Eventide (Dark Ink Chronicles #3)

Eventide (Dark Ink Chronicles #3) Page 27

“Foreboding.” That was the second word that had come to mind.

“You gonna stand here all day and take in the scenery or what?” Pax had asked.

I’d given him a hard look, which he’d ignored, instead inclining his head to the pub behind us. “I’m ready,” I’d said. I had shifted my pack, had snugged my leather jacket’s collar closer to my neck, and together we’d crossed the small car park. The wind bit straight through my clothes, and I’d shivered as I’d stepped onto the single paved walk that ran in front of the stores. I’d glanced down the row of buildings. A baker. A fishmonger. The Royal Post. A grocer. An inn and a pub. And absolutely no people around. Weird. Very, very weird. Good thing weird had been our specialty.

A black sign with a sliver of a red moon painted on it had swung above the pub on rusted hinges, and the creaking noise had echoed off the building. In silver letters, the sign read THE BLOOD MOON. Pax had pushed in through the red double doors—quite befitting, the red—and I’d followed. Inside, it had taken my eyes several seconds to adjust to the dimmer light. A hush fell over the handful of people gathered in the single-room dwelling. “Guess we found the villagers,” I’d whispered to Pax. They had stopped what they were doing or saying to stare at us. No one had uttered a word.

I’d glanced at Pax, then all around, until my eyes had lighted on the man behind the bar. He had dark, expressionless eyes that reminded me of a shark’s eyes, and they’d bored straight into me. His head, shaved bald, had shined beneath the pub’s overhead light. He’d said nothing. I had walked up to him and had met his gaze. “We’re looking for Lucian MacLoud,” I’d said. “Know where we can find him?”

It was weird, mine and Lucian’s relationship. I felt completely at ease with Lucian, as though we’d known each other forever. He’d had nearly three weeks to come to terms with the fact that I was his marked mate; I’d had about twenty-four hours. Still, I accepted it readily and willingly. It felt…natural, as though my life was to turn out no other way than to be here, in the Highlands of Scotland, with an ancient Pict warrior-wolf. It felt even more natural to become a wolf, too. I can’t explain it without sounding like a lunatic, but there you go.

Lucian and I left the bothy the last day of my transition and traveled north and west to the MacLeod stronghold. Situated on a sea loch, the massive gray stone fortress, complete with four imposing towers, dominated the seascape. It literally stole my breath.

“You live here?” I asked incredulously. I glanced at him.

Lucian laughed, and reached over and grasped my hand. “Nay. We live here.”

My heart swelled at his words. We’d not exchanged the L-word yet; somehow, it just didn’t seem right. But we’d both claimed each other, and the word “mine” sounded nearly as powerful as, if not more than, the word “love.” There would be an adjustment period for both of us. But one thing of which I was absolutely positive: We were meant to be together.

Lucian pulled onto a single-track gravel lane that led to the massive front doors of the castle, and before we had the Rover in park, five big guys emptied the entrance and made their way toward us. All had dark hair in various lengths and bodies that looked like they swung axes and swords and kicked ass for a living.

Lucian glanced at me and laughed. “They won’t bite.”

I looked at him and raised a brow. “Doubt that.”

I climbed out of the Rover, slammed the door, and faced the MacLeods.

“Gin, my brothers. Arron, Raife, Christopher, Jacob, and Sean.”

Arron walked up and embraced me; the others followed. “Welcome,” Arron said, his eyes flashing quicksilver.

“About time we had a lass around the place,” Jacob said, and the others laughed.

The MacLeods welcomed me, and as it was with Lucian, the same held true with his brothers. It felt like I’d known them my entire life.

The MacLeod fortress entailed no less than two hundred acres and the shoreline, and inside the castle was a modernized habitat befitting an ancient wolf clan of Pict warriors. Primeval mixed perfectly with contemporary. It was mind-numbing to think how long ago Lucian and his brothers were born, how long they’d lived.

They prepared me for my transition that night; in all honesty, there wasn’t much they could do except stand by and wait, help out if needed. Lucian warned me the first time would be painful, and he apologized more times than I could count. He held me in his arms, kissed me, smoothed my hair from my face, and promised to not leave my side until it was over.

By nightfall, as the moon began to rise, Lucian and his brothers walked me to the shoreline, encircled me, and waited. I immediately knew it had begun when my skin began to itch. I felt as though I wanted to crawl right out of it, and I clawed and scratched at my arms, my neck, my abdomen. My temperature rose, higher and higher until I thought I would self-combust. My skin was on fire, and I began to pull at my clothes. No matter that it was October in the Highlands; I was hot. I didn’t have time to yank them off, either. I felt my skeleton give way, the popping and rubbing sounds reverberating inside my head. I cried out in pain, and in my peripheral vision I saw movement and knew it was Lucian. He stopped abruptly, and didn’t advance farther.

My heels and long bones shifted, elongated, contorted, and just when I thought I couldn’t take the pain and heat a second longer, I fell to the ground, let out a low, long bay, and it was over. I leaped up, shook my body, and met the silver gazes of six other wolves, their shaggy dark coats glistening in the moonlight.

We ran that night, my new brothers, my mate, and I. We ran from the west coast of Scotland clear to the east, along the shores of the North Sea, and it was invigorating, mind-freeing. My new body rocked with sensations, and I wanted to keep running. I saw everything through my new eyes, and it was as though I was seeing the world for the very first time. Lucian ran beside me, his silvery blue gaze watching me closely. We spoke to each other in our minds. He never left my side. At some point, exhaustion overtook me. We made it home, and I fell hard asleep.

When next I woke, I was in my human form, tucked closely against Lucian’s body. The sun had not yet risen, and I felt invigorated. I wanted to explore the shore, so I slipped from our bed, quickly dressed, and headed outside. No one else stirred. I was the only one awake.

The brisk Highland air greeted me, along with a healthy dose of mist. I found it strange not to be cold, but my core stayed over one hundred degrees, so there was no need for a jacket. I breathed in the air, sweet with clover and something else I couldn’t name, and took in my surroundings. On the left side of the gravel lane, a meadow, and at its edge, a dense copse of wood filled with towering pines and oaks.

Then I saw it. Through the slender ribbons of mist I saw something white move into view. I stared, my newly sharpened vision trained on the spot. Before my brain registered what my eyes saw, I knew. Pax. He waited for me. Without thought, I took off toward him at a jog, and by the time I reached the wood line, I was at a full run. Pax had disappeared.

I eased through the trees, the canopy above keeping out any light that may have filtered in, and searched for Pax. Deeper into the wood I moved, determined to settle things with my old partner. Surely, no matter his fate or mine, we could come to terms. We’d been partners. We’d sort of been friends. He’d watched out for me. I knew, despite the awful dreams, he wouldn’t hurt me.

In the next instant something heavy slammed into my body, and I was knocked hard against the base of an aged oak. I was turned abruptly, and when I looked, the man who pinned me against the tree was not Pax. I frowned, shoved, and cursed. “Get the hell off of me,” I growled and shoved my knee into his balls. “Now!”

He sucked in a breath but quickly recovered. “Oh, no, love,” he said, his accent thick, his tone full of hatred. He pushed me hard against the tree. “We’ve been waiting for the chance to get at Lucian MacLeod and his brothers, and you’re it.” Without warning, he punched me—caught me right in the jaw, and my head snapped back and slammed into the hard wood of the tree.

I glared at him. “He’ll kill you,” I said, my pitch lowering.

The man laughed. “Right. We’ll see about that.”

Four other men emerged from the wood. One of them was Pax. He ambled up to me, his eyes laced with disgust. He pushed the guy away from me and leaned close to my ear. “You did this to me, newbie,” he said, just like in my dream. “I can never go home now. I’ll never see my wife again, thanks to you.” His breath brushed my neck. “I’ve half a mind to just rip your throat out now instead of letting these assholes use you to bait your mate.”

I met Pax’s hard glare. “Do it,” I said. “Stop talking about it and do it.”

A low growl escaped Pax’s throat, and in the next second he shifted into his wolf form. His fangs, dripping with saliva, hovered close to my ear, my throat. In my head, I imagined myself in my wolf form; nothing happened.

In the next second, in a flurry of fur and fangs, a pack of nearly black wolves entered the wood at full speed. The men with Pax shifted, and the fight began. I was knocked into a tree, where I fell, crouched to the ground, and watched.

I couldn’t make myself change. I was helpless.

The melee was horrific. Bones crunched. Blood. Cries of pain. No human words met my ears, but I heard them in my head.

Then, a large wolf with a band of white on his chest charged me. It was Pax. I knew it. And I was no match for him. I rose, my back against the tree, and kept my eyes trained on my old partner.

Just before he lunged, a large black wolf leaped from out of nowhere and slammed Pax to the ground. They fought; fangs gnashed, massive claws raked, bodies smashed into each other. The black wolf was Lucian—about that I had no doubt. With a final agonizing cry, Pax’s neck was broken, and Lucian—God, it was awful—tore into his throat.

Then it was over.

Lucian moved toward me, shifted, and stood naked before me. He was covered in Pax’s blood. Anger radiated off him. Anger and relief.