Under His Skin

by Jennifer Blackstream

  Shame filled Brec’s spirit and he lowered his head even farther. “You have shown me more tolerance than I deserve, and well I know it,” he said, without a trace of bitterness. “I let myself by blinded by a childish vision of a warrior’s glory and I took your gift for granted. I didn’t realize how fortunate I was, how incredibly grateful I should be to you.”

  “But you do now?” Alaunus’ voice held amusement and a trace of what sounded like surprise.

  Brec nodded. “There is someone I care about who is suffering greatly. She has fought for years to heal herself with no success and she asked me for help.”

  He shook his head, frustration clenching his teeth as he remembered how he’d reacted when she asked about healing a burned skin. His assumption that she’d done something horrible had blinded him to the truth and he would never forgive himself for the pain he knew his furious response had inflicted on her. Tearing his mind away from the memory of her tear-streaked face, he spoke to Alaunus.

  “I don’t know how to heal her.”

  “The lisitsa whose skin was burned.”

  Brec nodded. “She’s tried everything.” He fought not to wince as an image of her blackened skin danced like a ghost in his mind. “The damage is extensive.”

  “And you wish me to tell you how you might heal this scorched skin?”

  Hope lifted Brec’s spirits and he raised his gaze for just a moment. Alaunus watched him, his eyes full of kindness. Part of him had expected Alaunus to be angry with his arrogance, to mock him in his time of need for all the hours he’d spent vocally taking his gifts for granted. Instead, Alaunus watched him like a father watching his child. Brec lifted his head and nodded. “If you tell me how to heal her skin, I will spend the rest of my life in grateful service to you.”

  Alaunus smiled. “I believe you will do that anyway. I see no sparkle in your eyes when you mention warriors now.”

  Panic spiked inside him and Brec had to stop himself from leaping to his feet out of desperation. He stared at Alaunus, willing the god to see the sincerity in his face.

  “Alaunus, please. I beg you, you are the greatest healer in all of creation. If there is a way to heal her skin, you hold that secret.”

  “Flattery is enjoyable, but not necessary.” Alaunus sighed. “You know as well as I do that nothing can return what the fire stole from your lady-love. Flames are the ultimate consumer of life.”

  Despair splashed against Brec’s skin like the icy waters of the arctic seas. If the god of healing himself could not think of a solution, then Ana was lost.

  “Do not look so devastated, young healer,” Alaunus said gently. “You cannot heal Ana’s skin, but you can still give her back what she lost.”

  Brec covered his hands, miserably shaking his head. “I don’t know how.”

  A soft hand lifted his chin on one finger and Brec lowered his hands to find Alaunus gazing at him with a soft smile on his lips. “You are thinking of how to heal a natural skinwalker’s skin, which cannot be done. What you should be asking yourself is: how can a human become a fox?”

  Hope flared to life inside Brec. “You know how to help her?”

  Alaunus’ eyes shown with sad resignation. “I’m sorry, Brec. Your lover is beyond my help.” He closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened them again, he fixed Brec with a steady gaze. “There is one who can help you. But I fear you will not like the price.”

  Brec opened his mouth to swear that he would pay any price for the return of Ana’s skin. Before he could make a sound, Alaunus’ form disappeared. The air around Brec seemed to grow colder, the mist over the water growing denser until it was no longer a mist, but a ship-swallowing fog.. His heart nearly stopped as a shadowy figure stepped out from the murky haze.

  A woman now stood where Alaunus had been. Her eyes were like drowning black pools, her hair like a waterfall of blood. Darkness slithered around her like a nest of eels as her pale white skin shone like the moon, glowing with her otherworldly power. Her silver armor glinted underneath the thick green cloak clasped at her neck. Brec swallowed hard past a sudden lump of fear in his throat. The goddess also carried her spear, its tip perpetually bloody and dripping.

  “Greetings, Brec of Orkney, healer of the selkie people.”

  He had to try twice before he could speak.

  “Greetings, Morrigan, Great Queen.”

  Morrigan tilted her head, a smile pulling up the corners of her mouth. “I must admit, Brec, I had always imagined a different expression on your face for our first meeting. After all those nights you called to me, begging me to make you a warrior, I expected you to be less timid.”

  Brec shifted from one foot to the other, unease curling like a serpent in his belly. Well he remembered the nights he’d spent calling out to the Morrigan, goddess of war.

  “Morrigan,” he said, cursing his voice for its hoarseness. “I am honored by your presence.” He cleared his throat. “I have learned a great deal since the last time I called to you. I no longer resent the blessing Alaunus gave me.” He shifted from one foot to the other, cursing the effect the fearsome goddess had on him. “I appeal to you now, not to join your illustrious army, but to ask for one of your spells.”

  “My illustrious army,” Morrigan repeated, looking into the distance as if turning the adjective in her mind. “I like the sound of that.” She looked back at Brec. “Though of course I already know of your change of heart. I heard you speaking with Alaunus. I have been listening in on his conversations with you for some time. You are such an interesting man, Brec of Orkney.”

  Brec’s stomach fell. There had been a time when such words from the Morrigan would have excited him, thrilled him with the possibility of attaining the life he wanted. Now he finally had the full attention of the goddess of war and he was terrified of what it would cost him.

  “Morrigan, I--”

  “Such fear, Brec.” She shook her head, a sudden frown marring her beautiful features. “Not very becoming in a warrior.”

  “I am not a warrior,” he breathed.

  “True,” Morrigan admitted. “Alaunus claimed you first, and perhaps he was right. Perhaps the blood that coated your hands at birth was truly the blood of a healer laying hands on a wound and not a warrior bringing an end to his enemies.”

  “ . . . the blood that coated your hands at birth.”

  Her words echoed in Brec’s head. His heart raced. Alaunus had often told him that he’d been marked from birth, but he’d never revealed what that marking had been. If the Morrigan spoke the truth, than his destiny had been on the knife’s edge. Great healer . . . or great warrior. His eyes widened. It had been so close.

  “Ah, I see the glint in your eyes,” Morrigan whispered. “Then your dream of being a warrior is not so dead?”

  An image of Ana leapt into Brec’s mind. Determination and desperation closed on him like a vice and he forced all other thoughts from his mind. Taking a deep breath, he turned a beseeching gaze to the Morrigan.

  “Morrigan, I beg you to share your transformation spell with me. It is all I desire.” He stared into her bottomless black eyes. A crow’s eyes. “Please.”

  Morrigan sighed. “Ah, yes. You believe that the spell I used to transform my warriors into hounds will be able to give your lover back her fox form.”

  “It is my hope.”

  Morrigan ran her gaze up and down Brec’s body. “This woman has stolen you from me. You have begged me for an audience for years, and now that Alaunus has so graciously stepped aside to let me speak to you, I find your are not the captive audience I anticipated.” A shadow crossed Morrigan’s face, darkening her glowing features. “Who is this woman that thoughts of her distract you so easily from what I have to offer you?”

  Brec shifted from foot to foot, his nerves twitching under Morrigan’s dark stare. The last thing he wanted was for the goddess to hold ill will toward Ana.

  “She is a lisitsa who lost her fur to the flames of her lover’s fire. Betrayed by a man who
claimed to love her while simultaneously destroying her life.”

  Morrigan’s eyes flashed as if angry. “Her lover cast her skin into the flames that destroyed it?”

  Brec nodded.

  “I hope he paid suitably for his crime?”

  “She killed him.”

  Morrigan paused as if turning his answer over in her mind. “I suppose that will have to do.” She frowned and narrowed her eyes. “Did she kill him slowly?”

  He shrugged. “I do not know.”

  “Pity,” Morrigan murmured.

  “Alaunus said you could help me,” Brec said, forcing his voice to remain even. “He mentioned a price. Know that I will do anything to return Ana’s skin to her.”

  Morrigan shook her head, as if reorienting herself to the task at hand. “I know.” She began to circle him, slowly pacing around his body with the lazy sweeping motion of one of her crow forms circling the battlefield. “What I want, my dear Brec, is to find out once and for all who was right--me or Alaunus. He claimed you before I could, insisting that you were destined to be a great healer. But blood on a newborn babe’s hands is not a sign so easily read. Well Alaunus knows that you could have been meant for my battlefield.” She stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes flashing. “I want to see for myself if you should have been mine.”

  “I will fight anyone you wish,” Brec said without hesitation.

  Morrigan’s form turned hazy as she began to fade. “You won’t be the first one to regret those words.”

  Before Brec could ask her what she’d meant, Morrigan laid a ghostly finger on his forehead. A dull ache sprang to life in Brec’s skull, the heavy weight of divine knowledge.

  “You have only a brief window to use this spell before all recollection of it is gone,” the Morrigan said evenly. “Hurry now, before it is lost.”

  Brec woke with a start, shooting up in bed surrounded by darkness. His heart pounded as disorientation muddled his senses, images of the Morrigan still dancing before his eyes. He frowned as he tried to figure out where he was.

  Ana’s room. Brec froze, remembering the sleeping woman lying beside him. He slowly turned to see if he’d disturbed her. Ana stirred and mumbled in her sleep before turning over. He held his breath, waiting to see if she would wake, but she continued to sleep peacefully.

  “Hurry now, before it is lost.” Morrigan’s words echoed in his mind and his brain screamed at him to hurry. The spell she had given him burned like a beacon inside him. He could feel the truth of her words weighing down the spell. A sense of urgency infused his muscles until his body burned with it. If he was going to use it, he had to do it now.

  The spell danced in his mind, tormenting him with images of what had to be done. Like so many of Morrigan’s spells, it would take destruction to bring life. If Ana wanted a new fur . . . she would have to give up her old one. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He didn’t relish telling Ana about the spell, but there was no way he could do it without her permission. Not after what she’d been through.

  He couldn’t help, but glance back at the fur lying on the floor just a few feet away from the bed. The sight of the fox skin’s crisp black edges turned his stomach. Ana’s earlier screams echoed in his ears, their agonized torment tearing at his spirit until he could almost feel new tears glistening in his eyes. He’d heard the hysteria in her voice. He knew how close she’d come to falling into the abyss that every skinwalker risked when they took off their fur. How she had ever survived two years without her skin, without friends or family to comfort her, he’d never know. He turned back to Ana, reaching out a hand to rouse her from sleep.

  But I do know how she survived. She stole the skins of other skinwalkers. The hope that their misery would bring her peace is what saved her sanity.

  Brec paused, his hand hovering over Ana’s shoulder as the sudden thoughts fed a spring of doubt. What sort of person traded the sanity of several others for a chance at saving their own? His mind raced back to Ana’s basement, to the dark cave where the skins of her other victims lie hidden. Seal, wolf, bear . . . where were they now?

  He dropped his hand to his side, momentarily abandoning his plan to wake her, and just stared at the blonde lying in the bed beside him. Her lashes swept the tops of her cheeks, her face smooth in peaceful sleep. She was a vision of beauty, a sight to make any man ache.

  Of course she’s peaceful . . . it’s her victims who are suffering. They’re out there, wandering in the cold with their puny human bodies, searching for their other halves. Shivering and miserable, always searching . . .

  He’d been one of those victims.

  A vein of cold fury wormed its way through the doubt clouding his mind. His thoughts transported him back in time, and suddenly he was standing on the beach of Chilkoot Inlet. He could see his empty chest, its rusted hinge broken and dangling in the air. A soul-sucking blackness had filled his heart and his vision, taunting him with the promise of a half-life. To escape her own misery, Ana had condemned him to a fate worse than death.

  Brec put a hand to his head, taken aback by the strength of his anger. It was as if the past twenty-four hours had never happened, as if he was still fresh from finding his skin gone, mad with the need to punish the thief. He stared down at his body, almost surprised by the sight of his nudity. Then more memories flooded over him. He’d made love to her. She’d been at the very edge of her world, ready to throw herself into nothingness, and he’d dragged her back. He cared for her.

  He raised his gaze to her face. How had she made him care for her after what she’d done to him? A violent urge to strike out at Ana seized his arm. After all she’d put him through, he’d treated her with nothing but kindness. He had never made her pay for what she’d done. The muscles in his hand burned as he made a fist.

  Shocked by his own urges, Brec shoved himself back and nearly fell off the bed in the process. What was he thinking? What would his brother say, to see him fighting the urge to strike a sleeping woman--whatever her crimes?

  Trembling with confusion and dismay, he stumbled off the bed. His feet caught in his clothing, still lying on the floor where he’d cast them last night and he toppled over. He hissed in horror as he landed on Ana’s fur. The scent of ashes tickled his nose and his breath caught in his throat. Nearly deafened by the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, he swallowed hard and eased himself off of the damaged skin. Ana sighed and rolled over. Brec’s heart nearly seized, his gaze darting to the bed.

  Once again, when his gaze settled on Ana’s sleeping form, a moment from his past came rushing out at him. Suddenly it was that first night he’d arrived. He was standing in Ana’s bedroom, his skin itching with the need to feel his sealskin. He was staring at her, lying there on her bed, naked under his skin. The thief who’d nearly stolen his will to live.

  His nostrils flared, his pulse quickening. She would have sacrificed his life for hers. She would have left him to freeze in his human skin while she wrapped herself in his fur. He clenched his hands into fists, the tendons in his neck throbbing as he strained not to fly at her. She deserved to be punished for her crime.

  Before he realized what he was doing, he shoved himself off the floor, launching himself toward the bed. As he braced his hand on the floor to push himself up, the heel of his hand ground against the charred edges of her fur and he nearly cried out in frustration as his body froze, mid-lunge. He stared down at the ashes on his hand.

  Hasn’t she been through enough? Nausea rolled through his stomach. It was hard to hold onto his anger when part of Ana’s skin was stuck to his hand. A grim reminder of the nightmare he could only imagine.

  Brec grabbed his head and closed his eyes, wondering if he was going mad.

  Morrigan.

  An image of the war goddess danced in his mind’s eye and tension gripped Brec’s shoulders.

  “I will fight anyone you wish.”

  “You won’t be the first one to regret those words.”

  Suddenly the
emotions ripping him apart made perfect sense. Morrigan was feeding his temper.

  “I want to see for myself if you should have been mine.”

  No one could match the unmitigated fury of a skinwalker fighting for their skin. Morrigan was pushing Brec to remember Ana’s theft. He raised his hand, staring down at the black smudge. She had planned for Ana to wake and find him touching her fur, to make her believe he was betraying her trust. Oh, the battle that would have followed . . . skinwalker against skinwalker, lisitsa against selkie.

  “Not tonight,” Brec whispered. He turned away from Ana. The sight of her made Morrigan’s influence over his temper worse. He couldn’t look at Ana lying under his skin without feeling old emotions, an old desperation for vengeance. Better to keep his eyes off of her.