by Elle Thorne
She leaned against him, her back to his chest, murmuring, “It almost seems like I’ve known you for an eternity.”
He inhaled, catching the vanilla-and-coconut scent of her bodywash and shampoo. “It’s the bears.”
She tilted her head, and when he paused, wondering if he’d caused her discomfort, she uttered, “Please, don’t stop.” He resumed, then she asked, “What do you mean, it’s the bears?”
“The bears give us this sensation of knowing each other. They recognize one another.”
He nodded. “I am certain.”
“I don’t understand how a bear can be within me and I haven’t known about it all this time? My entire life. That doesn’t seem possible.”
“Youngblood,” he scoffed. The reason behind all of this.
“Did Mae say anything else about him? About whether Griz and Victor have spotted him?”
“Not much. Just that Griz took a few of the local shifters with him and Victor and are out tracking him.”
“It’s hard not to hate him,” she admitted. “He’s the reason I’m in this hell.”
Krisztián thought on this for a moment. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think he did this to you on purpose. I suspect his skilljacking messed up something. And I’m pretty sure it has something to do with the tattoos.”
“Like what? How?”
He shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you.” Because he didn’t know. But he also couldn’t tell her about the grumblings his bear was making in his head. His bear had very definite ideas about Ciara and how she belonged in his life. Not that Krisztián was apt to disagree, but damn, he’d only just met her. “Hopefully, this druid woman can shed some light.”
“Or even better, maybe she can give me a solution.” She faced him. His hands dropped to his thighs. “I took my life for granted before this. You know how you hear about people that have constant ringing in their ears? I used to wonder what that was like, but now I guess I have an idea, because of this constant roaring and growling.”
He didn’t know what to say to that. He already knew it would drive him batshit crazy.
“But can I tell you something?”
He leaned closer, curious. “Sure, go ahead.”
“When you’re near, it gets softer. The sounds in my head aren’t as loud or demanding.”
In Krisztián’s mind, his bear growled in understanding. His bear was well aware it was his presence—the bear’s—which calmed the bear within Ciara.
Krisztián didn’t know if she’d want to hear that. He wasn’t completely sure she’d 100 percent accepted there really was a bear within her. He was convinced she thought it was a temporary thing, not an actual soul that shared her body. And occasionally took over her body. The way it did his.
“How would you feel about being a shifter?” Shit. Where had that come from? He hadn’t meant to ask that. He’d like to blame his bear, but he knew he was in charge of his own mouth.
She frowned, her lower lip pursed, almost a pout. A pout he found hard not to place his lips on. He looked at her eyes to keep from the temptation.
She tipped her head left and right, then left again. “I’ve never thought of it. I enjoy being an intuitive. I can’t imagine not being one.” Her brow puckered, the frown taking away the pout and turning it into a line. “How do you like being a shifter?”
“I’ve never not been one. Born this way. Always been one. Will die one, though, hopefully, not too soon.” He chuckled.
“How morbid.” She pushed on his chest, the action playful. “But you didn’t say how you feel about it. Like it? Hate it?”
“Can’t hate something I’ve always been.”
“Stop with the glibness and answer me because, the more you avoid being serious, the more nervous I’m becoming.”
He wondered if she was coming to see that she might be a shifter. He took her hands in his. “I love being a shifter. Here are the pros. I dominate in one-on-one fights. Hell, even in three-on-one fights, if the opponents aren’t all shifters. I live longer. I sense and smell things an average human can’t.”
“And the cons?”
“Cons. Hmmm.” He thought on it for a moment. “I almost said there aren’t any. Then I almost said that alcohol doesn’t affect us.” He raised a hand in protest. “But I didn’t want to be accused of being glib again, so I’d have to say the cons are that our kind are persecuted. We are hunted by other paranormal types. We are killed in territorial disputes. We live longer than our human mates—”
“Unless you couple-bond with them,” she interjected. The act which bonded a shifter with his mate and gave a human shifter qualities, such as scent and sensing and longer lives, but didn’t turn them into a shifter. An act which happened during mating. Her face reddened, as though she were thinking of that very act.
“True.” He raised a brow. “Are intuitives long-lived?” Yes, he absolutely had an agenda for asking that question. Abso-freaking-lutely, because he was very interested in pursuing a relationship with a certain intuitive with white-blond hair and eyes so light a blue that they glowed in the moon’s light.
“Not as long as shifters.”
“Your grandmother was a shifter, right?”
“As Griz already told you.” Her smile was closer to a smirk, but at least she seemed forgiving.
“Yeah. He did. So, your grandmother and your grandfather, he was an intuitive, right?”
“Mmhmm. He was. They were couple-bonded. And they both lived long lives but aren’t around now.” She looked away, her face the portrait of sadness.
He studied her profile. “They aren’t?” They should have been, what with one being a shifter and being couple-bonded.
“They were killed. Back to the topic of one of the cons of being a shifter.”
She didn’t expand on it, but it was clear to him that they were killed by other shifters or other paranormal types.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
Hell, he had no clue what else could be said. It sucked. He knew damned well how it sucked. Members of his own family had fallen prey to that. Which was why he found it so remarkable what Mae had created in Bear Canyon Valley. A group of shifters—a very large group, indeed—with connections from coast to coast, and even in Europe, that spanned various types of paranormal beings all working together to keep each other safe. That was in line with his beliefs. And he hadn’t told Salvatore, but if the lead dragon shifter ever decided to abandon Bear Canyon Valley, Krisztián was staying right here with the rest of this group.
Or he could go wherever Ciara was. If she didn’t move here. Was he putting the cart before the horse? Probably. But that was his style. He’d just have to make sure she knew he was the right one for her.
Chapter Seventeen
Krisztián had fallen silent, and Ciara hadn’t had much to say. She was thankful the roaring had subsided to a low grumbling. In fact, it didn’t sound like grumbling, more a content purr. How would that even be? She had no clue.
She was grateful the sound had abated She was deep in thought about the topic he’d brought up. Shifters. What did she feel about shifters? How would she feel about being one? Strange question. She didn’t believe she’d have to deal with that. Whatever was going on with her had to be part of a spell. But a druid spell? How could that be? She knew no druids. She wasn’t aware of her family knowing any druids either.
She turned around and leaned against his chest, feeling his heart beating against her back. “More, please?”
He began to rub, first her temples then moved toward her nape, fingers traveling slowly, almost a caress, across her scalp, back and forth between temples and nape.
The sensation was lulling, especially with that damned roaring reduced to low background noise.
* * *
Cramping in her back woke Ciara. The sun had risen, though not much. She tried to stretch, only to find she wasn’t in a bed. She bolted upright.
“Easy.” Krisztián’s voice.
She
whirled around. She’d been laying against his chest. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You needed the rest.”
Mae approached. “The plane will be here in an hour. Let’s get you a bag and some clothes, Ciara. In case you’re gone for more than a day. I’ve got some things you can borrow.”
“I’ll pack, too.” Krisztián helped Ciara up.
“Coffee’s ready,” Mae added.
Chapter Eighteen
Krisztián stretched his legs. He’d nosed the vehicle into a pull-off, most likely for scenic picture taking. They’d been driving for a couple of hours in a car provided by Mikhail Romanoff. The plane ride had gone without a hitch. Mae and Doc and driven Ciara and Krisztián to a private airfield just outside Bear Canyon Valley. Mae’d given her a hug and added a few comforting words. Krisztián had sat next to Ciara on the plush, spacious private plane, not only because that was his desire, but also because she’d mentioned his presence soothed the sounds and the clawing in her brain.
To say the area of the Northwest was stunning was an understatement. And this from a man who’d lived in the beautiful Pontic Mountains and seen a great many sights in Europe. Snow-capped mountains in the distance, crystal-clear waters, and vivid evergreens aplenty.
The road wound around the mountains, taking them to a set of GPS coordinates Lana had provided them. Not an address after all, it seemed. Just GPS coordinates and the description of a cabin where a druid resided. The druid’s name was Mairi. No last name given.
“Ten minutes,” he told Ciara.
She was twirling her hair around her fingertips, obviously nervous.
“Don’t worry. Lana said she could help us figure out what it was.”
“Yeah, thing is, I should know tattoos. I mean… I know how to use some tattoos.”
“What do you mean?” And why was she bringing that up now?
“I used a tattoo to help remove Mac’s couple-bond.”
He glanced at the GPS to make sure he was headed in the right direction. “I didn’t know that was a thing.”
“Well, yeah, but it’s nothing like whatever is going on with me.”
He nodded. Her voice sounded frazzled, so this probably wasn’t the time to push her for answers about how a couple-bond could be dissolved.
Krisztián drove in silence while Ciara rested her head against the door.
A few moments later and a few turns on windy road farther, he pulled up in front of a cabin. Through a space between the trees, he caught a glimpse of the ocean, glittering like a precious gem. As for the cabin, it was a rustic building, small, couldn’t have had more than two bedrooms, made of distressed wood, atop a bluff.
“This is it.”
Ciara opened her eyes then rubbed them. “Talk about isolated.”
“How are you feeling? Up for this?”
She shrugged. “Not sure what this is, yet. So I guess I’m up for it. Especially since I want some resolution.”
“Understandable.”
“I hate Youngblood for ever having entered my life. If he hadn’t done what he did…” A single tear traveled down her cheek.
Krisztián reached across and thumbed it away. He had no idea what to say. What could he say?
She shook her head, as though clearing it. “Screw it. Let’s go in.” Her jaw was set, her face determined.
He got out and lent her a hand getting out of the vehicle, and, together, they stepped up the short, creaky stairs leading to a porch. He knocked on front door, except he never had a chance to strike the door a second time as it opened.
He dropped his arm. “I’m—”
“I ken who ye are,” the woman in the doorway said. Tall, willowy, with jet-black hair and dark-blue eyes.
Chapter Nineteen
Ciara winced at the woman’s words. She spoke differently. She also had an accent. Was that Scottish? She wasn’t sure. She studied her. Mairi bore vivid blue tattoos all the way up her sleeveless arms and on her feet, which were exposed beneath a long dress that matched her Pacific-depths eyes.
The woman studied her in return, her expression stoic.
Ciara attempted a smile, or at least, she wanted to, but her face was frozen. She couldn’t make her muscles work, she simply stared at the woman’s piercing eyes with starburst-blue spokes radiating among a dark-blue background. “What are you?” Her own voice sounded like it was underwater.
“Ye ken what I am. Your friend Svetlana called my kin. Ye know what I am called. The French called us druide, a word they took off the Latin druidae. The old Irish and the Welsh called us drui and dryw, respectively. All of these different words identify my kind. Known to this age as the druids.”
“Yes, she said you were a druid, but—” Ciara shook her head. She couldn’t put her finger on it. Something… Something…
“I will end the suspense,” Mairi said with a small smile, those spectacular eyes gleaming like a sapphire. “But I won’t be able to answer some of the issues that were relayed to me. But first, let’s end the suspense. Perhaps this was not taught to ye or perhaps it was not known, maybe it was lost throughout the ages—” She glanced at Krisztián then back at Ciara. “How rude of me. Come inside. Tea, perhaps? Or something stronger?”
Ciara glanced at Krisztián, wondering if he was as curious and perturbed as she at a suspense that evidently wasn’t going to get cleared up yet. At the fact that a suspense existed at all.
“Tea’s fine,” Ciara said, hoping it didn’t mean the revelations would be put off until refreshments were consumed.
Mairi waved them in. “Welcome Ciara and Krisztián. I should have said that earlier. I’ll be honest and tell ye my kind does not like spotlight or attention. And we dinna care to have our presence made public.”
Ciara followed into the small cabin. “I get it. And if this wasn’t an emergency, I’m sure Lana wouldn’t have reached out to your…” What was she supposed to call them? Your kind? She couldn’t say that, so she settled for, “your people in the United Kingdom.”
Krisztián followed. “This is absolutely an emergency, Mairi.”
She closed the door behind them. “Different situations are considered emergencies. I suspect this isn’t an emergency for druids. Or for shifters.” She waved a hand at him. “As ye most assuredly are. It’s a personal emergency for which an outsider has brought us in.”
“Us?” Ciara frowned. “There’s no us, just you.”
“There’s nae singularity here. If ye endanger one druid, if ye bring one to the public’s awareness, then ye risk all.”
Ciara apologized. “I know it may not seem like it’s urgent to you, but—”
“It is to ye. I understand.” Mairi strode toward an old stovetop and put a kettle on, flicked a match, and lit a burner. “And clearly ye have the connections to have someone reach out to others who then reached out to me.”
Ciara shrugged. She didn’t have the connections. She had friends who had the connections, but it didn’t seem like Mairi was interested in hearing that.
“Sugar?” Their hostess fidgeted with a cannister on the counter.
Ciara couldn’t have cared less about the sugar or the tea or any other refreshment, for that matter. These niceties and formalities, in the light of what she was here to take care of, were irritating, to say the least. “Sugar’s fine,” she said with a measured voice. “So, you were saying, about suspense?”
“Aye, I was saying about suspense.” Mairi nodded then turned to Krisztián. “And ye? Sugar?”
“That’s fine.” His voice was terse, and Ciara knew he was as eager as she was to get the show on the road.
The teapot emitted a harsh, piercing whistle, causing her to flinch. He tensed.
Mairi looked from one to the other. “Sorry.” She took the pot off the burner and turned it off then poured three cups. “Here we go.” She set them on the table. “Have a seat. I have much to tell ye.”
“Thank you.” Ciara took a sip of the herbal tea, soothing, perfect, wit
h a hint of chamomile.
“Let’s see. I ken ye are an intuitive.”
Ciara nodded.
“Do ye ken any of your people’s history? Of intuitive history?”
This time she shook her head. “And I don’t have anyone to ask anymore.”
“I won’t pry into those circumstances,” Mairi said with a small smile, causing Ciara’s shoulders to drop with relief. “But I will bring ye up to speed that I ken your kind don’t discuss amongst themselves.”
“Like what?” Krisztián leaned back in his chair.
“Like the fact that intuitives are a breed that is descended from druids. That intuitives are a branch which left our kind hundreds of years ago and migrated to North America. There are nae intuitives in any other part of the world.”
“You mean intuitives are druids?” Ciara was dumbfounded. Sure, she didn’t know intuitive history, but this?
“They were druids, they used to be. They were their own sect, with a specific set of skills. They went off on their own. We dinna ken for ages what happened to them. Then one day we learned of intuitives. And we realized they were the ones who’d left us. Imeacht ar deoraíocht. Those who went into exile, we said. This is what they were. And as for what we called them, tréigthe. The abandoned. They reached out to us many years later. They were rejected by the original druids. They’d learned new skills, they practiced differently. They’d even splintered into other groups. Those groups were said to be extinct.”
“So Ciara’s descended from druids?”
Ciara held the cup tightly to keep the shaking of her hands from being noticed. Druids? Her head was reeling, though it didn’t help that the roaring had amped up in volume.
“So it would seem. Except she has shifter heritage as well.”
“Can you help me with what’s happening to me? The roaring in my head? The claws that are constantly milking and kneading at my mind?”