"You’d best hurry, bantling," Amardad suggested.
Riain’s attention shifted to the Loure brothers. A begrudging smile twitched at his lips. "You have always been men who marched to your own drummer, have you not?"
Brice blushed. "Good to see you, too, Your Grace."
Riain sighed, feeling his nerve endings coming alive as something evil sped toward them. He strode heavily up the stairs.
Suzanna cackled. "You can not outrun him, Cree!"
"Take my men to safety," Riain said as he walked past Amardad. "Get them home to Chale in one piece, everything still attached, will ya?"
Amardad nodded. "What are you going to do?"
"I’m taking McGregor with me."
Amardad’s thick black brows shot upward into his shaggy hair. "You are?" He fell into step behind Riain. "This I gotta see."
Riain stopped, put a stiff arm to Amardad’s chest. "The lives of my men are very dear to me. See to them."
"It will be so." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "What of her?"
"Leave her to Raphian to deal with." He headed for Raven McGregor’s room.
"Where will you take him?" Amardad called.
"To the Windweaver!"
* * *
With the servants of Vent du Nord beyond doing damage to anything living—or dead—Amardad, his followers, and the Loure brothers ventured out into the cool night. Behind, they left a madly-screaming woman rolling about the floor.
"Just how the hell is he going to carry an unconscious man out of this keep?" one of Amardad’s followers asked and smirked.
Amardad laughed, pointing skyward. "Like that!"
In the pale glow of the newly-risen moon, the men beheld a sight that would be the stuff of legends for generations to come. There, in the auric light, a shimmering white horse with a wingspan that could easily measure thirty feet across, galloped across the firmament on argentine hooves, a human male draped over its magnificent back.
Chapter 2
* * *
Rhiannon pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and stepped into the night. "Bring him inside, Milord."
Riain chuckled. "I think not, lady." In his arms, he carried Raven McGregor. "Can you wake him?"
"Perhaps. Lay him there."
Riain laid the unconscious Serenian on the ground at the Windweaver’s feet, then straightened. "She did not turn him."
"I sensed as much."
He looked to her belly. "How near are you to your time?"
"Two months. Perhaps less." She rubbed the distended mound. "This one is anxious to be born."
He wanted to ask, but pride prevented it.
"Daemion," she said softly.
"A male child." He looked at her for a long moment, then turned to go.
"She’ll be after you before sunup."
"I know."
"The closest portal of the Maelstrom is in Diabolusia. You should make for it, Riain. Leave this world and flee to another. Go where the Maelstrom’s Waters will take you."
He acted as though he hadn’t heard. "What will become of McGregor?"
Rhiannon looked down at the Serenian. "I will take him in."
"And never let him leave."
"And never let him know his love was murdered."
"You can do that?"
She nodded. "World’s End is as big as the universe, Riain Cree. There are as many mansions in my world as there are grains of sand on a beach. I will set aside a world for him in which he and his love will never know hunger or pain or suffering. There is another whose joyless life I had hoped to turn around. I can entice her here and make her look like Miyoshi Shimota. Neither will know it is not Raven McGregor’s true love who has joined him. There will be nothing but happiness and youth for them for as long as there is time."
"A boring way to live."
"Yet one you will eventually seek."
Riain shook his head. "I will never venture past those doors, lady."
She smiled. "Not these doors, but mine are not the only doors to happiness and eternal youth, Milord."
He cocked one shoulder in answer.
"Take care, sweeting," Rhiannon advised. "She will come after you with all she has learned from Raphian."
"I’ll be prepared."
Rhiannon looked as if she was about to say something, then must have thought better of it. She looked past him, toward the forest.
"Will I know when the boy is born?" he asked.
"It would not be in your best interests to know, Milord."
Riain frowned. "Why is that?"
A tender looked passed over the Windweaver’s face. "You might wish to meet him one day, and come back this way. You must never do that."
He lowered his head. "I know. I can never return to my homeland."
"Go now. Go before the hag is up and about."
Riain nodded and turned. One moment he was striding through the tall evergreens, the next he was soaring into the spiraling clouds, dipping his wings in gratitude of her help.
* * *
Earlier, Rhiannon had wanted to say something to Riain, but when she had looked past him and into the forest, a shapely form stood glowering at her. The Morrigù had stopped her from saying more.
Now, Rhiannon watched his departing shape. "The Peace of the Wind be with you, my warrior."
And when she looked once more to the forest, the Morrigù was gone.
"Watch o’er him, Maeve."
"I will…" came back to the Windweaver on the shifting breeze.
* * *
He flew straight to Deiman Province in Rysalia. Near Helix was the keep at Djebel ed Kjinn, and he swooped low over the sprawling sandstone building, seeking the twisting mountain road that would lead him to The Djinn’s Nest. Inside was another portal into the Maelstrom. He did not trust Rhiannon’s advice to go to the Diabolusian portal. He would not have put it past the Windweaver to conjure a place that looked like the one in Diabolusia. Once inside, he might well find he had entered World’s End, despite all his precautions. He trusted the Windweaver only a fraction more than he trusted Raphian!
As the moon began to sail the night sky, he saw the cliff face, behind which he knew he would find the portal. Stretching his wings as taut as the feathers would allow, he dipped toward the craggy ledge. Perching on one sharp outcropping, he folded in his wings and peered at the rippling fissure that drove downward from the top of the cliff. The fissure was just wide enough for him to slip through in his corvine shape. He turned his head from side to side, his long neck stretching. He hopped closer and placed one keen eye to the crack, viewing the shadows within the fissure. At last confident he would not get stuck in the split, he waddled inside.
He heard the rush of water as soon as he entered the cave. A tumultuous noise rose from the depths of the darkness. He stilled on the inside ledge until his night vision sharpened and he could make out the craggy rocks surrounding him. A light wind buffeted his feathers. He turned his beak toward the freshening wave of air, sprang from the ledge, and dove toward the sound of crashing water.
Gliding gracefully on the thermals that arced over and under his body, he kept his eyes on a faint glow deep beneath him. He flapped his wings once, then increased speed as the glow broadened from a tiny sliver to a crescent. By the time he felt the mist of water on his feather, the glow had spread to encompass a globe nearly four feet in diameter. As light blossomed across his destination, he felt the thrill of the unknown rippling through his soul.
It was an eerie sight that greeted him as he flew into the cave of the Maelstrom. Crashing waves leapt from the bowl of the cauldron and splashed high along the stygian rocks. The sound of the vortex drawing downward into the center of the Earth made the blood in his veins grow cold.
He landed on a sharp overhang that stretched over the tornadic swirl of the waves and hopped to the end. Peering into the lapping water, he shuddered. It was through that teeming rush of water that his destiny lay, but he could not seem to spread
his wings and dive into the churning vortex.
He hopped away from the edge. When he’d gained the thick safety of the ledge from which sprouted the outcropping, he transitioned into human form and sat down.
"I’ve never cared for heights."
The Maelstrom would take him from his homeworld, through time and space and possibly millennia, to places he could not begin to imagine. Worlds that would be so unlike his own. He might never find his way out again.
"You’ve seen my world, Milord."
The voice startled him so greatly, he almost leapt from the ledge. As it was, he slammed into the rockface behind him with a "oof" of pain.
Maeve laughed. "Careful, Dearling. I’ve no desire to have to carry you through the Vortex."
"By all that’s holy, woman!" Riain complained. "You fair made my heart stop!"
She squatted beside him. Her long blue gown spread like a silken pool around her small feet. "She’s but an hour away, Riain," she said in a sober voice. "I suggest we do not tarry."
At the mention of his nemesis, Riain flinched. He looked over the ledge. "We will survive a fall through that, won’t we?"
"There is no harm for a traveler making a trip through the Maelstrom. Once you are through, you will be into a new world. A world so unlike this one, you can not begin to dream it. All the landmarks you know will have vanished." She waved her hand toward the teeming water. "This is the portal into tomorrow. The doorway into a future world."
"The world from whence you came."
"I am from all worlds, my love. From all time and all millennia."
"And the other portals?"
She shook her head. "You need not concern yourself with them, for they are the Past, the Distant Past and the Distant Future."
He felt a tremor along his back and knew Suzanna was not far behind. He stood.
"She will come through the Maelstrom, too, won’t she?" he asked, fear touching his soul.
"Aye, but it will be a while before she finds you."
"But she will find me?"
"Eventually."
"Will we have time together before she does?"
"Take my hand. Leap with me into the Maelstrom. Where we land, we land together and will have a few hours before you must flee again."
He looked into the swirling waters, then griped her hand. They walked to the edge of the outcropping. The mists of the water cooled their faces.
His grip tightened on her slender hand.
"One day, Maeve," he said in a fierce voice, "we will be together for all time. There will be no threat of that hag closing in on me."
She smiled. "I can guarantee it, Milord."
Before he could lose courage, he stepped over the edge, Maeve at his side, and the two plummeted through the vortex.
Chapter 3
* * *
Her flesh was as soft as the petals of a Gardenia and smelled of that exotic flower as well. Fresh from the cool mountain stream, sparkling water droplets dotted her arms and breasts, now pebbling with goosebumps as she ran to the shelter of his cloak. As he wrapped her within the soft warmth of the wool, he inhaled the sweet fragrance of her hair and closed his eyes, feeling her nude body against his own.
"Faith, but the water is like ice!" she said, shivering as she laughed.
He rubbed her arms briskly with the fabric and rested his chin atop her hair. "I’ll miss swimming most of all."
She pulled back and looked at him. "I’ll swim for the two of us."
"Not for a while you won’t." He slipped one arm under her knees and lifted her high against his chest. "You’ll get yourself dressed before you catch lung fever."
Maeve draped her arms around his neck, laid her head on his shoulder as he carried her to the blanket he had spread out on the heather. "I’ll not argue with you, Milord," she said, teeth chattering, "but you have nothing to worry about me getting sick. I can’t."
Riain grunted in answer as he knelt on one knee and lowered her to the blanket. "Clothe yourself, Lady, before my baser instincts take over." As his cloak slipped from her, he looked away from her enticing bare breasts.
"And would you be taking advantage of me, Milord, if those instincts were given free rein?" She giggled.
"I would," he said, moving away. "I’m striving to be good here, lass."
"Even if I want you badly?"
Riain snapped his head around and widened his eyes when he saw her kneeling on the blanket, the cloak tumbled in a pool at her shapely hips. He swallowed, shook his head. "Don’t tempt me."
She stroked his cheek. "I was born to tempt you, Riain Cree." She lowered her eyes. "Just as you were born to claim me as your mate."
"You know what I am. Maeve, I—"
"You are what the gods have decreed you to be, my love."
"What the infernal Dark Gods have decreed!"
"Would you prefer I be like you?" she inquired.
He snorted. "I would not wish my predicament on my worst enemy. Not even that bitch Suzanna."
"Did you know wolves mate for life?"
He blinked. "What does that matter?"
"In part, you are a wolf now. Does that mean you will love me for life?"
He took her hand and placed it against his chest. "I will love you until time is no more and even after."
"Am I your mate, then, Milord Reaper?"
"As far as I am concerned you are. I…"
One moment he was looking into the jade green eyes of his lady, the next he was staring into the lupine eyes of a beautiful white she-wolf. In his hand was no longer the small hand, but a velvety paw. Before he could snap closed his sagging jaw, the she-wolf thrust her muzzle to his face and her rough tongue flicked teasingly over his cheek. Even as he watched dumbfounded, the elegant creature slipped its paw from his hand and backed away, the white bush of her tail flicking in challenge.
Riain snapped his mouth shut, stared solemnly for a moment, then a slow smile spread over his lips. "You want to play?"
The she-wolf lowered her head, nodding, then flicked her tail once before turning and loping toward a pasture. Now and again, she would stop, look over her shoulder, before continuing her delicate prance.
Riain got to his feet and stood, hands on his hips. It was fairly easy to shapeshift. He’d done quite a bit of late. He was weeks away from Transitioning into the snarling beast he dreaded, but only moments away from the lupine form that would take him to his lady’s side. When the baying sound of the she-wolf called in sultry cadence, his smile widened. He looked to the heavens, shrugged, then dropped to his hands and knees.
With one tremor, he shook off the mantle of humanity and shifted into a sleek gray wolf. His loping stride carried him swiftly over the rolling hills of the Irish countryside. With his muzzle twitching for his mate’s scent, his big paws took him unerringly to her.
He padded up to her, touched his cold nose to hers. She demurely lowered her head.
He bumped his haunch against her, their tails intertwining for a moment. She danced away, snuffling.
He growled; she chuffed in reply. He reared up, prancing, showing off.
She flicked her tail, seemingly disinterested, and padded gracefully to the stream, where she lowered her muzzle and lapped at the cool water.
He sighed and stretched out on his belly, lowering his head to his paws, and watched.
She continued to drink.
He sighed again and his rump came up as he slithered closer.
She ignored him and sat on her haunches to lick the moisture from her muzzle.
He whined, coming closer.
She tossed her head and looked over the pasture, watched the flight of a sparrow stitching the sky. Her whiskers twitched.
He stealthily made his way to his mate’s side, gazing up at her with adoration. He whimpered and nuzzled her leg with his head, rubbing her fur.
She snapped at him, her teeth bared, then wheeled away.
He groaned in frustration and pushed to his feet. He followed her fri
sky lope as she stopped at a patch of succulent grass and lowered her head to eat. When she craned her neck to look at him, he saw her fangs glistening as she grinned.
He shook his pelt, the muscles rippling from shoulder to haunch, then walked toward her, giving her time to flee if that was her intent.
But she stood where she was, her white coat gleaming in the early afternoon sunlight.
As he reached her, she sighed and stood still.
He mounted her, his fangs going to the soft fur at her shoulder. Gripping her flesh in his maw, he made her his.
* * *
When Maeve awoke, she was lying beside Riain, her head in the crook of his shoulder, her fingers twined in the thick mat of hair on his broad chest. Their bodies were damp from lovemaking. He was snoring, his face turned slightly from her. With tender pleasure, she stared at the slow pulse of his blood in the hollow of his throat and grew aroused. She shifted as gently as she could, hoping not to wake him as she got up. But before she could rise, the arm around her shoulder tightened, permitting her no escape.
"You are a light sleeper," she accused, settling in his hold.
"Such are the creatures of the night, sweeting," he responded with a mighty yawn. He scratched at the pelt between his breastbones and stared into her eyes. "Of which you are one, are you not?"
"No, but my powers allow me to be what needs be."
"Evil wench." He chuckled. "You could have told me you were a sorceress of great potency. Not that it matters. You’re mine any way you look at it."
Before she could answer, he stretched his heavy body atop hers.
"Faith, Milord!" she complained. "You are no featherweight!"
"Woman, be quiet."
His tongue and lips took her breath away as he plied his savage kiss upon her mouth. His hands molded her lower body against his, holding her to the evidence of his passion. Her helpless groan brought a grunt of satisfaction as he ground against her.
She tore her mouth free and gasped. "Riain!"
"Maeve!" he countered and claimed her mouth again, his tongue thrusting deep inside the warm cavern.
She managed to free her arms, and raked her fingers through his silky curls. She pulled back his head until the cords stood out in his neck.
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