Garran leaned forward, his forearms braced on the table. “You must make your choices. I will love you no matter what those choices might be. Come to me if and when you are ready. I will be waiting, as I waited for your mother all those years ago.”
Rhiannon’s eyes grew watery, as if she were fighting back tears. Despite her torn expression, she didn’t say anything and simply nodded before slipping out of her chair and going back to her husband and the other witches and warriors.
Garran looked across the tavern, barely noticing what was around him. Rhiannon’s rejection dug at his gut like a cold blade.
Perhaps one day she would understand him.
Perhaps not.
His only choice now was to be at Rhiannon’s side when he was able to, as a father should. Beyond that, it was up to her whether or not she would accept her Drow heritage. And accept him.
Hannah said her goodbyes to her Coven sisters and Banshee again before she and Garran made their way back to the Drow realm.
She would be seeing them the following day, but somehow it felt like it would be longer, as if they would be worlds away. Truly they would be, once the witches were in San Francisco and Hannah was still with Garran in Otherworld. But it wouldn’t be for long.
Hannah adjusted the shoulder strap of her pack. “How did your talk go with Rhiannon?” she asked Garran as they neared the transference stone, the Great Guardian nowhere in sight.
Garran let out a long sigh and took Hannah’s hand. She squeezed his fingers, hoping that gave him some comfort. “Rhiannon is my daughter. I wish only for her happiness.”
Hannah looked into the night as they continued walking. Moonlight dripped like silver tears over leaves and grass. “I don’t understand why I’ve come around to understanding and accepting you faster than your own daughter,” she said quietly.
Garran brought her to a stop and took both of her hands in his, forcing her to look up at him. “You and I share a different bond.” His tone and his gaze were serious, none of the teasing light in his eyes. “Ours is a meeting of souls.”
Hannah shivered and looked away from his intense expression at the same time she tried to step back. Right now she wanted to finish what they’d started before Banshee had interrupted—a kiss that she desired with everything she had. But if she admitted it to herself, she needed more than a kiss. Much, much more.
This craving her body had for him was insane.
When Garran drew her into his embrace and forced her to look at him again, she didn’t stop him. His body was warm and solid against hers as he buried his hand in her hair and cupped the back of her head. His eyes still held hers as he used his other hand to grip her hip and draw her snug against him, pressing himself hard to her belly.
Hannah’s breathing grew heavier, her heart pounding a little faster as he focused on her lips.
Fierce, hard, fast, like the warrior he was, he took possession of her mouth. He clenched his hand in her hair and held her so tightly that the straps crisscrossing his chest hurt as they smashed her breasts.
His taste—so earthy and masculine—drove her senses wild. She braced her palms on his cool metal shoulder plates and kissed him back with the same passion.
Her senses spun, need spiking so badly she wanted to crawl up his powerful body and wrap her thighs around his hips.
And they weren’t in the Drow realm. Every bit of the desire she’d had for him on this short journey to and from the D’Danann village proved he had never used magic to make her want him.
Not that she doubted his word. If nothing else, she sensed he was a good man, an honest man.
With a low groan, Garran abruptly stopped the kiss. Her lips felt swollen and she wasn’t sure she could breathe properly. His eyes were the same color as the moonlight as he looked down at her with so much passion that she reached up to kiss him again.
But he surprised her by stepping away and holding her at arm’s length. There was no doubt he wanted her. It was in his eyes, the way he looked at her, the roughness of his breathing.
Instead of taking the kiss any further, he reached out and grasped her hand. “Let us go back to my realm,” he said just before everything whirled and they entered the dark void of the transference.
The void swallowed her scream before they abruptly appeared in the meadow. She stumbled into Garran again, almost dropping her pack.
He held her for a brief moment then disappointment slid through her veins as he drew back, took her hand again, and brought her the few steps to the door to the Drow realm.
She shuddered at the sound of the rock door opening. “We definitely need to find some kind of lube to get rid of that horrid sound,” she said as they started down the stairs. She almost came to a stop after the words left her mouth. What was she thinking? Once they left for San Francisco, she was never coming back.
And what’s this “we?”
Silence draped them like a soft, comfortable cloak as they made their way down the stairs, deep into the depths of the Drow realm. They were immediately greeted by Garran’s guards. He merely responded with a nod before placing his hand at the base of her spine and guiding her to one of the doors leading from the great hall.
Her heart beat faster as he led her along passageways they’d been through before. Was he taking her to his own chamber?
Warmth traveled through her body. Erotic thoughts of her and Garran—naked and in bed together—wended their way through her mind. She met his liquid silver gaze as they walked and she knew he sensed every lustful urge rising up within her.
The line of his jaw tensed and he looked away from her as they continued down a passageway. Cool, crisp air flowed over her, but she felt hot.
So, so hot for Garran.
They reached the room she had slept in last night. Instead of leading her into the room, he brought her to a stop in the doorway.
Garran grasped her by her shoulders. In a harsh clash, his mouth met hers and she shivered at the firmness of his body and the leather straps against her breasts.
She gasped into his mouth when his callused hands moved beneath her shirt and roamed her body, up and down her back from her shoulder blades to her waist, stirring more lust within her. She moaned into his mouth with an urgency of her own as his fingers moved up to brush the sides of her breasts. Thrills shot straight to her belly as his thumbs found her nipples.
The intensity of the passion swirling inside her at that moment nearly took her breath away. Why Garran? She hadn’t felt this way around any man, not one, and she’d dated and had sex with a lot of wealthy, gorgeous, successful men.
By the goddess, she wanted more than just a kiss from Garran. Who cared that she barely knew him? She always got what she wanted, and right now she wanted him.
Garran drew away from her and wild, primal need stirred in his liquid silver eyes.
Her voice was husky as she started to tell him she wanted him to take her to bed. “Garran—”
“Shhh.” He put his fingertips to her mouth, silencing her. “Rest now. We shall leave on the morrow.”
Hannah blinked, too stunned to move as he replaced his fingers with a brush of his lips.
As he released her and backed away, he gave her a devastatingly sexy smile then a roguish wink before turning and striding away from the room.
For a moment, Hannah stared at the place he’d been standing before her temper flared and heat raced over her.
“Bastard.” She ground her teeth and slammed the door, the hard thunk resounding through the chamber. She dropped her pack as she glared at the door.
Yeah, they’d leave tomorrow. After she killed him.
* * *
The pain in Garran’s groin as he strode from Hannah’s chamber made it difficult to walk. He had come so close to taking her. Holding himself back had required more effort and restraint than he had thought he possessed.
He would bed Hannah, but not until her trust in him was complete, and there was no doubt in her mind he did not use Dr
ow magic to make her desire him so.
And when he was certain she felt the same soul-bond that he did.
He forced his thoughts to the task at hand. Before he rested, a discussion with Vidar was called for.
When he reached the Great Hall, Garran had one of his guards summon Vidar. Garran waited in his throne room, unable to hold back his frown as he glanced to the throne where the Orb was kept safe and hidden in the secret recesses of the armrest.
Was Vidar ready to receive the training from the Orb of Aithne?
Garran fully faced the throne and closed his eyes for a moment before opening them. No, he would wait. Once he had assessed the situation in the San Francisco Otherworld, he would return and determine if Vidar had served well in his absence. It was truly the best option Garran had at the time to weigh his decisions.
Garran took the steps up the dais to his throne and reclined with one elbow on the chair’s armrest as he stroked his chin.
When Vidar entered the chamber, he bowed then stood with a wide stance, his hands behind his back. His expression remained clear and respectful. No insolence, arrogance, or disrespect was in his eyes.
Still, Garran felt something out of place. Off.
Yes, when he returned, he would further evaluate Vidar’s performance.
“I leave on the morrow with the D’Anu witch.” Garran removed his hand from his chin and placed both forearms on the armrests. “I will take residence with the D’Danann, witches, and human forces who prepare now to again battle Ceithlenn.”
“Yes, my king.” Vidar’s tone was calm, even. “Are you certain we cannot send one of our best warriors to accompany you?”
Garran nearly sighed. If it was not for the Great Guardian’s declaration that he was not to inform anyone of his gifted power, he would take one of the men with him. As it was, he could ill afford to have a warrior shadowing him as he attempted to carry out his task.
“Perhaps upon my return, after I have determined our best course of action,” Garran finally said.
Vidar maintained a look of calm. “It would be for the best, my lord.”
Garran steeled his own expression. “However, at this moment I must have a word with you about your disrespectfulness for the D’Anu witch, Hannah.”
Annoyance flashed across Vidar’s features and a muscle along his jaw twitched. “A woman has no place in the warriors’ training chamber. Nor should she be allowed to feast with the Directorate and warriors when council is convened.”
A slow burn crawled up Garran’s spine and he barely restrained his anger. “It is not your decision to make. If I deem it so, that women may attend whatever I choose, then it shall be.”
He hardened his tone. “You will offer only the utmost respect to both of the witches—Hannah and my daughter Rhiannon—when either are in your presence.”
Vidar paused longer than appropriate, but the First in Command said, “Yes, my lord. It shall be so.”
Garran kept his eyes on the warrior. “See to it that Carden’s training as your First is well attended to.”
If Vidar was annoyed in any fashion, he did not show it. “At once, my lord.”
With a nod, Garran gestured to the doorway. “You may leave to attend to your duties.”
Vidar bowed, then turned and walked out the doorway of the throne room, his spine and posture rigid, almost wooden.
Garran narrowed his eyes. Yes, he must return from the San Francisco Otherworld soon to monitor Vidar and his training.
10
Darkwolf almost dropped to his knees, barely keeping to his feet in the small apartment. His mind swam and he struggled to focus on Elizabeth-Junga, the former queen of the Fomorii.
The weight of Balor’s eye was becoming increasingly difficult to carry and the pain in his head more intense. The stone eye, hanging from a chain at his throat, grew heavier, as if the ancient god himself yanked it toward the ground.
Somewhere, the god slogged through the sewers. That much Darkwolf’s scrying had told him.
Balor would never stop searching for Darkwolf and the eye. Not until the eye was destroyed, sent to Underworld, or the god found him.
Perhaps if his Clan still existed, Darkwolf could have gathered the warlocks, and together they might have used their dark sorcery.
To do what?
It didn’t matter, anyway. Ceithlenn had murdered most of his Clan and the rest had fled the city when she arrived.
Elizabeth pursed her lips and studied him. He preferred to think of her as the beautiful Elizabeth Black rather than the Fomorii demon that had taken over her body. As Elizabeth her scent was intoxicating—of woman and soft musky perfume.
Thank the gods she didn’t smell like the Fomorii did when they were in their demon form. All Fomorii smelled only of their host when in a human shell.
“Can’t you do something—anything?” Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re a warlock. You brought me and my kind to this world, can you not send the eye back?”
A flash of anger at her question made his headache worse. Darkwolf ground his teeth and went to the window of the small apartment they had taken over, his back to her.
What Elizabeth—Junga—had done to rid the place of its former renters, he didn’t want to know or think about. For now, it was theirs to use until Balor closed in on them again.
Darkwolf braced his hands on the wooden window frame, near the lock. He stared at the empty street and the cracked sidewalks spotted with black crap, no doubt most of it discarded chewing gum trod on by countless people over countless years.
Every day the anger burning within Darkwolf grew hotter and the pain in his head greater. One day he might lose control of that anger and use the power of the eye for himself.
Why not use it? Why suffer this torment day by day? He’d shrouded the eye as best he could with his own magic to keep Balor from finding him quickly. But what if Darkwolf discovered a way to use it against the god?
When Darkwolf found the eye on the shores of Ireland, he’d been a white witch known as Kevin Richards. Darkwolf had been so overcome with the power of the eye, with the greed that had gripped his soul, that he’d been oblivious to everything but bringing the Fomorii and Balor to this world.
But now that Ceithlenn had arrived, everything had changed. Something inside him had snapped when she used him, dominated him, forced him into sexual acts that left him feeling more unclean than even the horrid things he had done while under the powerful influence of Balor’s eye.
Power that Darkwolf had used willingly.
He gripped the sill so tightly his fingernails dug into the aging wood and his jaw ached from clenching his teeth.
Darkwolf released the sill to turn and face Elizabeth, meeting her blue eyes. “If I could rid myself of the eye, I would,” he said through gritted teeth. “You know that.”
She pushed one of her hands through her thick, glossy black hair. “There must be some way that you can dispense with the gods-be-damned thing.”
His mind returned again to his darkest thoughts. “Or just maybe I can use it for myself. Screw Balor and hiding it from him.”
Elizabeth dropped her hand to her side, her eyes widening. “Do you think that’s possible?”
“Hell if I know.” The pain in his head grew greater. He had to relieve it before he went mad. “But I do know what I want now.”
The only thing that lessened his pain daily was unleashing his power on Elizabeth, sexually dominating her, fulfilling them both. She always took him willingly, her desire as insatiable as his.
Lust darkened her eyes and her nipples beaded beneath the T-shirt she was dressed in now. Instead of the tailored, fitted suits she’d worn before, as Elizabeth Black, she had finally settled for more practical clothing-jeans, T-shirts, and running shoes.
He’d preferred it when he could shove up her skirt and sink himself into her tight core whenever he wanted to. But he could still take her hard and fast no matter how she was dressed.
> And right now he needed just that.
Elizabeth wet her lips with her tongue as he strode from the window, across the cramped living room. As soon as he reached her, he grabbed her shining black hair in one fist, yanked her to him, and grasped her ass with his free hand. He ground himself against her belly as he claimed her mouth. At the same time a growl rose in his throat.
Whenever he took her a feral, primal need overcame him that made every other thing around them vanish. The eye no longer weighed him down, and he no longer felt Balor’s presence. If he could be inside Elizabeth constantly to keep it all at bay, he would.
* * *
Later, when his climax finally slammed into him, he collapsed to the floor with Elizabeth in his arms.
For that moment in time all he did was let the pleasure wash over him. He closed his eyes hoping that it would last. That he could put off the inevitable just a little longer.
When the orgasm started to fade, the pain in his head and the weight of the eye nearly caused him to double over. He sagged against Elizabeth.
The pain was so great that all he could do was lie there until he had the strength to take her again.
11
The following day before it grew too close to dawn, Garran escorted Hannah to his throne room.
He had found the spark of anger in her eyes amusing as she practically slammed the door to her chamber in his face before taking her shower. Again, he had waited until she had refreshed herself and came out of the room, her pack over her shoulder.
When they reached the smooth, obsidian granite door in his throne room, he raised his hand. His palm warmed as his magic flowed from his hand in a glittering dark cloud and opened the heavy door. No one but one of the Drow could open this doorway to those from Otherworlds.
He took Hannah into the small room that contained a circular transference stone, similar to the one the Great Guardian allowed the Fae and other beings to use as long as they had Elvin escorts.
The Shadows Page 11