Darkest Highlander (9 page)

“You will be careful,” she said.

Broc turned to her with a smile. “I’m a Warrior, Sonya. It will take more than a wyrran to kill me.”

“But you can be killed.”

“No’ today. No’ by a wyrran,” he said, confidence filling his voice.

Sonya blew out a breath and shrugged. “I will worry until you come back.”

“Then I will return as soon as I can.”

She had left MacLeod Castle to be alone and as far from Broc as she could get. Now the thought of being by herself and without him terrified her.

How odd that things could change so suddenly in such a short amount of time.

“Doona fear for me. I’ve lived nearly three centuries avoiding Deirdre and her machinations. I will survive a few hours hunting this wyrran.”

Sonya believed him, and to prove it, she forced a smile. “I will wait and dine with you for supper.”

“I would like that.”

When he took a step closer, her heart began to pound. He lifted his hand to her face, making her breath catch in her lungs. His fingers slid into her hair and around her neck.

Sonya loved the feel of his calloused fingers, the way his large hand was gentle yet insistent when he touched her. She enjoyed looking into his eyes, seeing the emotions shift and fill his dark depths before he could close himself off to her.

Ever so slowly, he leaned toward her. His eyes held all the passion, all the yearning, she had ever hoped to see. His forehead touched hers, their breaths mingling as time halted.

Excitement blossomed and built within her, drowning her in the fervor of the desire that grew between them. It was palpable, tangible. Real.

She was afraid to move, afraid to speak lest she break whatever held her and Broc. For once, he was allowing her to see his feelings.

Her skin quivered and begged for more as his thumb stroked her cheek. He brought her closer so their bodies touched, brushed together.

Sonya’s hands gripped his waist, unsure of what was going to happen and unwilling to release him.

She couldn’t take her eyes off his mouth, couldn’t stop thinking of kissing him. Of being kissed
by
him.

Then his hand lifted her chin and his lips covered hers. For an instant Sonya couldn’t breathe, and then she was flooded with a whirlwind of sensation.

His soft, warm lips were firm as he kissed her, coaxing her closer, ever closer. Her arms wound around his waist of their own accord. And when his tongue skimmed along her lips, begging entry, Sonya never thought to refuse him.

The first stroke of his tongue against hers, the first wickedly intoxicating taste of him, was her undoing.

The kiss intensified, taking her deeper and deeper into the passion that had been calling for her, a passion she knew could only be with Broc.

Desire grew, swelled as Broc’s arms tightened around her, holding her against him. Passion left a scorching trail through her as it wound in her blood and came to rest in the pit of her stomach, to build as their kisses deepened, the fire growing between them until it was an inferno.

All too soon, he ended the kiss and lifted his head. For long moments he stared into her eyes. Sonya waited for him to speak or to touch her.

His thumb grazed her bottom lip softly.

And then he was gone.

NINE

Broc leaned against the door in the hallway and closed his eyes. He shouldn’t have given in and kissed Sonya. The sweet, blissful taste of her was in his mouth and on his tongue. Her scent was on him driving him wild with a need so primal, so primitive Broc shook with it.

The feel of her hands as they looped around his waist and her curves pressed against him, her passion as she returned his kiss. All of it would be his undoing.

He wanted nothing more than to walk back into the chamber and claim another kiss. He longed to kiss her through the night, learning her body and hearing her sighs of pleasure as he made love to her again and again.

But he couldn’t. He had a wyrran to kill.

Broc’s eyes opened and he felt his fangs fill his mouth. If he couldn’t relieve his body, he would appease his god. It was time for death, time for blood. Anyone who dared to try and take Sonya would die.

Viciously. Violently. Brutally.

Broc pushed away from the door and made his feet walk away from Sonya. The sooner he left, the sooner he could return. The sooner he would have to confront her and the kiss they shared.

He walked out of the inn and into the forest with long, purposeful strides. No one dared to get in his way. As soon as he knew nobody could see him, Broc removed his tunic and tossed it on the limb of a tree.

Then, he unleashed his god.

His skin turned the darkest blue as claws sprouted from his fingertips and wings erupted from his back. Broc spread his wings and stretched his shoulders.

He might not like the god inside him, but he took pleasure in his speed and power, and certainly his ability to fly.

Broc felt the snarl of his god inside him, knew Poraxus wanted blood and death as much as Broc did to protect Sonya. And with Poraxus’ gift, the wyrran wouldn’t get far.

With a deep breath, Broc opened his power and began to hunt for the wyrran. In an instant he picked up the trail. It was like a thread glowing brightly in a world of gray.

Though he wanted to take to the skies, Broc couldn’t chance being seen yet. So he ran, his wings clasped tight against him, ready for flight.

Once Broc caught the wyrran’s trail, he would keep it until he found the vile creature. The beast was as fast as Broc, but it had no idea Broc was chasing it. Once it did, the wyrran would use all of its wily tricks to try and escape.

But nothing could elude Broc.

*   *   *

The silence of the chamber following Broc’s departure was deafening. Sonya let out a shaky breath and ran her tongue over her lips.

They felt swollen. And sensitive. She’d had no idea kissing could feel so good or make her body come alive as if it had been sleeping for ages. One touch of Broc’s mouth to hers and everything had changed, forever altered.

She didn’t know why Broc had kissed her, and she didn’t care. For those few moments he had wanted her. That’s all that mattered.

Sonya walked to the bed and took the dagger in hand. She wasn’t sure what to do with it. Broc hadn’t showed her how to use it as Lucan had shown Cara, but Sonya would do her best regardless.

She buckled the scabbard around her waist and stroked the hilt as she sat. All she could do was wait. She tried not to worry. Broc was a Warrior, immortal and deadly in any attack. Yet, Sonya had seen what the wyrran could do. They were rarely alone since they preferred to attack in groups.

Broc had assured her the wyrran he’d seen was alone. How long before it joined others? And would Broc be able to fight them all? He knew them better than anyone after spending so much time in Cairn Toul.

Sonya rose and began to pace the chamber. She wished she had something to occupy her time. Too many hours were ahead of her to sit idly and let her mind race with possibilities.

She yanked open the door and paused. Broc had made her promise to stay in the chamber. But it wasn’t as if she were going outside. She only wanted to go downstairs.

It was only for a moment. Nothing would happen while she was still inside the inn.

Her decision made, Sonya walked from the room. She found Jean behind the counter, though this time the portly woman was pouring ale into goblets.

“What can I do for ye, milady?” Jean asked with a smile. “I hope ye doona plan on leaving the inn. Yer husband made it clear you were to stay inside.”

Sonya smiled as she imagined the conversation between Broc and Jean. “I’m not leaving. I have several long hours ahead of me. I wondered if there was anything I could help you with?”

Jean chuckled and reached for another goblet before yelling at a woman to take the ones filled into the dining room and the men waiting for them.

“Lady Sonya—”

“Please,” Sonya interrupted her. “Call me Sonya.”

Jean raised her brows, not believing a word. “I know nobility when I see it, milady, and Lord Broc is certainly nobility. As I was sayin’, I wouldna give ye any of my work.”

Sonya was still reeling with the notion of Broc as nobility, but now that Jean had mentioned it, there was a certain aspect about Broc which was different from other men. He had the same bearing as Fallon, who led the Warriors. But Broc’s confidence went beyond even that.

“I cannot have idle hands,” Sonya argued. “I will go daft as I await Broc’s return. There has to be something I can do. Is there mending to be done?”

Jean set down the now full goblet and braced her hands on the bar as she looked Sonya over from head to toe. “Ye do look a wee bit better than this morning. The sewing willna tax your strength, but it will keep ye busy. If ye really want something to do, I’ll bring it up to ye when I can.”

“Thank you,” Sonya said with a smile.

Sonya returned to the chamber and blew out a perturbed breath. She bolted the door behind her and went to the window. Being on the second floor gave her a good vantage point when peering out over the rest of the village. But not even being atop the rest of the inn would help her if the wyrran wanted inside.

They had claws, as all Warriors did, but the wyrran also had claws on their feet, which they used to help them scale walls and ceilings.

Sonya shuddered as she thought of the huge yellow eyes and the mouthful of sharp teeth that its lips couldn’t close over. They were small, yellow creatures, about the height of a child, but they were as deadly as a Warrior.

In some ways more so because the only person the wyrran served was Deirdre. Her will was theirs, and nothing stood in the way of the wyrran completing a command made by Deirdre.

And Deirdre had a never-ending supply of wyrran. She created the wyrran, so when they were killed, she simply made more.

Sonya sank into the chair, her gaze focused on the forest and rolling foothills of the mountains. Broc was somewhere out there. So were the wyrran. And Deirdre. How long would it be before Deirdre began to seek revenge?

Or did she already?

Everyone said Deirdre never left her mountain, but Sonya had a suspicion that Deirdre’s near death by the MacLeods had changed everything.

And Sonya feared the “everything” would be the world as they knew it.

TEN

Broc came to a halt when he sensed more than one wyrran near. He was nearly upon the first he’d been tracking, but somehow there were others. The glowing thread he saw had multiplied by six.

He cursed silently. It was still too light to take to the skies, where he could move above them for an attack. There would come a time in the not-too-distant future when mortals would know what he was. Until then, he would do his best to keep what he was a secret.

Broc crept downhill through the trees until he came to the edge of the forest. A half a league away was the beginning of a valley between the mountain they were on and another.

Though Broc had never heard the wyrran speak, obviously they could communicate with each other, which was evident by the way they stood together, their heads and hands moving.

Broc moved from behind the tree and walked out of the forest. It was but a heartbeat before a wyrran noticed him. The seven turned as one to him.

He grinned as he continued toward them. “You seem rather out of place, I think.”

One opened its mouth and screeched.

The piercing sound didn’t have the effect on Broc as they’d wished. He’d spent too long in their company.

“Was that supposed to frighten me? It didna,” he said, his voice soft and casual. “Now, you realize I will have to kill all of you.”

This time they all shrieked, the combined sound causing Broc’s sensitive ears to ring. He jumped straight into the air and spread his wings as the seven attacked. Broc circled above the wyrran, just out of their reach as they leapt as high as they could, reaching for him.

Once they were clumped together, he folded his wings and dove toward them. He caught the first wyrran with the tip of his wing, severing the creature’s head from its body while Broc’s claws impaled another.

Broc flew the screaming beast toward the forest and slammed the wyrran against a tree. The impact shattered the wyrran’s head.

Before Broc could yank out his claws, something vaulted on to his back, tearing and slashing at his wings. Broc landed on the ground with a roar of fury. He gave a jerk of his wing and sent the wyrran tumbling.

The remaining five wyrran began to circle him. Broc kept his wings outstretched, waiting for one of the creatures to move.

This time they changed their tactics. Instead of racing at him together, one sprang on him from behind and began clawing at Broc where his wings connected to his back.

The pain was terrible as the wyrran’s claws cut through flesh and muscle. Broc could feel the blood spill down his back in rivulets. No matter how he tried to grab the wyrran, it was always just out of reach.

Two other wyrran each grabbed one of Broc’s wings and tried to rip them from his body. When that didn’t work, they began to shred his wings.

Broc’s wings weren’t made of feathers but instead resembled those of a bat. They were thick and healed as quickly as the rest of him. But his wings were more responsive than any other part of him. Each cut was like a thousand blades piercing him.

He stepped backward into the trees before he folded his wings and then snapped them out. The unsuspecting wyrran couldn’t hang on and slammed into trees before they fell away.

With the other wyrran still on his back, Broc backed against a tree until the creature was caught between Broc and the tree trunk. He applied steady pressure to the wyrran’s thin body. Almost immediately he could hear the creature’s bones shattering one by one.

The wyrran was so desperate to get free, it forgot about tearing Broc’s wings, which allowed Broc to grab hold of it.