Darkness Descends: A Skye Faden Novel

by Alisha Ashton

  Ciaran kept his arms wrapped around her as they gradually lowered her down to the ground. He held onto her despite the abuse she was doling out, despite the harsh words falling from her mouth for him, despite the accusations she spat at all of them. She was losing her mind to her grief – Ciaran had been there himself, once. And it had been Taran then – Taran doing for him as he did for Skye now, just holding on while she let it out.

  But Skye was not afforded the luxury of staying still and letting it hurt.

  The screeches of the approaching fògaraich caused the men to turn and fight to defend her. The instant they were no longer able to aid Ciaran in pinning her down, she managed to break free.

  She ran as fast as her legs would carry her for the front doors, shouldering through them and into the fire as Ciaran screamed after her. She ducked her head as a wave of flames rushed outward into the night. Her heart was thundering wildly in her chest as she raced into the entry hall. She was still screaming for him, pleading for him to answer her. She barely noticed as Ciaran and the others trailed after her.

  “Taran!” She cried when she focused on the interior of the castle.

  The stairs were collapsing. Flaming debris were raining down around her.

  All burning... burning now just as it was burning then...

  She saw that there was no way to reach the upper level by any human means. But she was not human. She was faol. Her mate was in this inferno and she would find him.

  Without thought, she clawed her way up the wall and leapt to the upper landing with Ciaran falling in behind her. She could hear the sounds of the fògaraich that were trying to catch her – followed by their anguished screams as Ciaran tore them apart. Growls and snarls were leaving him and, surprisingly, she understood them perfectly. He was giving orders to the others with the wordless sounds, calling out directions and warnings, and even taunting the blood-drinkers as he put them down.

  She raced down the hall as it collapsed beneath her feet, clinging to the walls whenever necessary. Her world was slipping, her hold on her sanity getting away from her as memories plagued her in flashes.

  Running now as she had been running then...

  In her hysterical state, her surroundings were changing to those of painful memories. The panic that she had felt on those past nights was fusing with her horror for Taran.

  Running through the castle...

  Running through flaming mansion on the night of her escape...

  Running into her home on the night she’d been captured...

  The bodies of her parents...

  She screamed defiantly. This was not happening to her again. She was not losing her loved one again.

  The scent of blood... his blood reached her and she sobbed in absolute terror, ducking under a collapsed beam to get inside his bedchambers.

  Coughing and gagging on the smoke, she called for him over the roar of the flames.

  She nearly collapsed each time no voice came in response, no heartbeat or murmurs to guide her. There was only blood, so much blood, so strong to her senses even over the smoke.

  Her legs were locking up as she approached the burning bed. Her hands were trembling uncontrollably as she willed herself to keep moving. Ciaran and the others were tearing apart the beam that had blocked the doorway, pouring into the room behind her, but she did not care.

  I heard him, she realized in horror. She recalled his voice in her mind when she had awoken in the wreckage. Taran called out to me, sent his love to me. I heard him in the exact moment when he...

  She shook her head, refusing to believe it – but a second later, a panicked cry fell from her lips when she reached the end of the bed and found his broken, limp body laid atop it among the flames.

  He seemed... posed. Left like this for her purposefully.

  “Taran!” She shrieked and frantically scrambled across the mattress to reach him.

  She sobbed as she pressed her forehead to his slashed face.

  His blood was slick against her skin.

  “No! No, no, no... please... Taran! PLEASE!” She cried as she shook him and stared down at him in shock. The image of him blurred in her tearful vision as she broke down and cradled him to her chest. “Oh God, please don’t do this, babe... please? You can’t leave me alone. I can’t do this again. I can’t live through this again! Taran? Please don’t leave me! I love you! I didn’t get to tell you that I love you!”

  Ciaran approached hesitantly in human form. Tears were running down his cheeks as he focused on the lifeless body of Taran in Skye’s arms. The sight was driving a knife straight through his heart.

  Eògan and a tall, blonde pup quickly reached out and steadied him when his legs buckled.

  Ciaran clamped a hand over his mouth and muffled a long, desperate sob. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, gritting his teeth as he fought the urge to break down. Taran was not just a clansmen, he had been his friend – his brother – for 4,000 years. He was the man that Ciaran loved above all others, the man that had given him a reason to live when he had lost it all. He had been there for him through the loss of his daughter, offering support even when they did not speak the same language.

  Grief was threatening to break him, but this was not the time. His jaw flexed as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. For now, he owed it to his brother to keep Skye safe. He had sworn to keep her safe. Taran had entrusted her protection to him. The last words that he had spoken to his fallen brother had been a vow to guard her with his life.

  The sound of the fògaraich skittering across the roof set his blood ablaze. A second later, he spun to face the door, listening to them rushing down the hall. A furious growl erupted from him as he changed back to his faol form, the sound indicated to the ones that had followed them here to spread out and intercept.

  “Wake, my love,” Skye whispered pleadingly past her tears as she shook Taran weakly. She could hear the wolf in her voice, in her words. With the Nasgadh racing to its completion, she felt their thoughts mixing together. Both were suffering the crushing blow of losing their mate. He did not move, did not breathe. She willed him to be okay, to fight... but there was just no life left in him for her.

  The sounds of the fògaraich tearing their way through the roof overhead brought her out of her grief and into the madness that she had always feared. Her crazed eyes slowly wandered to the ceiling as her breathing quickened.

  They have taken everything from me again...

  They will take no more.

  For the first time, she willed the transformation in herself.

  They will pay – every last one will pay for Taran’s life.

  Slowly at first, the wolf began to grow within her, answering her plea. She threw her head back, screaming in sorrow and agony as the transformation began. Again and again, she drew a deep, steadying breath and shrieked until her scream shifted to a howl of mourning.

  Ciaran and the others joined in her call, honoring their brother and watching in awe as her Nasgadh reached its end.

  Rapidly, her body changed form. She leaned down over Taran, holding him protectively as her body tripled in size. Black fur covered her as she clutched him to her chest like a child.

  The shrieks of the fògaraich became frenzied as they broke through the ceiling. They poured into the room between her and the others, bearing fangs as they charged her.

  Ciaran hunched down, preparing to spring for them – but he spotted Skye taking a surprising alternate route.

  Without thought, she leapt at the window, shattering it upon impact and dropping three stories to the ground below with her mate shielded against her. Ciaran and the others followed suit, landing with broken glass and fògaraich raining down around them.

  “A Sgitheanach!” The woman called to her frantically on the night wind.

  She was so close. She had never been so close before. Skye was able to hear this woman as if she were right beside her.

  “Return to me!” The woman pleaded.

  Skye fol
lowed her call without question.

  In faol form, with Taran held to her chest, she charged on three legs for the forest. Seeing her destination, every fògarach that she passed screeched and abandoned the battles they had been engulfed in. They were desperate to stop her as she bounded across the grass and over the hills. She could feel them at her back, snapping and slashing. She could hear the growls of her brethren putting down as many of them as possible.

  As her wolf had foretold, Ciaran was there at her side, fighting fiercely to protect her. He barreled into her enemies, knocking them aside without ever slowing his pace. Where she went, he would follow. The human in her hoped for his sake that was a wise decision – the wolf in her had no doubt that it was.

  The fògaraich were swarming around her, each only managing to rip at her body for mere seconds before Ciaran had torn them away. She could see them latching onto his back, slashing at his face hoping to blind him.

  But he did not stop. He would not let them take her.

  The magic within the forest called her home, urged her on despite Taran’s warnings of the consequences. She broke the tree line, horrified when several of the ancient fògaraich made their presence known. Black feathered wings flapped furiously around her as they attacked. She had never in her life heard of such a thing as a winged vampire. They were flying above her and beside her, taloned hands ripped at her face. She ducked her head and ran blindly into the forest. She realized that her brethren were no longer behind her; could hear their panicked howls for her. They dared not follow her here. Only Ciaran remained by her side, fighting mercilessly to keep her safe.

  The fògaraich were confident that they could take her down and escape before their presence was noticed.

  They were wrong.

  She chanced a glimpse around herself when she felt the mists crackling with power. She only spotted the glowing eyes a fraction of a second before beasts larger than anything she had seen, creatures that dwarfed faoil with their size, erupted from the fog.

  The monsters snatched even the fògaraich with the gift of flight from the air and tore them to shreds, throwing them aside like broken dolls. The growls that came from these nightmarish beings were so strong that they shook the ground beneath her and caused her to wince in pain. The sight of them was enough to give her a renewed sense of terror. Her fear of the beasts was far beyond that of the blood-drinkers.

  Ciaran was apparently of the same mind. She sensed his panic the instant they appeared. The snarl he gave translated to one clear instruction in her mind:

  RUN.

  She raced on and on into the night with him at her side, frantically trying to put distance between them and the creatures. Her heart was beating painfully within her chest now, her body screaming in agony at the pain of its injuries and the need to rest. Every time she slowed her pace, however, Ciaran would snarl his instruction again with more urgency and ram into her side, urging her on. They could not stop until they could no longer feel the beasts, could no longer hear the anguished cries of the fògaraich as they were struck down.

  FOLLOW, he finally snarled and she saw where he was heading. Her eyes narrowed on a cave and she bounded up the hillside behind him to reach it.

  The instant she was within the safety of its interior, she changed back to her human form and collapsed under the suddenly substantial weight of Taran. The reality of his death came crashing down on her again in time with his body. She cried silently beneath him, pressing her lips to his brow and clutching at his lifeless form.

  Ciaran stood at the mouth of the cave, struggling to catch his breath with his eyes locked on the mists, searching for any hint that they had been followed. He could not bring himself to look over at Skye as she sobbed and clung to the body of his brother. His nostrils flared and he bit back the tears, refusing to feel the weight of the loss yet. It might just be the weakness that would cost her life. He could not allow it.

  The combined scent of Taran’s blood mixed with her own was breaking Skye. His arms offered no comfort as she buried her face against his chest and wept. She did her best to muffle her screams as she tried to work her way out from underneath of him. Her body was desperately trying to heal, but she had expended so much energy that it was slowing the process. In addition to the slashes and bites inflicted by hundreds of the fògaraich, she was still covered from head to toe in lacerations and burns from the crash. The gaping hole in her chest remained open from the twisted metal that had pierced her body. Her wounds were exposed to the dirt and wet stone beneath her naked and exhausted form as she crawled. Every breath she took was torture, every inch she crept across the cave floor and out from beneath Taran was a new type of agony.

  With a great deal of effort, she rolled Taran’s body over onto his back and lay beside him, looking down at his beautiful and bloodied face as her tears fell freely. She pressed a kiss to the lips that had once been so hungry for her. They were now cold and motionless beneath hers. She wept for him inconsolably, clinging to him as she plead incoherently for him to wake.

  She’d been stupid. She’d been wrong. He had to believe her that she loved him – it had to be enough. If he would only look into her eyes, he’d see the truth. He would fight to stay with her.

  Her words drew Ciaran to her side. He could only watch her grief longingly. He had to stay strong... he had to hold it together. Silent tears streamed down his cheeks and he shook his head, closing his eyes as he listened to her begging Taran to wake.

  No matter her pleading, no matter the sobs that fell from her lips or the urgency of her kiss, there was nothing of her mate left within this shell. Her lips trembled terribly as she fought back her tears and kissed him goodbye, whispering to him that she would make every fògarach suffer for his death – that she would not rest until she had rid the world of every last one of them. She ignored the fact that she had been here before, hiding her grief behind a quest for vengeance, using it as a crutch to keep herself from losing all sanity.

  She sniffled and wiped the tears from her cheeks feeling Ciaran’s hand on her shoulder offering support. She held back a sob as she leaned into his touch, wanting desperately to cling to him and break down.

  After a moment, she managed to whisper to Taran, “I will come back for you, my love. You will be with the other ancients... and where you rest, so too shall I once my battle is over. I will be honored to be at your side, even in death.” She squeezed his cold hand and turned away from him, taking a steadying breath as Ciaran helped her stand.

  Ciaran’s pain was raw to her senses as she stared into his eyes – his beautiful, blue eyes that now held a look of absolute devastation. He was locking down, being strong for her sake when his heart was breaking inside his chest. She could not stand it, seeing him doing what she always did. She drew him into her arms, kissing the side of his head and showing him that he could let go for a moment; that she would be his strength.

  Despite his efforts to deny it, he at last clung to her desperately. His cold, wet, and bloodied body quaked with silent sobs as she whispered to him soothingly. With his face buried in her hair, he wept, holding onto her and the comfort that she offered.

  His heavenly Skye... he belonged to her, adored her so deeply that it stole his breath, but he did not want her all for himself. She was not his to claim. His place was that of her friend and lover. He wanted Taran here to keep her heart.

  He recalled falling asleep in the bed with her nestled between them, had never known such a sense of completion. It had not lasted nearly long enough. The greatest joy in his impossibly long life had only endured less than two nights before it was torn from his grasp.

  With a final sob, he forced it all back inside, sniffling and pulling away from her. She caressed his cheek with her hand, kissing him deeply as they both fought to keep it together. They were each in dire need of comfort, but there was the whole issue of needing to survive to contend with.

  “If ya stay close to me and keep quiet... I think I can get us out without att
racting any of the ainmhidh,” he whispered as she pressed her forehead to his.

  “Do you trust me, my dark one?” She whispered, gazing into his eyes as she ran her fingers through his hair. A sad smile came to her lips as she realized that this was the moment from her visions.

  His brows drew together at her words. His eyes became stricken at the thought that she might not believe that. “I do, a stóirín. Ya know I do,” he insisted, watching her worriedly as she pressed her lips to his.

  “We’re not going to try to escape; we’re going to draw them out,” she said and his eyes widened. “When we met, I told you that I’d foreseen our bond in my future – that you would follow me bravely where no other would dare – do you remember?” She asked and he nodded, his jaw flexing as he studied her eyes intensely. “And both have come true. This is something like that; something I know I have to do. If you want to leave you can, I don’t want you to feel like I’m leading you carelessly to your death.”

  Ciaran closed his eyes as she caressed his cheek again, leaning into her touch and sighing before opening them.

  “If there’s to be any death this night, it will be mine alone or ours together. I’ll nah have ya dying without me,” he whispered determinedly.

  Skye smiled as tears rolled over her lips.

  “I knew you were gonna say that,” she sobbed and forced a weak laugh. “At least if we are meant to die, we’ll be with him,” she whispered.

  He gritted his teeth at the pain those words inflicted and nodded, holding her to his chest and looking back at his fallen brother.

  “At least we’ll be with him,” he agreed, pressing a kiss to her forehead before turning and setting out.

  47: From One Stolen...

  Walking out that cave and down the hill, walking away from Taran, was the single hardest thing she had endured in her life. No form of torture had ever wounded her so deeply. She had no sense of direction here, could feel the grief threatening to steal her consciousness as she followed Ciaran through the trees.