Masquerade (The Dragonfly Chronicles Book 3)

by Heather McCollum

  Chapter 6

  “Why do we even bother to follow the amulet?” Bast, the Egyptian demon of pleasure purred her apathy from a throne in the dank mist as she licked her sleek black forearm. Her body, a cross between a voluptuous dark skinned woman and a cat, lounged against a golden pillow. It was all a show, as she didn’t have her body, nor gold, nor anything close to a throne. “We’ve lost it and the girl, and I tire of searching. Can’t we just wait to feel a tremor again?” she hummed nonchalantly, her tail flicking back and forth in subtle irritation.

  Semiazaz glared at his companions. Thirteen of the most feared demons known to mankind sat on imagined cushions and thrones in a damp circle of mist. Semiazaz’s white beard snaked down into his gray robes. Razor-like nails bit into the arms of the imagined throne holding his body a little higher than the rest. “Bast,” he called across the circle, his breath clearing a path directly to the cat-like demon.

  Her golden orbed eyes rested on his.

  “How long have you sat upon that throne, washing imagined specks of dirt from your imagined body? A thousand years, two, three?” Bast’s body seemed to grow larger, but it was just an illusion. “I believe it could be five thousand years by now,” he added.

  Semiazaz’s cold eyes surveyed the occupants of their dank prison. Trapped, they were trapped together. Together, never apart, never alone, never at liberty to do anything without the others. Thirteen head-strong demons forced to be in constant awareness of one another. They all sat as far apart as the binding spell would allow them. Their bodies, once young, virile with immortality, had withered away, leaving only their demonic souls knotted together. They could move, but only as one. They could destroy, but only as one entity.

  A thousand years ago there had been a chance to harness the powers to break the bond that the white Wiccan, named Drakkina, had bound them with when they began to form their coven. The most powerful coven outside of Hell.

  Semiazaz’s eyes moved continuously. Would anyone strike? Jagged grumblings swirled in the mist of the dank abyss where they lived between times. His voice grew until it echoed, covering the murmurs of caution and approval. “We act now! The dragonfly amulet is out there, we felt it when one of Gilla’s daughters touched it! It can give us back our bodies, real”—he stood, his hands fisted—“real bodies, not these illusions.” He moved his hands around and through the image he projected. “We would at least be able to feel again,” he said, looking once again to Bast.

  A ripple of thunder cracked above them, bringing Semiazaz’s attention to Bechard, the demon of tempests. “Yes?”

  Bechard stood, armor-like chest bronzed, long blond hair pushed behind his pointed ears. Black, veined wings stood out from his back. His large maw stretched, exposing three-inch teeth. “Why bother with corporeal bodies?” His voice shook the small space. “We need the witch’s magic, the match to the power we stole from her mate. That will free us, free us so that we may play within this world again. We will take over whatever body we want once we are free. Why waste time—”

  “It is not a waste,” Semiazaz cut in. Would they never agree? Five thousand years of forced sameness, knowing each other’s thoughts and yet they still argued. The blackness of their souls warred against each other, vying for leadership. Bickering, taunting, brandishing pretended power. “The power in that amulet will not only give us corporeal bodies, it will strengthen the powers from the warlock. To break free, we may only need to capture the magic from one or two of Gilla’s daughters. How is that wasting time?”

  “I agree with Semiazaz.” A horned female demon named Deumis spoke. “Moving systematically through each mortal year, searching across the globe for the purity of Gilla’s magic.” She snorted. “That’s a waste of time.”

  Fire crackled throughout the sphere of souls. Barely contained raw anger seeped from the demons, ricocheting off each other’s energy. “But we’ve lost the amulet!” another demon called.

  Semiazaz held up his large hands to halt the snarling and snapping around him. They really were beasts, he thought disdainfully. But he needed them. Without full cooperation, they were just a stagnant mass of hate filled gas. The cacophony ebbed as he lowered his hands. “She sent the girl with the amulet, there was one thread that disappeared. They went together.” He looked around the circle. Several demons nodded, more looked confused. “The amulet draws the dragonfly magic. Once the girl touches it again, we’ll know exactly where she is. It is near her.”

  “What if she doesn’t touch it?” Bast asked softly. “Drakkina would have warned her by now.”

  Semiazaz moved his eyes to Bast’s form. “She doesn’t have to touch it.” He smiled. “Can’t you feel it?” Silence descended as curiosity overrode their combined venom.

  Bast gasped and stood. “I can still feel her.” She turned to him. “How?”

  “Proximity. The amulet’s magic is so strong it seeks the girl. Together, in the same plane of time, they resonate even if they don’t touch.”

  “Let us thread,” Bechard roared. The others screamed, tumbling about the prison. Their illusionary bodies disintegrated as their souls raced amongst each other.

  “We won’t know her exact location unless she touches it, or uses her magic, but we can find her time,” Semiazaz continued, and ignored the chaos whipping sporadically as he pinpointed the temporal marker of the magic. “Once we’re there, we’ll find my witch’s brat and her magic.” He raised his hands high. “Everyone concentrate on the thread.” The energy swirling funneled into one long black thread, twisting like a tornado. “You won’t win this time, Drakkina.” The thread elongated and shot off into the gray mist of the sub-temporal plane toward fifteen hundred eighty-eight.

  ****

  They had only just cantered down the street and already Kat’s backside felt a bit bruised. She’d ridden a horse once before when Lisa had arranged for the orphanage brownie troop to earn some sort of horse badge. But that was years ago. Actually that wouldn’t happen for another five hundred years, Kat thought and rolled her eyes.

  The strong gait of Toren’s war horse made the idea that she could maybe sleep ridiculous. She tried to close her eyes but that just brought her other senses alive. There would be no sleeping with the incredibly sexy Highlander holding her around the middle. Between the rhythmic movement of the horse and the casual brushes of Toren’s arm against the undersides of her breasts, Kat’s usually docile sex drive morphed from kitten to tigress.

  “Will we catch them at this rate?” she asked, trying to tune her senses into the surrounding darkness and away from the masculine smell of pine and leather. Toren didn’t answer. They clattered onto a wooden bridge. Kat twisted in the seat so she could look at Toren’s stoic face above. The blue white light of the moon lit him and Kat’s breath caught in her throat. It was the face of a warrior, watching, plotting, on the verge of a charge. His jaw set in a firm line of intent. His eyes, framed by darkness, stared outward. The scar gleamed white in the sharpness of the moonlight. If only she had a camera. Toren MacCallum was strength, honor, and retribution personified.

  Kat’s heart pounded and her stomach flipped. Could Drakkina be right? Could this man who looked like a mountain of ancient integrity be her soul mate? She swallowed hard.

  Toren’s gaze moved to hers. “We’re clear of the court,” he said. He looked over to Eadan and nodded. He turned Kat around so that she sat facing forward and bent his head to her ear.

  A tingle rushed down her neck as warm breath touched her skin.

  “Hold on, lass. Now we catch up.”

  Kat didn’t even feel him give the horse a signal. There was no “giddy up,” no kick of spurs to forewarn as Toren’s horse plunged down the moon dappled road.

  Kat found her breath and inhaled. “Shit!”

  Was that a chuckle she heard? Leave it to a sixteenth-century Highlander to bring out her gutter mouth and then find it funny.

  The horse’s gait was like a rolling wave. Its muscles flexed beneat
h them as its hooves churned the pebbled dust. Kat caught a glimpse of Eadan and Margaret riding to their left.

  Margaret held Sara wrapped in a blanket. Kat couldn’t even see the girl as she was tied so tightly into her mother’s waist. Hopefully Sara was used to this mode of travel and was asleep. A child definitely needed sleep. Even though slumber was impossible, the breakneck speed kept Kat’s thoughts more on survival and less on the rock hard chest she pushed back into.

  They raced in silence until dawn tinged the eastern sky. Kat swiveled her head in the opposite direction. So the pull she felt here yanked her to the northwest. It felt similar to the pull to the east she had always felt in North Carolina, but stronger, much stronger. Did it have something to do with her mother’s magic? Kat absently rubbed the spot where her birthmark warmed. Drakkina would know. Where was she? Would she be furious they didn’t have the amulet? Questions pounded through Kat with each stride of the horse until her skull felt like it would crack if they didn’t stop soon. She tilted her head back so she could just see the rugged jut of Toren’s chin. “Are we there yet?” she asked.

  Toren looked to the other riders and held up his arm. They slowed the labored horses. “The horses need to refresh,” he said.

  “And the riders.” Kat sighed, as Toren turned the horses off the main road into a leaf shrouded grove of black alder and oaks. Toren lowered her to the ground and Kat fought to keep her groans inside.

  Eadan helped Margaret dismount with Sara. The child slept. Kat smiled at Margaret as she carried her sleeping bundle to a dry place amongst the ever-lightening trees. Margaret returned the smile tentatively. Did the woman have any friends, Kat wondered? Luckily, she had a daughter.

  As Margaret bent low over the child’s small head, perhaps inhaling her little girl fragrance, Kat’s stomach twisted with a new wave of despair. All her little girls back home and all her little men. She would kiss them each goodnight, even the ones who thought they were too old for her tucking in. They were too old except on the nights Kat ran late and they came to find her. Holy Mother Mary, she missed them all. All of them different with different needs and insecurities from varying backgrounds. But they all could count on Kat’s love, no matter how many bad words they used or windows they broke. She loved them all. Kat caught a stray tear from her lower lid. She’d be back soon, she just had to be.

  Kat groaned softly as she bent forward and massaged the backs of her abused thighs. She would have fallen from the horse had Toren not supported her when her feet touched the ground. She was definitely not a long distance rider. Kat ran her thumb and fingers down her hamstrings and calves, bending completely forward until her nose rested on her knees and her hair hung forward. If she had half a chance she’d run through sun salutation yoga moves to loosen up. Kat raked fingers through the tangles in her hair and let her arms shake the soreness out of shoulders. Slowly she rolled up one vertebrae at a time like the lady on the yoga program insisted. At the top, eyes still closed, she rolled shoulders back, stretching out chest muscles, and then slowly opened her eyes.

  Three pairs of eyes watched. Margaret and Eadan stared open-mouthed. Kat saw Toren in her periphery and twisted that way. Standing behind, he’d seen a good amount of her rear end as she’d stretched in the pants Eadan had obtained. His mouth wasn’t hanging open, but his look affected her more. He didn’t look surprised, probably having been exposed to many women in her century and their less modest way of living. Instead he looked hungry like a man who stared at a luscious meal and knew that if he just waited long enough, he’d be able to gobble it all up. Kat swallowed and turned back to the other two.

  “Just stretching some of the kinks out,” she said in response to their unspoken questions. “I don’t ride very often and never so long.”

  Toren must have made some sort of dismissal wave, because suddenly Margaret and Eadan turned. They began to set up a primitive camp along the face of a small hill that lay hidden by the lush foliage.

  “We have a long way to go before we reach Craignish,” Toren said and she turned.

  “So we’re going to your home in Scotland?”

  “Once we rescue Brianag.”

  Kat lowered her voice. “But the necklace?” Wasn’t he concerned that Drakkina would show up demanding the necklace? He fully knew that the Wiccan spirit could really mess with their lives if they pissed her off. Kat definitely didn’t want to snake through time again unless she was headed to the twenty-first century.

  Toren led the horses further into the dense woods. Kat followed, questions on the tip of her tongue. Then she heard the clear tinkling sounds of water. They walked up to a creek, making Kat so thirsty she nearly fell on her knees and started slurping. Instead she watched the horses drinking greedily and would have salivated if she had any saliva left. All she’d had at dinner was a bit of wine and fruit. It was a wonder she could keep up any sort of glamour at all.

  “Is there anything for two legged beasts to drink?” she asked. The water looked so cold and clear.

  “This water is safe,” he said and stepped upstream of the horses. He scooped up water in his hands and drank, then splashed some over his face. “I ken the source of this water. It is safe enough.”

  “Enough?” Kat questioned half heartedly and dropped down to cup some of the best tasting water she’d ever gulped. Cold, fresh, totally wet, Kat sucked down the offering, praying that Giardia bacteria didn’t exist in the sixteenth century.

  Toren filled several wine skins with the water and threw them back over the horses. He walked up behind her.

  “Once Brianag and the child are safe at Craignish, we will return to England for the necklace. I am the MacCallum chief. I need to go home.”

  “Can’t Eadan take them to your home?”

  Toren shook his head. “Eadan cannot handle things alone. I need to go there.” He glanced around the clearing. Kat stood up and followed his searching gaze. “Do ye sense the witch here?”

  Kat listened. Her birthmark didn’t tingle or burn. “No.” She shook her head. “I hope she doesn’t show up before we—”

  Kat barely had time to gasp as Toren pulled her toward him, his hands on her shoulders, his face full of raw intent. It was the look he’d given after watching her stretch, and it raced straight through Kat. Without a word, his lips descended as his arm wrapped around her back, swallowing her into his chest. His lips were warm and strong. He used his other hand to hold her face, slanting her lips so that they fit perfectly close together. His tongue glided along the small part, his thumb pushed her chin down to grant him entry. He growled low as he tasted.

  Kat’s legs wobbled and she relaxed into his chest. His hand molded her body, and without the cumbersome petticoats Kat could easily feel his hard length. A rush of languid heat flooded as she was once again sucked into a whirlwind of passion. She answered him with a soft moan and moved her hips closer. His hands caught up in her hair and then moved back down to hold her face. He pulled away slightly and Kat followed, not wanting to end the kiss.

  “Ye should not have come, lass.”

  It took a moment for the words to penetrate the sexual haze engulfing Kat. She watched his back as he squatted down to splash cold water over his face. For the first time she noticed that he had changed his clothes. No longer did he wear the finery of Elizabeth’s court. He’d draped himself in a plaid tartan kilt over a loose linen shirt. It wasn’t the fancy fake kilts one saw in her century. This was the real thing, worn by a real warrior, a totally gorgeous masculine warrior.

  He looked over his shoulder and stood. “We will finish what is between us,” he said as if that solved everything. His eyes stared intently into hers. “But I would not have it here in the dirt.”

  Finally his words sank in. Kat frowned at him. “So you don’t want me here because you’re afraid you won’t be able to control yourself?”

  “I am always in control,” he said and pulled the horses from the creek.

  “Always in control,” she sai
d and harrumphed. “Perhaps that’s your problem.”

  Toren glanced at her while he checked the horses’ hooves. “I’m the MacCallum now. It is my duty to be in control.”

  A moment passed while Kat watched the casual way he walked around the huge horses, checking their feet, inspecting their bridles. “Why shouldn’t I have come?”

  Toren grunted. “‘Tis dangerous.”

  “More dangerous than staying at Elizabeth’s court? I don’t think so.”

  He turned, frown set. “Ye are not as likely to get a blade through yer middle at court.”

  “There are a lot of other dangers at court. Remember MacCallum, I know history.”

  “There’s also the fact that ye’re slowing me down,” he replied.

  Kat stood tall, hands on hips. “Slowing you down? I didn’t make one bit of protest until I thought your horses were about to collapse.” Then she saw the grin. It was more in his eyes than along his lips. She huffed. “You’re baiting me, Highlander.” She rubbed her face with clean hands and tried to squelch the yawn that bubbled up and out. “I will be quite an asset when we catch up to your sister,” she finished behind her hand as the yawn nearly cracked her jaw.

  “Ye need to rest.”

  “So do you,” she said. “When last did you sleep? I know what lack of sleep can do to a person. There are studies, clinical studies. Someone who goes thirty-six hours without sleep functions at the same level as someone who is legally drunk. I don’t want to be caught in a battle against thirty outraged Highlanders with a chief who is toasted.”

  Toren waited until she paused in her rant. “I will rest before we catch them.”

  “Which will be when?”

  “We are close to the pass where Campbell would have met up with his men. He would rest then, not knowing we pursue.” He glanced at the rising sun splintering through the trees. “We will rest a few hours, until the sun is high.” He looked at Kat. “Ye can walk in amongst the Campbells unseen in the bright sun?”