Darkness Descends: A Skye Faden Novel

by Alisha Ashton

  Ciaran stopped mid-step glanced over his shoulder in surprise. Pups were not permitted to question the orders of an ancient.

  “Great Mother, grant us the strength, patience, and wisdom to train this latest generation,” Eògan muttered as he held his hands out and cast a pleading look skyward.

  “Forgive me for speaking out of turn, Lord Ciaran,” Elijah continued as he took a cautious step closer. “It’s just... well, if anything happens to you out there... I don’t want to be the one explaining to Skye that we let you wander off alone,” he offered and shifted nervously under the chastising glares of the other ancients.

  Despite his worry for Skye, Ciaran smirked.

  “I’d say tha’s a valid concern,” he granted. “But tell me – are ya familiar enough with your gift to gauge the strength of the wolves within your brothers?”

  Elijah nodded. “Yes, sir. I am.”

  “Then what of mine?” Ciaran challenged with a smile and held his arms out at his sides. “Go on and take a gander. Tell me what ya sense.”

  After narrowing his gaze on Ciaran for several seconds, Elijah frowned.

  “Nothing,” he answered in bewilderment. “I can’t sense you at all.”

  “Neither can the fògaraich,” Ciaran assured with a wink. “It’s for this reason tha I’ll be going alone. As long as I stay downwind of them, they’ll never be the wiser. If I were to take a group of ya along, ya would draw their notice before we got within a hundred yards.”

  “But... why can’t I sense you?” Elijah asked.

  “I’ve no idea, bud,” Ciaran admitted with a shrug. “Nah tha I mind, but it’s been tha way since my Making. Some of us are just blessed differently.”

  “We’ve always figured it best nah to look a gift horse in the mouth,” Drostan said with a smirk.

  “And he’s ever up to the task of playing bait or sentry,” Eògan added. “His particular gift has worked greatly to our advantage.”

  “This is nah our first time hunting the fògaraich in these lands,” Ciaran assured and gave Elijah’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. He leaned in closer, speaking to him in a private tone, “And do nah worry, I’ll nah give ya any bad news to be breaking to Skye,” he gave him a meaningful look as he pulled away, hoping to quell his concerns.

  Elijah nodded and forced a weak smile. He knew that Ciaran was someone that Skye had bonded with, someone special to her. After all that she had lost, he was anxious at the idea of Ciaran going off alone into a dangerous situation. Unfortunately, his worry would not be enough to keep the ancient from putting himself in harm’s way. All he could do was watch as Ciaran turned and jogged into the forest.

  The moment Ciaran broke the tree line, he shed his clothing and transformed. There was a goodly distance to cover and four legs allowed for greater speeds than did two. He caught scent of the creatures on the wind almost instantly.

  Why are they here, he wondered? Why would this force risk coming so close to the castle, only to break off from the rest and halt their approach?

  Racing through the heavily wooded hills, he tried to reconnect with Skye.

  All he found was blackness.

  He prayed that it was not for the reason he feared.

  He bounded up the side of a cliff, pulling himself up to its top before shifting back to human form. The stench of the fògaraich was thick in the air. Crawling to the edge of a protruding rock, he peered down at the road.

  “What in the world... ?” He whispered in astonishment when he focused on the scene below.

  He had been expecting a large coven to have stayed behind the main force, 50 or 60 of the undead abominations at most. That type of threat could be put down quickly and quietly, without attracting the attention of mortals. Instead, the road was all but blotted from view by their numbers. His eyes beheld many thousands of the fògaraich.

  This was unlike the usual mindless attack – unlike what he knew was going on back at the castle in that very moment. This group had been instructed to stay in place. They could only be waiting for further instruction from...

  “Brandubh,” Ciaran breathed in panic. He recoiled from the scene reflexively, his eyes widening as he realized how bad things had suddenly become. “Ya’ve got to be kidding me!” He mouthed.

  His body was tense as he leaned further out on the ledge, trying to get a better look. If Brandubh was here, they were all as good as dead. The only way he would be able to protect Skye – as he had sworn to – would be to get her as far away as possible.

  But first came the task of finding her.

  He shook his head watching the swarm of fògaraich. Their screeches sent chills down his spine. He knew those calls – they were in a frenzy down there over something.

  “I’m coming for ya, a stóirín,” he whispered into the night. He closed his eyes for a moment, saying a silent prayer for her and kissing the silver charm he wore around his neck. “But ya sure do know how to land yourself right smack the middle of a cluster-fuck,” he added with a smile as he opened his eyes.

  His brows drew together when he studied the movements of the swarm below. They were all converged on one location. As tightly as they surrounded it, he was unable to see the cause. He had an idea of what it must be, though. Skye was in that area – along with Miko.

  So, why are the fògaraich not moving in to kill them both, he wondered?

  They seemed to be waiting for something. What that might be, Ciaran could only guess from this distance.

  He frowned atop his perch. None of it made sense. The fògaraich were not acting like the well-oiled, methodical killing machine that he recalled from the first war. Thick forests lie to either side of this road. Venturing within the trees would be death for any blood-drinker. Their decision to fight at this location could only have been spur of the moment, he realized. Even with their overwhelming numbers, going after Skye here had left them at a terrible disadvantage.

  Ciaran took a small measure of comfort in that. Their behavior told him something important – the fògaraich were desperate.

  43: Father of the Forsaken

  The castle grounds were blotted out by the raging battle now. The numbers of the fògaraich and faoil were so great that they were nearly shoulder to shoulder with one another. The stench of death was overpowering. In all directions, the telltale shrieks and flashes marking the fògaraich’s final deaths rang out.

  Despite the frenzied congestion of the battle, despite the rapidly decaying corpses of the fògaraich which were underfoot at nearly every step, Taran barely broke his steady, determined stride. With practiced ease, he led a phalanx of men directly through the heart of their enemies’ force, dividing them in half. He fought as he had been born to. No mercy, no hesitation. Blood covered his bare chest and arms as he tore through the ranks of the fògaraich.

  Ailean was still fighting at his side, though he was now transformed and towering above him. He, like the thousands of others currently fighting in the same form, was the living vision of a nightmare. His razor sharp fangs dripped with blood at each roar he gave. Each swipe of his powerful, taloned paws raked through dozens of the undead abominations. As he leapt and slashed, every muscle in his colossal body could be seen beneath his blood-slicked fur.

  Taran remained predominantly in human form, only to ensure that the pups could understand his commands. The primal language of the faoil could not be taught to pups until their Nasgadh had begun, until they had joined with their wolf and mastered the change. In faol form, senses of hearing and intuition were elevated far beyond what was possible in human form. A snarl to the ears of their young did not hold the intended meaning. An ancient would know the differences in his tone and urgency, as well as his posture and gaze. A growl was a word to them.

  Taran took on only what he could of his faol form without effecting his vocal cords. His hooked black claws and long white fangs gave him a hellish appearance. His glowing yellow eyes reflected the moonlight, sweeping over the enemy horde with murderous intent. />
  As he fought, he allowed his mind to replay the sight of his beloved Skye. He pictured her smile, the way she looked when she gazed up at him, the way she twirled her fingers through his hair as she slept. He recalled the way it sounded when she whispered his name... Then he imagined what dangers she might be facing in that moment while these things prevented him from protecting her.

  With a snarl of outrage, he tore apart the closest fògarach. One after another, he punished each of them for separating him from his mate in her hour of need.

  But so involved was he in thoughts of Skye, the approach of the winged beast overhead escaped his notice.

  Without warning, a sharp impact rocked the night. It sent a concussive ring outward through the ranks of faoil and fògaraich alike. Taran, along with all of the others, suddenly found himself lying on the ground.

  Every bone and joint in his body ached from the collision that it had just sustained. His ears were ringing, blood dripping from them as he rolled over onto his stomach. Between ragged breaths, he tried to recover enough to gauge what had happened. His eyes slowly focused on his surroundings. He found himself staring in confusion at the empty space around him for more than 30 feet in all directions.

  Ailean was shouting something...

  Taran blinked and shook his head as he struggled to understand his brother. He could not for the life of him comprehend what he was witnessing. All of his brethren were trying to reach him, frantically pushing against an unseen barrier. They were screaming and pointing, all having abandoned their faoil forms for some reason...

  Slowly, it began to dawn on him. He swallowed hard as he pushed himself up off of the ground. Cautiously, he turned to look at the man that was crouched several feet away. His brows drew together in disbelief when he focused on him. He could see and smell the man, but he did not register with any of his other senses.

  Taran climbed to his feet guardedly, standing to face the stranger. Though he had never met the creature before him, he knew without a doubt who it must be. A chill ran across his flesh. Despite knowing full well that he was likely looking upon the face of his own death, Taran refused to let any trepidation show in his features.

  “The scent of her is strongest on ya,” the man said in a deadly whisper. He quickly cocked his head to the side and let his swirling black eyes unhurriedly survey his surroundings.

  “Well, well...” Taran breathed with an arched brow. “Look who decided to come home to the land of his Creator.”

  Tall and slender, the man’s skin was as white as snow. Wild, jet-black hair framed his face and reached his bare chest. Vicious looking black talons graced each of his fingers – one of which was now pointing directly at Taran.

  “She has lain with ya and... ah... another,” he breathed in awe, clacking his talons together before inhaling deeply. He closed his eyes as he assessed the comingled scents. “How quaint, she has taken two lovers,” he whispered with a cruel smile.

  “Nah tha it’s any business of yours,” Taran replied as he crossed his arms over his chest. “What brings ya to the place of your eternal banishment, Brandubh?” He asked challengingly.

  The man inclined his head, bowing dramatically and ignoring the question.

  “It seems my reputation precedes me,” Brandubh cooed.

  A genuine smile spread across his lips – not that it boded well for Taran. This man... this creature... was simply reveling in the fact that he had been recognized. His vanity and ego had apparently not been diminished by four millennia spent as the walking dead.

  “Forgive me for nah knowing your name,” Brandubh continued. “I ne’er felt a need to familiarize myself with members of a dying breed.”

  “Funny ya should mention dying,” Taran commented as he warily approached. “Ya know ya will not be leaving these grounds alive.”

  Brandubh’s smile turned cold and vicious.

  “Have ya forgotten? I did nah even arrive here alive, mutt,” he hissed. “I will leave in the same condition, but I assure ya, it will be of my own volition.”

  Taran’s eyes went to his brothers. They were so close, but completely unable to reach him. He knew what he was facing, held no illusions of what his chances fighting alone against this creature would be. In the first war, he had witnessed Brandubh in primal form claiming faoil. The only possibility of survival against him was to attack in great numbers. Even then, it was a minute chance.

  Seeing the way Taran was eyeing his brethren, Brandubh held up a taloned finger.

  “Ah, if I might help clear up tha bit of confusion,” he said gleefully. “Just a trick I’ve picked up o’er the years. Do ya like it? Perhaps ya’d like to test it out... Go on and scream for them if ya like, fight against the barrier. Sadly for ya, though, it will only be the two of us for this discussion,” he laughed and drew his arms around himself, bouncing on his toes and nestling down comfortably into his crouch. “But please – by all means, do nah let tha deter ya from crying out to them and trying to break through. I will wait as long as ya like.”

  “I would nah give you the satisfaction,” Taran growled.

  Brandubh frowned and sighed in disappointment.

  “Very well,” he said with a dismissive wave. “Now, on to more pressing matters – how has my delicious little pet been doing in my absence?” He asked curiously while his black eyes flicked around them.

  Taran’s jaw flexed as he gritted his teeth.

  “It’d be a very bad thing for me to believe ya were referring to Skye with tha term,” he warned in a dangerous tone.

  Brandubh cocked his head to the side again as he studied Taran in amusement.

  “I am merely here to collect what my minions were too weak to house for me,” he explained. “Ya’d nah believe how difficult it is to kill good help these days,” he complained and shook his head in disapproval. “They had only to restrain her but a few years until she had grown. Had she and I been given the chance to meet, this night would be playing out quite differently.”

  He laughed maniacally at that... until he recalled the fact that Skye had been turned into a faol instead. Disgust passed over his features. The mere thought of Skye being in this place nauseated him.

  “It matters nah, though,” Brandubh insisted in a flippant tone, though he seemed to be convincing himself more than speaking to Taran. “Regardless of which bite she was given, she belongs to me.”

  “She ‘belongs’ to ya, does she?” Taran asked mockingly. “How d’ya figure tha, exactly? Ya stole her bloodline ‘fair and square’, did ya?”

  The blackness swirled furiously in Brandubh’s eyes.

  “Insignificant half-breed...” he spat as his eyes passed over the faol before him in revulsion. “Do nah speak of what ya can nah fathom. Our link is far beyond the realm of your limited comprehension. Ya could ne’er understand the slave tha I am to what resides within tha girl!” He hissed in outrage.

  “Oh, I think I’ve an idea,” Taran assured.

  Brandubh looked at him in genuine surprise, cocking his head first to one side, then the next in the twitchy way that revealed his true nature. A low trilling sound came from his throat as he considered Taran. After a moment, he laughed cruelly, clapping his hands and nodding.

  “I see. Of course, she binds ya with love. ” He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “How terribly unoriginal of ya. I have seen this before, ya know – foolish mutts with their loyalty and love.”

  He closed his black eyes for a long moment, reflecting on the distant past.

  “But I do appreciate ya making your feelings for her known,” he whispered finally. “It will make taking your life all the more pleasurable.”

  In a flash, he screeched and leapt, soaring directly toward Taran. Just before he reached him, his form dissolved into black mist and quickly dissipated.

  Taran knew better than to believe it was over so simply. His eyes searched his surroundings for any hint of movement as he backed toward the barrier. He sniffed the air, hoping to catch sc
ent of the abomination before it took its predatory form.

  He was not given that opportunity.

  Talons raked across his back, tearing into him as the first, the father of all the fògaraich, wrapped his wings around him.

  Fangs sank into his throat, draining his strength at an alarming rate.

  Taran called for the change in himself, willed the transformation to begin – but it would not come. Too much blood was being stolen. Even still, he knew that it would not have been enough to protect him from this creature.

  Black feathered wings blocked the world from view as his vision dimmed. He fought against Brandubh’s crushing grip to no avail. Within seconds, he was too weak to stand, his breathing shallow as he fought to remain conscious.

  Ciaran exited the forest, pulling on his shirt as he walked.

  “Ah, Chreest. I know tha look,” Eògan groaned before crossing his arms over his chest and leaning heavily against a car.

  At those words, the rest of the men took note of Ciaran’s approach.

  Seeing the somber expression on his face, Elijah did a double take.

  “So... what’s the verdict?” He asked worriedly.

  “We’re in way over our heads,” Drostan offered glumly, “and we’ll be lucky to survive the hour.”

  “Ya could say tha, yeah,” Ciaran conceded.

  “Why? What did you find?” Elijah asked and watched anxiously as Ciaran walked toward them.

  “I think it’d be best if I told everyone at once,” he offered.

  “Oh, so it’s tha good, is it?” Eògan grumbled.

  “Attention up front,” Ciaran called as he hopped up on top of Eògan’s SUV.

  “Oi! Mind the paint, sugar,” Eògan said with a wink. “Tha there’s a rental.”

  “Well, I hope ya got the extra insurance on it, cuz it’s nah likely to be around for long,” Ciaran warned before directing his attention to the crowd. “All right, ladies, listen up. Every one of ya here – ancients, elders, and pups alike – know of the shaky truce tha has held between our clan and the fògaraich for over four millennia.”