Dark Highland Fire (The MacInnes Werewolves #2)

Dark Highland Fire (The MacInnes Werewolves #2) Page 2

And the only thing that could have brought him here tonight had Rowan's stomach clenching with sick dread. She watched the words he formed once more, just to be certain.

Outside. Run. NOW.

Rowan gave a faint nod, feeling glued in place for precious seconds as Bastian struggled against the sea of people to get to her. When the crowd only shoved him back, he repeated himself even more emphatically, then shot a sharp glance at the front entrance. Her eyes went there as well, and the senses she'd had to suppress just to exist here unfurled like the petals of some dark flower. Suddenly she could feel the power gathering somewhere just beyond, out there in the night. She swallowed, hard, with a throat that had become as dry as sand. And despite the raucous noise in the club, the jeers now directed at her as the music continued, her ears picked up a sound that kicked her heart into such a quick beat it might have flown out of her chest.

Thunder. A storm. Oh, by the Goddess, no.

She snapped into action then, moving at a speed not remotely human. Rowan snatched up her discarded shorts and raced from the stage so quickly that for most, a blink found her vanished. It was bound to cause talk. It would possibly get her fired. And none of that mattered now, she thought as she burst through the back door of the club. After all these months of relative safety, she and Baslian had been found. The dragons had come for her once again.

But this time she had no idea where to run.

The darkness in the dingy alley was alive with a malevolent energy that raised each separate hair on her body. It crackled in each breath she drew, coiling into a leaden ball at the very core of her as she raced down the narrow passage. She veered sharply left where the sagging old buildings gapped, barely slowing as she emerged onto the cracked and heaving sidewalk of Virginia Street. And then she stopped so quickly that her ungainly and hated shoes tangled in each other, sending her sprawling into the street. The empty, dead-silent street.

There was nothing but the ragged sound of her own breathing in the oppressive heaviness that had descended over what should have been a bustling Saturday night on a busy, if seedy, strip. Instead, the street was utterly deserted. Windshields of parked and empty cars winked dully, reflecting streetlights that began to wink out as she watched in mounting horror.

One by precious one.

Rowan got slowly to her feet, eyes darting from place to place as she hunted for any sign of life, of possible salvation. But there were only empty windows, the low moan of a rising wind, and the sinister rumble of rapidly approaching thunder. The streetlights continued to expire, three blocks away. Then two. Creeping, ever closer, like the thunder.

A crumpled burger wrapper blew past her feet, tumbling off into the alley, while other bits of discarded trash danced away down the road and sidewalks with no traffic to impede their progress. Rowan kept her head high as she turned toward the encroaching darkness. Even now, isolated as though she were the last person remaining on Earth, she could not lower her head and accept such a fate. Still, she cursed herself silently for allowing her powers to wane to where they had. Blood Magic was the blessing and the curse of the sorceresses of the Dyadd. In refusing to drink human blood, she had neglected her gifts for far too long. And in so doing, Rowan realized with a heavy heart, she had sealed her fate.

She looked around one final time, but Bastian was nowhere to be seen, somehow locked out of this strange and lifeless moment her enemy had so cleverly trapped her in. Rowan inhaled deeply, scenting air that carried the coppery tang of blood. Even together the Dyadd had been no match for the great winged beasts that served the House of Andrakkar, most powerful of all the Drakkyn. But she was all that was left. And so she would make her stand as best she could.

Alone.

She looked down at the scrap of material crumpled in one fist, and after a moment of thought, slid the skimpy satin bottoms on. The hungry eyes that sought her would see no more than she could manage. It was a small act of defiance, but there was comfort in it. There was no part of her that would belong to him, nothing he wanted that would not remain hidden.

The darkening streetlights continued their march. One block. Three lights. One.

Blackness.

Rowan squared her shoulders in the middle of a street that had faded to shadow and addressed the source.

"I am Rowan an Morgaine, a Daughter of the Goddess and future Dyana of my people! Show yourself, or feel the wrath of a sorceress of the blood!" She shouted into the darkness, showing no weakness and standing firm even as the thunder rolled loud and threatening overhead.

The wind picked up, toying with her hair with its invisible fingers and swirling like warm breath over her exposed skin. When the thunder sounded again, it was a grating chuckle. Beneath it there was the seductive whisper of a voice that haunted her every nightmare.

"Have you not missed me, my beautiful witch?"

Rowan curled her lips into a disgusted snarl, ignoring the greedy way the breeze pawed at her. "How could I miss what was never interesting enough to notice in the first place?"

"Oh, come, now," the thunder rumbled, sounding amused. "We both know you've lost, Little Flame. And I have every intention of tasting the fire you've so long denied me. The game is done. You're mine."

"I'm not your Little Flame," she spat, hating to hear a nickname so beloved spoken by one so foul. "And all you'll ever feel of me is my teeth and nails. All you'll taste is the scorched flesh of your own tongue if it should get too near me. I'll die before I let a foul dragon touch me, this I swear."

"Your defiance of me is pointless, Rowan an Morgaine. But I'll enjoy breaking you of it."

Rowan glared into the abyss around her, her nails biting into her palms. The invisible hands of the wind grew rougher, more possessive as they roamed brazenly over her body, caressing a buttock through the thin material, cruising over her breasts. They raked through her hair viciously, tugging and pulling, willing her to drop her head back and bare her throat.

To submit.

She gritted her teeth and stayed still. "You will never break me."

"We will see."

The blow plucked her from the pavement and flung her back down as though she were nothing more than a rag doll, slamming her to the earth with a force that would have broken the bones of any but a Drakkyn. The breath rushed from her in a forceful hiss, her knees and elbows stinging from the small wounds the contact had opened. Rowan gathered herself, closing her eyes beneath the veil of hair that hung over her face. She couldn't believe that it had come to this at last, that there was no more hope. To become a woman of the Andrakkar, a slave in all but name, was a fate worse than death. There had to be something she could do.

If only Bastian could find a way into this madness ... she knew in her heart that it was he who had somehow transported them to Earth initially. He had a deep magic that none of the other Dyadd had, though he refused to acknowledge it. But they'd all sensed it. If only Elara, their mother, had told them who had fathered him, perhaps it would have been more easily understood. But the Dyana loved many men, and bore many children, without ties or explanations. It was their way. So Bastian's existence remained a mystery in all ways, and would, it now seemed, for all time. If only she could make him hear her, maybe he could get to her. But she was so weak.

"How did you find me?" she gasped out, thinking to buy precious time. Lucien, like her, was next in line to lead, and dragons were famously vain. Rowan hoped he would jump at the chance to display his cunning to her.

She was not disappointed.

"The Dyadd Morgaine may hide in the forests, sweet, hut the dragons have many cunning allies. With access to such power, did you actually think I would give up over such a small thing as a change in realm ? And the barrier between worlds is thin here in these mountains. Do you not feel it? I found a way to come for you. I will always find a way. Because you are mine."

The truth of it twisted like a knife in her gut. They never should have stayed here, she and Bastian. Not in the very place they had managed to break through, in the shadow of mountains that were ominous reflections of those the dragons themselves inhabited. Should never have decided that dependence upon the questionable kindness of creatures who could kill without remorse, who couldn't even walk the day for fear of the sun, was acceptable. Was enough.

Was safe.

But in their need and confusion, they had. There was no changing it now. And oh, how her part in that grave mistake cut deep.

"Why?" she finally asked softly, barely caring whether he could hear her or not. "You knew the Dyadd do not bind themselves in marriage. Your kind has never shown any interest in ours before. We never even leave the forests. Why me?"

For long minutes there was nothing but the howl of the wind and the low, almost pensive voice of the thunder. Rowan finally looked up and was startled to see the figure of a man standing only feet from her. Tall and broad shouldered, his form was possessed of a lean and muscular grace even at rest, and his skin, fair like hers, was luminescent with power in the darkness. He was dressed simply, in the way of his people, in a severe black cassock that barely moved in the high wind. Ebony hair was kept ruthlessly short, setting off sharply handsome features and burning violet eyes that pierced her to her core.

"Lucien," she murmured, feeling herself shrink back but unable to help it. Please, my Goddess ... whatever may come, give me the strength not to beg.

She waited for him to approach, to grab her by the hair and do what he would. But to her surprise, he stayed where he was, looking at her with an inscrutable expression. Finally he spoke, and the words chilled her to the bone.

"It is you because when I look at you, I can actually feel. For the first time in my wretched existence, I am something other than dead and cold. But only when you are near. And so, though you will not be bound, I will bind you to me. Though you would hide, I will hunt you to the ends of a thousand worlds. I will do anything to make you mine."

Terror and rage ripped through her as she looked at the one who had destroyed all she'd held dear. "You and your people burned our camp, killed my family! You desecrated the bond that exists between all Drakkyn! And for what? Because I make you feel?"