Marked for Death Page 11

  One vicious snarl kept the McLaine mates who had gathered in the hall at bay. Solène pried at Drandar’s fingers, panic overruling her capacity to think. Taran was wounded—he needed her. Her feet moved only because she would not suffer the pain of being literally dragged.

  “Let me go,” she cried.

  “We had an agreement. One you severed. Now you are mine.” He jerked on her hair again, sending her dangerously close to the stairs. “Walk.”

  Dutifully, she obeyed and set a foot on the stairs.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Taran.”

  His name registered distantly, a feminine whisper that resonated in Taran’s soul. He strained to hear better, grabbed at the wafting melody as if it were the last foothold on life.

  “Taran.”

  Closer now, Nyamah’s voice soothed over his skin. Anger that festered in the darkest part of his soul ebbed. But a strange chill infused his blood. An icy finger that dug deeper with each slow, heavy beat of his heart. Trying to focus on his mother was like trying to lift weights with the power of his mind.

  Only more difficult.

  He squinted through his hazed thoughts and made out the ghostly impression of her beautiful face. For the first time in memory, the sight of her comforted.

  “Taran, you must listen closely.” She wafted closer. One ethereal hand reached out to stroke his hair. “You have a choice to make, my son.”

  A choice? Panic slipped into his veins, and he glanced around nervously, searching for some sign of the music room and the family that had surrounded him moments earlier. Instead, he found nothingness. His pulse struggled against the fear that rolled down his spine. Was he dead? Would he, despite the promise of her ritual, now stand before the ancestors?

  He tried to speak, to voice the questions, but could work no sound through his throat.

  As if she could hear the frenetic chaos of his mind, she soothed, “You are not dead, though you are indeed dying. This is the decision you must make, my precious son.” Her hand smoothed down his back as she lowered herself to sit at his side. “For so long you have struggled. I wish things could be differently, that they had never been as they were.”

  His heart tolled another low beat, shuddering with the immense effort. Deep inside, the cold spread. Numbness settled into his toes.

  Solène. Where was she? The last conscious sound he had heard was that of her pain. Another wave of panic launched through him.

  “I can lift your curse, but I cannot remove the darkness. It is a product of your birth, of the energies that combine on Samhain when the veil between the worlds is the thinnest.” She slid her hand down his arm, to the flesh that ached, the gash he had inadvertently carved. “If you choose to live, you will always combat a portion of it, though you will be free of the need to kill.”

  Solène! He fought to push the exclamation from his throat. But nothing worked, his body failed to cooperate. Each vibration behind his ribs, more a weak shudder now than precise beat, made stringing thoughts together an impossible chore. He drifted on some unseen tide, pulled to and fro between the promise of life and the finality of death. Life—he wanted to live! Couldn’t she see that? Couldn’t she know?

  A sad smile graced her mouth. “If you choose escape, freedom from the damnation, I would never fault you. In fact, I would understand. Because, my strong child, I also cannot guarantee Solène’s fate.”

  Like someone had shoved a dagger into his gut, agony ripped through him. Life without her would be no life at all. If she passed, he would rather die here than be alone. He turned pleading eyes on Nyamah, willing her to share the secrets of the fates, though he knew she never would.

  “Drandar will live, so long as she does. And if such occurs, he will torment you both until death claims you.”

  A fate Taran would embrace, so long as he could spend one full night at Solène’s side without the worry of what might happen should she wake to horrific dreams. A day that he could walk without the torment of contemplating the many glorious ways she could die.

  He struggled to object, to voice his vehement opposition to death, but only managed a nearly inaudible moan. Solène was with Drandar—he must return to her. He could not allow her to suffer at his hands.

  Nyamah’s voice rang with quiet reverence. “She sacrificed herself to free you from the curse, Taran. I cannot interfere and upset the balance. Drandar exists for a reason, just as I exist now through Isolde. Light and dark are inseparable. You will bear his stain, if he falls.”

  Acceptance rolled through Taran. He no longer cared. By the damnable ancestors, he would accept the vile curse if he could return to Solène.

  Nyamah’s smile strengthened. “Of all my children, you have been the bravest. So it is life you wish?”

  Oh for the love of the ancients…yes.

  As if an invisible hand reached under him and jerked the earth from beneath his feet, Taran fell. He plummeted down in a heady rush, spiraling to some unknown destination. Each moment of minutia that passed strengthened the flow of blood in his veins. Layer after layer, the cold faded and warmth infused his veins.

  He hit an unseen bottom with the force of a crashing car and jerked to wakefulness with a gasp. Cian, Belen, and Dáire hovered over him. The rest were absent.

  Fighting to lift himself upright, Taran beat back the fear that threatened to engulf him. “Where is she? Where’s Solène?”

  Belen exchanged a guarded look with Dáire.

  “Damn it,” Taran thundered. He found the strength to struggle to a sitting position and willed himself to his feet. The room tilted at a dangerous angle. He grabbed for the back of the chair to keep from stumbling.

  “Taran, sit down before you hurt yourself. No one can bring you back this time,” Cian instructed as he grabbed Taran’s arm.

  Centuries of repressed fury boiled to the surface. He shot Cian a scathing glower. “Get your fucking hand off me.”

  When Cian let go in surprise, Taran stumbled toward the door. “Does that bastard have her still?”

  “Taran…” Dáire sighed, then answered more quietly. “Yes.”

  That was all he required to find the strength to run. He careened down the stairs, the hall, through the shop, and out onto the pavestone patio where shadows cloaked the alley. There was only one way Drandar could go without drawing attention to himself. Taran had heard his pained cry—even if he had somehow gained Solène’s cooperation, an injury would only make him more obvious.

  Taran struck an unsteady jog and headed down the shadowed alley. Past the heart of the district, through the outskirts of town, where city lights gave way to moonlight and the vast expanse of green grass before a rise of thick woods. He stopped at a curb, scanning the landscape for some sign of Drandar’s direction—crumpled grass, spilled blood, anything that offered clues.

  As he searched, a familiar prickle lifted the hairs on his arms. He turned, his muscles tightening in caution. His heart stilled as he sighted Solène. Still and faint, her presence swamped him, the vision identical to the many times she had visited him while he slept. Only…different. Less tangible. Less…earthly.

  No!

  Understanding cracked over him like lightning. He was staring at her spirit, not her astral-walking form.

  “Stay with me, Solène.” He rushed after her fading visage, stumbling over uneven ground to catch up with the ghostly specter. “Stay with me, sweetheart. I’m coming.”

  “This way.” Belen’s voice boomed behind him. “She’s this way, Taran!”

  He spun, dumbfounded for a moment by the fact his brother had followed. But recalling that Belen possessed the ability to track entities, he wasted no time in turning the opposite direction. He caught up with Belen just as Belen shoved aside a sapling and entered the woods.

  “Is she…” Taran couldn’t bring himself to voice the question.

  “Not yet. Hurry.” He took off again, crashing through the undergrowth and shoving through the brush.

  Ta
ran followed in a blind rush. Another pair of footsteps crashed behind him, and he suffered another bout of disbelief when he found Rhiannon racing on his heels. “I’ve been…looking for her.” She managed through harsh breaths.

  Ahead, Belen slowed. He picked his way more carefully through the trees, his steps more deliberate. Taran allowed himself to walk, despite the fierce instinct to run. He glanced at Rhiannon. “Where’s Brigid?”

  “Fighting our sire.”

  Brigid? Taran blinked. Brigid couldn’t overtake Drandar. Not in a hundred lifetimes.

  “Isolde is with her.”

  A breath of relief escaped Taran. He didn’t have long to savor the feeling, however. As Belen came to a dead stop, Taran stumbled into his brother’s back. He retreated with a muffled oath.

  “She’s there, Taran.” Belen indicated a break in the trees.

  Taran stepped forward. A flash of blinding light forced him back. Shielding his eyes with a lifted hand, he moved ahead again. From within, an enraged masculine voice bellowed something unintangible.

  Belen’s hand clapped onto Taran’s shoulder. “Prepare yourself. Her energy is barely there. Drandar’s is thick.”

  As heartache crept into Taran’s veins, Rhiannon dashed past him. The flash of movement pulled him from the edge of a dark, lonely cavern and spurred his weakened legs once more. He rushed after his sister, barging in on a scene straight from hell itself. Brigid cried out, and hit the ground on her knees, clutching at a gaping rend in her right shoulder. Before her, Drandar let out an unearthly, triumphant howl and spun on Isolde.

  At his feet, Solène lay unmoving.

  Rage lurched through Taran. He lunged ahead, mindless to his mortal weaknesses, intent on ripping his sire into shreds. Three steps into his desperate trajectory, a fiery ball of white light burst from Isolde’s hands, shot between the narrow distance that separated her from their sire. Drandar dodged, but not fast enough. The energy sphere hit him in the thigh. He stumbled to his left, snarling.

  Taran rushed closer.

  “Sister!” Rhiannon called from somewhere behind Taran.

  Isolde’s attention jerked from her opponent and snapped onto him. “Stay back, Taran!”

  Like hell he would stay away. In the light of burning ground cover, he caught the darker stain of blood near Drandar’s feet. Solène’s blood. He shot a glance at Belen, who crept closer to her lifeless form. Belen shook his head gravely.

  As if Isolde recognized the determined clench of Taran’s jaw, she faced him fully. In her hands, blue-light glowed. As her voice took on more strength, the ball grew in size, mimicking the orb Fintan had summoned to protect her. Behind Isolde, Drandar rose on unsteady feet. Wicked yellow-green energy crackled around him.

  Power Taran’s darkened spirit recognized with sickening glee. He sensed Drandar’s intentions as if they shared the same wave-length of thought. For the first time, he realized the truth of his birth, the truth in Nyamah’s words—he was the embodiment of his sire. And the malice that rolled through his soul sickened him.

  Worse, the knowledge that Isolde could not defend herself sent panic launching through him. “No!” he thundered. She was the only one capable of defeating the demon. He would not have her jeopardize her safety just to protect him.

  He dashed forward, intent on reaching Solène, determined to distract Drandar in the process. Let him be the target. He had no purpose here if Solène walked amongst the spirits.

  Drandar spied him, and a vile grin spread across his face. Dark hair whipped wildly in the night, adding to his horrific presence. He lifted his hands, palms out, energy crackling between them at Taran.

  Taran hesitated for a mere second. His gaze jumped to his sire’s feet. Heartache twisted him in two. Then, in the next beat of his heart, he rushed at his sire, fists balled, fury driving him beyond the pain of loss, beyond concern for his own survival. Drandar would pay for the innocence he destroyed.

  Fingers of yellow-green arced toward him. He ignored the prickle of his skin, shut out the heat that swept over his body. Raising his hand, he made one last lunge for his sire.

  An instant before his fist connected with that grotesquely beautiful face, a curtain of blue-white brilliance fell around him. Drandar spun on Isolde. Her eyes widened in understanding of her error. But before that gathered power could fly from Drandar’s hands, two voices rose in chorus, one masculine, the weaker one, feminine. Like an invisible fist, an unseen force punched past Taran and knocked Drandar four steps backward.

  He landed flat on his back, a gurgling rasp coming from his parted lips.

  Taran shook off the need to extract revenge as Isolde focused on their wounded sire once more. He rushed to Solène as another blast of pristine brilliance illuminated the clearing. Taran dropped to his knees at Solène’s side, and choked back despair. A large gash across her chest bled freely. As did another blow to the side of her head.

  Tears blurred his vision. He fumbled to slip his hands beneath her broken body, to cradle her against his chest. Dimly, he heard the anguished cry of his sire, and recognized the whine of death’s embrace that followed. So he was dead, which meant…

  Heartache wrenched his soul into pieces. His hands tightened on Solène, the need to hold her close and breath life back into her if he must, all consuming.

  “Don’t.” Rhiannon appeared next to Taran and pushed his hand aside and set hers atop the bleeding wound that ran from Solène’s right shoulder across to her bottommost left rib.

  Taran closed his eyes in anguish. He sniffed to stop the damnable tears, but they fell anyway, coursing down his cheeks shamelessly. One hundred years without her…now, when he was free to love without restraint, he had lost her anyway.

  ****

  Solène had walked the fine veil between life and death before, and she knew what came next. The longing to feel Taran’s arms around her, to bathe in the comfortable warmth of his embrace would ebb. The yearning to shed tears she couldn’t release would fade. And soon, in another moment or two, with the last shuddering beat of her heart, peace would descend around her.

  She couldn’t even see him anymore, her spirit had drifted so far. But she could hear the soft murmur of her name, the heartache that clogged his throat. And she would sell her soul to Drandar to take that pain from him.

  “I love you,” she whispered, though she knew the sound would never reach his ears.

  Her heart shuddered again, fighting to hold on. The catch beneath her ribs made leaving him that much more impossible. It was as if that weak muscle sought to find strength from him. As she had done so many times.

  “I love you too, my sweet.”

  Taran’s hoarse voice slid over her skin like silk. The sound pulled at her spirit, filling her with the insatiable need to cling to the scraps of life that still hovered around her.

  In a jerk of awareness, Solène’s thoughts ground to a halt. He loved her too? He had heard her? Impossible.

  But the sudden tightness around her shoulders, the firm, unyielding press of his body against hers, sent elation skyrocketing through her veins. Her pulse thrummed more strongly. And though it didn’t make sense—she had left this body seconds before he crashed into the woods—pain registered. It blistered across her chest, pounded against her skull.

  With one jarring crash of awareness, every bruise, scrape, and gash Drandar had left her with woke up screaming. She moaned against the agony of awareness.

  “Shh,” Taran soothed as he shifted her in his arms. His heart thumped an anxious rhythm beneath her ear. “Rhiannon stopped the bleeding. We’re waiting on Isolde.”

  It took every bit of strength she possessed to force her lashes to lift. Taran gazed down at her tenderly. Moonlight illuminated the tracks of tears on his cheeks. She swallowed through a tight, dry throat. “Oh, make it stop,” she groaned.

  A hoarse chuckle worked free, and Taran’s breath stirred her hair. “Welcome back.” He tipped his head, and his lips grazed her temple. “If you ever
think of doing that again, we’re going to have issues.”

  “Doing…what?” she managed through another wave of pain.

  “You left me, Solène. For an instant, but that was long enough.” His arms tightened, and a shudder rolled through his body. “Rhi kick-started your heart.”

  So she had crossed over. She just hadn’t made it all the way to the spiritual plane before Rhiannon pulled her back. Oh sweet, sacred ancestors…Tears rushed to her eyes.

  Taran lifted a solitary finger to wipe the salty droplets from her cheeks. “Don’t leave me again.”

  A smile pulled at one corner of her mouth, but another flash of fire tripping through her system stopped its full emergence. She grimaced as the blistering wave passed. “The…ritual…?”

  “Completed.” Taran gave her the first unfettered smile she had seen in ages. The sight of that simple beauty made her heart stutter all over again. Despite her injuries, she snuggled closer.

  “And Drandar is eradicated. Isolde felled him in that brief moment you were…” He shook his head with a frown. “She’s injured and her magic is weak. She returned to the house for herbs. She’ll be back soon.”

  “Take me there,” Solène whispered. “Take me home.” To her own ears, her voice sounded pleading.

  “Are you certain? Moving will pain you more.”

  She found the strength to nod, and held her breath while Taran eased to his feet, cradling her against his chest. The motion threatened to send her back into the abyss of unconsciousness, but she latched onto the scent of spice that offered so much comfort and willed her mind to remain intact. Nothing would make her miss a moment of this. Not pain, not fear—nothing.

  But with Taran’s first step, all her willpower cracked. White-hot intensity consumed her, and she surrendered to the pinpoints of blackness that hovered at the edges of her mind.