The Manx Cat Guardians Boxed Set

by J P Sayle

  Sparks ignited in his chest, something all-powerful pulling him into the bright flames of the fire raging through him, consuming him. In its wake, something strong and powerful dug deep inside him, feeling their influence take hold, surrounding him. He felt as mighty as the oak and fir trees that covered the Isle. The roots taking hold and planted firmly into his soul. As his feelings settled, Óláfr could sense the calm overcome him as his body accepted the inevitability of the connection. A connection he had somehow created with Magnus, even against his will.

  Aaden willed his mind to let go of the images, feeling his body strain. Sweat beaded on his skin as he fought to hold on, to shake off the past and not drown in Óláfr’s emotions.

  Not yours, not yours, not real.

  “I’m coming. Hold on, Aaden. I’m coming, listen to me. Breathe. Come on, this isn’t your first rodeo. Breathe for me, Aaden.”

  The reassuring, familiar voice lulled the turmoil for a second before cold, clammy, trembling fingers lifted his face up.

  “Aaden, open your eyes now. Do as I say. Or else I’m going to kick your big motherfucking arse from here to kingdom come and back. I mean it. Open your goddamneyes right this minute.”

  The wailing, panicked screeching had Aaden struggling to lift his eyelids, which felt as if they had twenty-pound weights attached to them. If only to stop the noise Greg was making from splitting his head open wide.

  “Please, stop… Screeching.” His raspy demand fell on deaf ears.

  “Screeching, I’ll give you screeching. You’ve been sitting there like a fucking zombie, staring into fucking space for the last five minutes with eyes as blank as my last cheque. Then I start hearing your bloody cat calling like I have my bloody phone on speaker, telling you to hold on, that he’s coming, and you want me to stop screeching.”

  The wail died as he watched Greg wearily prance to the chair he’d put the glass of water on and brought it to him, thrusting it into his hand.

  “Here. You look like you could do with it, though I think we could both do with something stronger.”

  Moving his hands from his head, Aaden took the glass, taking a deep drink, hoping it would help settle his heaving stomach. His gaze lifted to Greg as he put the glass down on the floor. The pinched lips and body trembles had him pulling Greg into his lap. He could see, now that his vision was clear, the fear. Fear, Greg’s anger couldn’t quite mask. He hugged Greg closer into his chest. Their nakedness was the last thing on his mind as he offered what reassurance he could.

  Aaden buried his nose in Greg’s shoulder and inhaled, remembering too late what had set him off. Hesitating when his mind stayed exactly where it should, he released a quiet thank you and rested his chin into the crook of Greg’s neck, letting his guts untie.

  The sound of paws thumping up the stairs had Aaden raise his face. Sighing, he puffed out his chest as Max strolled into the bedroom.

  Max perched at the end of the bed, giving them both an unblinking stare.

  Unconcerned about their nakedness, he felt Greg tense against his chest, his hands moving into his lap.

  He spoke up, hoping to put Greg at ease. “It’s okay. It’s only Max.”

  “Yeah, I kinda got that, but it’s a talking cat with God knows what other powers. So, if you don’t mind, I really don’t want him staring at my junk while we all sit around having a come-to-Jesus talk, okay?”

  The sarcastic tone mixed with the one-eyebrow lift had Aaden chuckling.

  “Okay,” he agreed.

  Knowing what was coming, Aaden yanked the bed cover over the two of them, wrapping Greg to his body. Hoping it would stop him from wanting to leave. He really did not feel like running naked after him. Aaden tucked him in as tight as possible and ignored Max’s eye roll.

  Lifting Greg’s chin up, Aaden gave him a small smile. He crossed his fingers on the other hand behind Greg’s back, thinking he couldn’t be too superstitious with what he was about to talk about.

  “Greg, it’s important that you try to listen first, okay? I know I explained some stuff, but it’s important that you let Max talk. I know you can hear him in your head when we’re together. And you possibly think you’re going mad, but I can assure you you’re not.”

  Aaden struggled to keep a straight face when Greg gave him a “we are all clearly mad” look.

  “I was fourteen, as I said before, when I got Max, and not long after that, I started having dreams if you will, about two men. What I didn’t know or understand was that Max was a guardian cat or had been, until he’d been given the role of soul bearer after one of those men did something awful.” Aaden sensed he had Greg hooked on the story as he melted into his embrace, hanging on to his every word as he spoke about Óláfr and Magnus.

  Aaden let Max continue explaining the dreadful things that occurred all those years ago that resulted in Magnus’s death and Óláfr’s promise. When Max paused, Aaden quickly glanced at Greg’s face to see what was wrong. The colour bleached from Greg’s face, making him look like a ghost. His eyes were huge, consuming his face. His body was utterly still.

  “Greg, you okay? Still with me?” Not liking the panic he could hear in his own voice, Aaden gave Greg a small shake, only to get a loud, angry snarl in response.

  “Huhhhh.” Aaden pulled back but couldn’t escape the duvet or Greg’s bony elbow knocking into his tummy for a second time.

  “Hey, for fuck’s sake stop that.” Losing his patience as Greg’s elbow made contact again, he gripped Greg’s wrists, pulling them into one hand and holding his arms away, out of harm’s reach.

  Gasping pants filled the air as he felt Greg’s breath brush over his naked shoulders.

  “Let me the fuck go… Now.”

  Greg wriggled, digging his heel into Aaden’s calf, kicking back. Trapped by his own duvet, Aaden gave up, cursing his own stupid behaviour that resulted in both his stomach and leg throbbing like a bastard.

  How do I always forget how strong Greg is? How?

  Finally releasing them both, Aaden watched Greg stomp to Max, lurching forward, not sure what his intention was. Greg’s words stopped him cold.

  “So let me get this straight. You carried Óláfr’s soul for eight hundred years, looking for the right recipient which, you’re both telling me, was Aaden. So who was carrying Magnus’s, because, you little shit, missed that part out. You must think I’m stupid or something because I know you’ve infused Magnus into me. Haven’t you? Those things I saw in London. They were the same things that Aaden can see, isn’t it?”

  The seething anger and snapping teeth should have had Aaden charging to Max’s aid, but the reality of what Greg implied stopped him dead.

  “You carried Magnus too?” His quiet demand had two sets of eyes turn towards him. Ignoring Greg for a moment, he let his gaze lock on Max.

  He felt time stood still as the reality slapped him sideways. It knocked him upside the head, better than any of his father’s clips to his ear as a child, those that always made his ears ring. Burying his head in his hands, he tried to swallow back the bitter taste of bile, of betrayal.

  “All this time you knew. All those conversations about my soulmate, and you knew you still carried Magnus. You let me wallow in my own misery for years, knowing that you hadn’t imbued Magnus’s soul into anyone.” Gobsmacked, he stopped. His mind whirled, thinking back to what he’d seen in the van when they’d arrived and docked.

  It had been real.

  The sheer dread in Max’s voice pulled him back into his own personal hell.

  “Listen to me, Aaden. Please, I beg you to see. I was not allowed to talk about it. You have to understand I’d already messed with the fates once. I couldn’t take the chance this time. I love you with everything I am. You have to understand I couldn’t jeopardise your happiness and live with myself. I didn’t think about the fact I had never released Magnus before. I swear to you it never crossed my mind. I’m sure I wasn’t meant to. I believe I released Magnus when we arrived because tha
t was always the plan. I never knew. I swear to you. It was different this time. Magnus’s soul all but ripped from me. I wasn’t expecting it or to return to where it had all began.”

  “What the fuck did you say?” Aaden roared, charging. He pulled Max from Greg’s hands, shoving his face into Max’s.

  “Here? It all happened here? Why the hell haven’t you said anything? We’ve been here for weeks, and I’m only finding this out now?”

  Feeling his fingers dig into the silky fur far too tightly, Aaden dropped Max on to the floor with a thud before he did something he’d regret. He stormed to the window and opened it. He took several icy cold breaths, uncaring he was bollock naked and freezing his arse off. He felt he’d lost the ability to take a decent inhale as Max’s betrayal crushed his chest.

  “I didn’t tell you because I couldn’t without potentially changing the fates of both you and Greg. The fates worked to get you here. I never knew where your soulmate was until we arrived, and okay, maybe I should have told you this. But shit happened that neither of us was planning on, like Joel shooting Princess, or what I would have to do to save her life. I was planning on telling you. Please, Aaden, listen to me.”

  The worried grumbling in his mind had him turning slowly. An icy blast of cold air hit his back, causing a shiver to run down his spine. Closing the window, he stepped to his discarded clothing. As he dressed, he watched Greg do the same. The passion between them was as dead as his heart felt at Max’s disloyalty.

  “Talk, but it better be good because otherwise you and I are finished.” His harsh command had Greg stilling.

  “I know I’m a little late to this party we’re having here, but I think whatever Max’s reasons are, they seem very valid. If what you both have told me happened in the past, it seems like you and I, Aaden, have to make right what happened, whether we want to or not. I’m not right keen on the idea that you fancy me because I have a part of someone else’s soul now sitting inside me. Or that it makes me do and feel stuff that doesn’t really belong to me, either.”

  “No, Greg, you’re wrong. The part of your soul that is Magnus’s completes you, as it does Aaden with Óláfr. They were, how can I explain? Like a missing part of the jigsaw. You always needed it to make your soul whole. They are the parts that for hundreds of years have searched for each other, waiting to connect like any other soulmates. Whatever you feel for Aaden and vice versa is very real. Don’t doubt that for a second. You just have an extra bit, so to speak.”

  Aaden felt the weight of the words as if an albatross hung from him while Max strolled to his velvet pillow in the corner.

  “You were both searching for a soul to love because everyone needs love. Yours is more precious than most being centuries old and tortured by actions of those that came before you. It would seem you both were always meant for each other, regardless of the original missing parts of your souls.”

  The quiet words spoken in such reverence had Aaden realise no matter how mad or how betrayed he felt right then, Max was really the one carrying the albatross. For more years than I care to imagine. That thought right there had him reining in his temper.

  “Okay, I’m sorry for losing my cool when I was supposed to support Greg through this. Which he evidently didn’t need, “cause he got the whole other carrying the second soul I had clearly missed by a fucking mile.”

  Aiming for dry humour, Aaden rolled his eyes when both Max and Greg gave him a joint look of pity.

  Max’s grumbling stomach reminded him of his original plan of a date with Greg.

  Well, that was before Greg had stolen all my sanity.

  Greg wrapping himself around Aaden, giving him that sexy-as-fuck smirk had ripped away all pretences. His body had always known with every fibre what it wanted, even when his mind had been fighting it tooth and nail.

  As he cast a quick glance at the unmade bed, his cock reminded him it hadn’t had half the fun it had expected once Greg had hit those sheets. Aaden pulled Greg to the door, sighing in frustration, taking them away from temptation. He hoped that the picnic basket full of goodies and the blanket Brad had loaned him to cover the hard floor would be enough to woo him into a second date.

  Woo!

  He ignored the clamminess at the back of his neck at the thought of how he’d managed to go his entire life without having to date, only to find at thirty-fucking-four, he had to start.

  Hearing Max follow behind them, he held on to Greg’s cold hand dragging him along, worrying at how silent he’d become. Aaden rolled his eyes heavenward, imploring whoever was listening not to let him fuck this up when the sense of belonging, he couldn’t escape, swept away all his lingering doubts about them being together.

  Recollecting Óláfr’s emotions as he’d connected fully with Magnus, Aaden paused at the bottom of the stairs as a sudden thought hit him.

  Were the fates trying to let me feel how right a soulmate connection is?

  Unable to answer the question, he left it alone, not sure he could take another knock. Instead he pushed the plans he had into Max’s mind, hoping that Greg wasn’t able to catch those when he didn’t speak. Feeling approval come back along with gratitude, he let the worry go, focusing on wooing Greg.

  God help them all. There was that word again.

  Wooing for fuck’s sake. Whatever next?

  Greg

  Magnus tried to lift his blood-filled eyes to Óláfr, imploring him to end the agony that seared his body as the blade dug deep, opening up his back. The pain morphed, spreading faster than the torchers getting ready to light the pyre, waiting for him. He’d so wanted to be brave for his beloved Óláfr. But he knew he was failing miserably as his jaw clenched to keep the screams from escaping his clamped lips. His fingers curled around the wood beneath him, biting into his raw skin. He held on for dear life.

  Magnus felt his life force dripping on to the ground with each swipe of the blade as Arngrim drew the design of the eagle, marking his flesh for all to see. The irony that the first part of Arngrim’s name meant eagle was not lost on him.

  Magnus blinked twice, trying to clear his vision. His rasping breaths made the fire burn into his chest. He gave an internal scream for Óláfr to come and end his desolation, beseeching him to finish this misery.

  “Help me. Please, help me. Make it stop. If you feel anything for me, have done with this torture and throw me on the pyre now.”

  Magnus thanked the Goddess Freyja for letting Óláfr hear his internal plea when he saw him striding towards him, determination etched in his dark, brooding eyes. The rising wind had his dark hair flowing into the air, mimicking the flapping wings of the ravens that moved in to attack their prey. His broad shoulders bunched, preparing for battle. His gaze never wavered from Magnus’s.

  He could feel a sudden tearing when Arngrim’s large fingers dug into his back, yanking his flesh away from his bones before he started cutting again. Magnus’s fright was so big it swallowed him whole, making it impossible to hold the horror inside. Magnus chanted deliriously. His mind lost the ability to focus as the terror took hold.

  He lost his breath as Óláfr grabbed at Arngrim’s blood-soaked arm, stopping him midstroke, pushing him away. Magnus felt the ties fall away as strong arms lifted him gently, cupping him into the warm furs covering Óláfr’s massive chest. Waves of emotion flooded his torn body. The light of the love swirling in Óláfr’s eyes as they connected soothed his battered soul for the betrayal of their bond.

  Magnus struggled to take a breath, feeling the air coat his insides, his lungs bared for all to see. His mind whirled as darkness pulled him away from the agony coating his very being. He tried to continue to make his eyes connect with Óláfr’s, but he knew he was failing as the blackness edged ever closer.

  His mind struggled to comprehend the promises resonating through his mind and soul. Promises that made Magnus weep as Óláfr gave assurances that somehow or other, he would right this wrong. As the pledge slid into Magnus’s soul, he felt a spark of aw
areness light his chest, holding him captive and enthralled. The pain seemed to lessen just for a moment with the light of love filling his very being. It eased his mind, preparing him for what was to come.

  He knew nothing would change the outcome, but the thought of another time, another place, where he could love, be loved, was enough to give his soul hope.

  He felt his body moving. The air shifted over his torn skin, torturing him further as the rasp of fur and cloth stabbed at his exposed flesh.

  He was clasped tighter. Scents of warm, sweet musk surrounded him in a blanket, protecting his overwhelmed senses.

  Óláfr’s eyes connected with his one last time.

  Devastating emotions swirled around them, igniting an eternal flame. Magnus nodded in acknowledgement, too weak to do more.

  He knew this was the end as his body flew through the air. Landing hard, the pain that had seemed to be held at bay came back with a vengeance. Screams ripped from his gaping mouth. His lungs were fried as they inflated on the burning wood, stealing his power to inhale. His flesh was consumed by the conquering fire, causing it to flee from his bones. His chest burst open, and his soul was ripped from his body, freeing him from the agony.

  Magnus sunk into oblivion with hope of forever and future destinies.

  Greg shot forward, grasping at his throat, feeling the scream build inside his tormented mind. He catapulted out of the nightmare faster than firing cannons. His pulse thundered in his ears, deafening him as he dragged in a few shaky breaths. Struggling to gain some reality, Greg blinked into the darkness as he pushed his sweat-soaked fringe out of his eyes. He reached with trembling fingers to his bedside light, switching it on. The soft glow reassured him he was in fact in his own bed and not lying on a burning pyre while his soul was being torn from his body.