been furious that she had known it would all eventually fall apart. She should have been cursing Taran for all the promises he had made to keep her safe. She should have been rationalizing that all of her fighting, the years she had spent in solitude, had been the best course of action. She should have been bitter that the first time she let herself soften and enjoy life, she wound up right back in this situation again.

  But the heartbreaking truth was that her mind was entirely silent. After enduring more than nine years of rape and torture, she was deadened to it now. With the practiced ease of a woman subjected to this form of assault a thousand times before, she closed her eyes and shut down her mind. She blocked out the world as Tony’s hands began wandering greedily over her body.

  It had come softly at first, but the hum grew quickly and steadily in intensity. And with each decibel it rose, the eyes of the ancients grew wider.

  “It can nah be,” Eògan whispered as everyone turned and gazed out the open front doors.

  There, along the perimeter wall in the distance, all of the carved runes were beginning to glow. The white light that emanated from them grew brighter, each shining a warning of danger.

  With the magic triggered, the ground began to tremble.

  “What does it mean?” Elijah asked worriedly as he rushed to his Maker’s side.

  “War is upon us,” Eògan breathed in awe before taking a deep breath and smiling dangerously. “It’s aboot fooking time.”

  “The banished ones have crossed the threshold,” Ailean whispered in Gaelic.

  “What? Now? There are fògaraich coming?” Elijah asked frantically and cut to the front of the group. He stared out at the glowing runes in horror. “But we can’t fight them now! We have to get to Skye!”

  “Silence, pup!” Ailean snarled, but his anger was not with Elijah – it was with the repercussions of what was coming to pass. His sympathetic eyes wandered to Taran’s grief-stricken face. Devastation was written in his brother’s very features.

  Taran was Guardian. Once the magic of old was in play, Taran was bound to this castle, to this land and its defense. He would not be able to go to Skye until every trespassing fògaraich was put down. Judging by the dizzying sensations their overwhelming numbers were inflicting, that could take all night.

  “Orders, Lord Taran?” One of the elders asked anxiously.

  “Divide forces,” Taran ground out in a chillingly calm tone. “Half remain with me to defend the lands or our Maker. Ha
lf of ya go and bring me Skye. Kill every Goddess-forsaken creature ya find along the way. I do nah care if ya have to transform in the heart of the city. I want her with me NOW,” he snarled as his eyes locked on Cathal. “Go to Latharn, keep him safe. As soon as ya get the opportunity, take him to Faolan. Ailean, ya will be my second in this. We need to clear a path for those leaving. They’ll be taking vehicles to make up for lost time.”

  “Ailean might be staying with you, but I am going after Skye,” Elijah declared, looking up at Taran determinedly. “You know damned well that I don’t mean you any disrespect, but I just can’t do this again, Lord Taran,” he insisted. “I can’t sit around not knowing whether or not she’s okay. I need to be with the ones going out there to get her.”

  Taran took a deep breath and nodded. Elijah’s loyalty to Skye rivaled his own. He knew the pup would do everything in his power to protect her.

  “Show the ones responsible no mercy, whelp... but bring them to me alive,” he ordered with his eyes burning into Elijah’s.

  “You have my word, Lord Taran,” Elijah assured.

  Ailean struggled to mask his alarm at being separated from his pup. He clasped Elijah’s forearm as they said their goodbyes. “I’ve no other to match you in my pack. Be safe, wean, but give them hell.”

  Beside them, Ciaran approached Taran to speak quietly. He gripped Taran’s shoulder as the two men locked gazes.

  “I’ll bring her back safe, brother. I would give me life to protect her, I swear it to ya,” he told him sincerely.

  “I know. It’s for tha very reason I would rather trust her protection to no other,” Taran said with a weak smile and leaned closer to him.

  Pressing his forehead to Ciaran’s, he gripped the back of his brother’s head and closed his eyes. It twisted his insides, knowing that Ciaran was off to fight without him – off to do what he should be doing himself.

  “May the Great Mother watch over ya in this, brother,” he whispered before opening his eyes and clearing his throat. Blinking back tears, he urged, “Go on now, keep my love safe.”