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Authors: Maeve Greyson

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BOOK: Eternity's Mark
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The balcony was empty. The arm-like limbs of the old oak stood bare. The morning breeze whispered through a cat-free private garden. Leaning over the railing, Hannah searched the cobblestone yard. How could the little scamp just disappear?
A loud crash followed by a roared curse brought her attention back to her bedchamber. Taggart stood in the doorway, sword drawn, chest heaving, and eyes aglow with a murderous light. A tall, wispy man with thin, silver hair trailing down to his belted waist stood quietly by his side.
Padding into the room, Hannah crossed her arms over the front of her skimpy nightgown and scooted for her robe draped across the end of the bed. She glanced at the strange man with the breakfast cart, then turned to Taggart with a frosty hiss. “Would you mind telling me what you think you're doing? All you had to do was give me a few minutes and I would've eventually answered the door.”
Taggart sheathed his sword with an irritated thump as he glared about the room. “Why in the
hell
did ye no' answer the door when Thaetus knocked and asked ye to allow him entry?”
As she yanked the belt of her robe tight about her waist, Hannah envisioned wrapping it around Taggart's neck. How dare he talk to her as if she were a child! Who did he think he was? “He only knocked twice and I was busy. All he had to do was wait a minute. Since when do you break somebody's door down when they don't open it after a couple of knocks?”
“Actually, I knocked thrice.” Thaetus cleared his throat and folded his pale, narrow hands atop the brass handles of the cart. “And I called out to ye twice and asked if ye were unwell. When ye didna answer, I could only assume something had gone awry and ye needed immediate assistance.”
“Thaetus, I swear I didn't hear you call out to me. If I had, I would've answered.” Hannah stalked across the room, struggling to keep her voice leveled to a reasonable tone. Obviously, Thaetus was only trying to do his job, but the man needed to learn not to panic. “In the future, please give me more time to respond. After all, I'm safe here in Taroc Na Mor. What could possibly make its way into this room?” She gave an impatient flick of her wrist in Taggart's direction. “Especially with all of you lurking around every corner just itching to hack something with your swords.”
Thaetus raised his chin and his bespectacled eyes narrowed as he replied with a delicate sniff. “One can never be too careful, Lady Guardian. We must never let down our guard.”
Hannah glared at the stone-faced servant. The man's stubbornness obviously mirrored Taggart's hardheaded ways. She might as well save her breath. “Thaetus, I'm not going to argue with you. But I want you to know that I think you're really overreacting.” This was ridiculous. They guarded her like she was some national treasure. There hadn't been any attacks since they'd left Jasper Mills. How could she not be safe here at Taroc Na Mor?
“What were ye doing, Hannah? Why did ye no' call out and answer Thaetus?” Taggart slapped at the twisted hinges dangling from the chamber doors, scowling at the damage he'd done to the wood and the surrounding doorframe.
“I just told you that I didn't hear him. And besides, I don't believe that is any of your business.” With a huff, Hannah poured a cup of coffee and curled up on the settee to return fire at Taggart's fuming stare. She had to admit she rather enjoyed the results when he was irritated. And this was the second time she'd gotten a little more than breathless by seeing him rush to defend her. When he brandished his sword, those wondrous muscles pulsed and she had no doubt he'd slay anything foolish enough to get in his path. Hannah cradled her cup between her palms and remembered the warmth of Taggart's essence when she'd helped him heal Septamus. She shifted on the settee, drawing in a rapid breath. These chambers suddenly seemed very warm.
Thaetus's eyes widened with a horrified look and he tapped nervous fingertips atop Taggart's arm. “Ye need to leave this room and allow the Lady Guardian to compose herself. Ye have upset her and you know that is
forbidden.
”
With an arched brow, Taggart studied Hannah more closely, then sidled his glance back to Thaetus's bug-eyed expression. A roguish grin crept across his face as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Truly? Are ye absolutely certain, Thaetus?”
“Aye, Taggart. Ye know the rules. The Lady Guardian must be
left alone.
” Thaetus plucked at Taggart's tunic with long, narrow fingers and jerked his head toward the door.
“Thaetus, I know we might've gotten off on the wrong foot, and please don't take this the wrong way. But you are acting a bit strange. What exactly is your problem?” Hannah stretched forward and slid her china cup onto the marble-slab table squatting in front of the damask settee.
Taggart's warm, rumbling chuckle bubbled up from the depths of his chest and echoed off the walls of the high-ceilinged room. “I have to tell her, Thaetus. 'Twould no' be fair to keep the lass in the dark. Ye've already given yourself away.”
Thaetus shook his head and backed against the wall, pulling the breakfast cart in front of his body as though it were a shield. “She will not be pleased. Consider yourself warned, Taggart. And ye might want to step behind here with me.”
Taggart rubbed his nose with the back of his hand as he gave a wink and a nod toward Thaetus. “Thaetus is an empath, Hannah. Ye might say he's very sensitive to your ... um ...
needs
.”
Hannah looked from Taggart to Thaetus and then back to Taggart's knowing grin.
That son of a bitch.
Thaetus had picked up on her very private case of the hornies and alerted Taggart in code. Embarrassed heat of this revelation stormed its way through her body. Her cheeks burned hotter than they had in high school when the zipper had split on her jeans during her speech in the middle of assembly.
“Get out.” Hannah pointed at the door hanging off the hinges and stared at the middle of the coffee table.
“It's all right, Hannah. I understand how ye might be excited.”
“I said, get the hell out!”
Thaetus took the lead and hurried toward the door, dodging the coffee cup Hannah lobbed at their heads. He only paused long enough to hiss to Taggart, “I advised ye she would not be pleased.”
 
“They still havena lain together. Neither the bed nor her body held a trace of his scent nor has he placed his mark anywhere upon her. Moon lilies fragranced the entire room—no other oil or aroma inhabited any other surface. I saw no mark upon her skin indicating she was his mate.” Mia knelt before Sloan's chair, head bowed, hands limp and lifeless on her bended knees.
“Ye do realize she communicates with animals. She will have access to the recesses of your mind since ye have chosen the form of a beast.” Sloan scowled at Mia as he worried his fingertips across the intricate carvings running down the arms of his chair. If she botched this task, he would twist her delicate neck until her bones snapped. She'd failed him once by not mating with Taggart. She'd best not fail him again.
Mia's hands fluttered to her throat as she bowed her head even lower. “Yes, my love. I took great care to shield my true inner nature. The guardian had no idea I was anything more than a stray cat wandered in from the courtyard.”
With one long, blackened fingernail, he tapped the grooved arm of the chair and studied the woman before him. A wave of disgust shuddered through him at the phenomenal disappointment cowering before him. Mia's weakness with his brother had ruined his well-thought-out plans. She'd best redeem herself with this latest task or he'd take the greatest pleasure in separating her soul from her body. Through Mia and Taggart, he could've built and controlled armies of some of the strongest beings across all the realities. But she had failed him. He'd counted too much on her deceptive heart and not realized how truly inept the woman actually was. In the end, her cowardice had failed his plan. She had been terrified of Taggart in his natural form. Sloan blew out a heavy sigh. He'd lost count of the times he'd wished his conniving father had sired him as a Draecna hybrid as well.
“Taggart is slipping in his old age. What is he now? A little over seven hundred years?” Sloan steepled his fingers under his chin and stroked his goatee as he mused aloud. “Perhaps his carnal lusts have slowed down over the centuries. Although, I have seen the lass. I wouldna have a problem bedding her.”
Mia clenched her hands into a shaking knot on her lap, glancing up as she inched closer to Sloan's gilded chair. “Seven hundred years is quite young for a Draecna, m'lord. Taggart is merely holding true to his pledge.”
Sloan traced his sharpest curved nail along Mia's pale cheek as she rested her head on his knee. “Perhaps, he fears she'll react the same way you did when she sees the true monster residing within him. 'Tis one thing to be a guardian of the Draecna race. 'Tis another to find one between your legs.”
He pressed down harder, slicing into Mia's ivory skin. He adored how the ruby-red droplets beaded up, then trickled down the gentle curve of her face like a stream flowing down a hillside. He hated Taggart, hated his power, his immortality, his magic and everything about him. Taggart had ruined his plans of an army of hybrids. He'd not ruin his plan of controlling the next clutch of Draecna waiting to be hatched.
Sloan stroked Mia's hair as she crouched beside his chair. With a disgusted hiss, he jerked his hand away from her head, spit, and shoved her away with his boot. “Your hair has become as coarse as straw since ye've aged. Is there nothing ye can do to make it more pleasing to my touch?”
“I will try, my love. Please forgive me for being so repulsive.” Mia backed away to her pillow by the fire, where she curled up as though she were a dog.
“No.” Sloan snapped his head and pointed toward the door. “Ye have not finished with the guardian. Return to Taroc Na Mor. When the time is right, I want her brought to me. I will not accept a failure from ye this time. This is your last chance, Mia.”
Mia bowed her head and closed her eyes. “As you wish, my love.”
C
HAPTER
F
IVE
A
solid block of wood, monstrous in size, formed the worktable running down the middle of the kitchen. Trunks of trees, twelve inches in diameter, provided the spindled legs hammered into its base. Centuries ago, Erastaedian artisans had coaxed the work of art from a single Rowanian tree. It had been a treasured gift to one of the original guardians of Taroc Na Mor from the world of Erastaed.
Taggart sat and traced a finger along the honey-colored grain of the wood, sulking with his chin propped in his other hand. “Thaetus, for once in your miserable life, why did ye no' keep your observations to yourself?”
With a disgruntled huff, Thaetus stuck his nose into the air as he splashed the remaining coffee into the gleaming porcelain sink. “Ye needed to be warned! The woman is in high lust for ye, and she doesna know it, but her body is hell-bent on breedin'! If I didna warn ye, she might have jumped on your bones and raped ye before ye knew what happened.”
“Ye canna rape a willing soul,” Septamus observed from his seat at the other end of the table.
Gearlach pounded his fisted claws on the table, then pointed at his sealed snout when Taggart finally looked his way.
Taggart shook his head, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms over his chest. “No, Gearlach. Ye havena learned your lesson yet and I'm in no mood to hear what ye have to say on this matter.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. This morning hadn't gone well at all. Thoughts of Hannah had tortured him through the night, and then Thaetus had falsely sounded the alarm.
God's beard.
Every one of his seven hundred and seventy-seven years ached in his bones. He hadn't been this weary in centuries.
“The Barac'Nairn tenet stating the protector will fail the guardian if he grows too close to her is idiotic. More than likely, 'twas written by a jealous wimp who couldna achieve a healthy rising whenever he found a buxom maiden waitin' for him in his bed.” Septamus drained his mug with a resounding slurp and tapped it on the table with a pointed glare at Thaetus.
Snorting, Thaetus rolled his eyes, snatched up the tankard, and headed for the tap. “Might I remind ye, I'm here to serve the guardian, Septamus, not the Draecna of this keep. Ye would do well to keep that in mind when ye're bouncing your bloody dishes on the table.”
Septamus fixed Thaetus with a knowing smirk and allowed a single puff of smoke to thread up from one glistening nostril. “I read your contract, you pompous little squirt. Ye're here to serve us all.”
“Enough!” Taggart slammed his hands on the table. This banter wasn't solving his problem. This morning had increased the tension with Hannah. At some point, something had to give or she'd never connect with her heritage and the magic of Taroc Na Mor.
“For Isla's sake, Taggart. What is the penalty if ye sleep with the woman? Do they castrate ye at the opening ceremony for the Solstice Moon of Cair Orlandis or just string ye up by your cock at high noon?” Septamus drummed his claws on the table while glaring at Thaetus, who was dawdling at the ale tap with his still-empty mug.
Raking both hands through his hair, Taggart rose from the table. “There is no penalty, Septamus. It's just ... just ill-advised.” And what happened if he opened himself to Hannah? What happened when she found out the truth about him? When he'd revealed his true form to Mia, horror of the revelation had been reflected in her eyes. He didn't want to relive that pain with Hannah. With Hannah, the humiliation would be much worse. A piercing ache clenched deep in his chest as he imagined the same recrimination flashing across Hannah's face. He couldn't. No. More than that. He wouldn't bear it.
“She doesna fear us, Taggart. From what I perceived from Gearlach's thoughts, she reacted well the first time she saw him.” Septamus rose from the table, looped a claw in the back of Thaetus's shirt, and hung him from a hook on the wall. “Now ye can lollygag all ye like, ye skinny little bastard.” He lifted the keg off the stand on the counter and returned with it to the table.
“It's different, Septamus. Ye know that,” Taggart whispered while staring out the window. Hannah was different too. He closed his mind against the image of horror reflecting in her eyes if she ever witnessed his true form. Although he'd loved Mia, she'd always remained aloof, even before he revealed his Draecna form. A distant coldness had echoed in her touch. In all honesty, they'd never bonded and Mia had reveled in humiliating him in front of his people. She'd publicly scorned him; the blow to his pride had hurt worse than losing her. He knew in his heart Hannah was different. He found himself attracted to Hannah's warmth like a lost soul drawn to a welcoming hearth on a bitter, cold winter's eve.
A fluttering movement past the window tore him from his musings. A lone figure stumbled along the rim of the cliff's edge, arms extended as though walking along a tight rope.
“What the hell is that hardheaded woman doing now?”
Septamus and Gearlach crowded next to him at the tall, narrow window while Thaetus fumed and kicked on the hook next to the door. “Never mind me. I'll just hang over here until ye decide ye need me or need something from the kitchen. But if ye want your dinner served to ye on time, ye'd best be mindin' the clock and lettin' me down from this bloody hook!”
Ignoring Thaetus's sarcasm, Septamus pushed Gearlach out of the way and stretched to get a better view. “It looks like she's taking the hard way down to the caves. Did you tell her they were there?”
“Dammit!” Taggart slapped Septamus between his folded wings and stormed his way out of the kitchen. “I've got to stop her before she falls and breaks her stubborn little neck. The woman is a challenge sent by the fates themselves as punishment for all my sins.”
 
If Taroc Na Mor was supposed to be hers, what better way to get to know it then by enjoying a little rock climbing? She'd always loved wandering around the great outdoors, and maybe the fresh air would cleanse the disturbing morning from her mind. Hannah paused in picking a foothold through the jagged black rocks jutting along the cliff's edge and licked the salt spray from her lips. Wrestling against the wind whipping in from the sea, she combed tangled strands of hair out of her eyes. From this precarious vantage point, the churning, white-capped ocean reached the horizon. The waves crashed below her, exploding on impact with the shore with sparkling fountains of frothy spume.
The gulls circled overhead, fluttering white ribbons against the stormy blue of the sky. They keened out a warning; someone was approaching across the top of the embankment. Hannah shielded her eyes against the glaring sun and the punishment of her whipping hair. She twisted to look back up the cliff from which she'd just edged her way across. Taggart loomed over the horizon. Great. He was the reason she was out here in the first place. Perhaps she'd gotten lucky and he hadn't seen her yet.
Her arms stretched for balance like a circus performer, Hannah picked her way faster through the protruding clusters of rock. Centuries of wind and waves pounding against the volcanic land mass had beaten the shores of the cliff to razor sharpness. In her haste, she slid, scraping her shin but catching herself before she tumbled headlong into a deep fissure yawning into inky blackness.
“Hannah!”
Well, so much for him not seeing her. Hannah picked up a loose stone and aimed for the direction of Taggart's voice. Maybe she could scare him off as if he were a stray dog. As she drew back, she fell off balance and stumbled on the brittle stones.
He closed his hand over hers and curled an arm around her waist. “Now, that's no' verra nice. Ye could put out my eye by throwing such a sharp stone. Then how would I protect ye from all the evils of the worlds?”
Hannah blinked and almost lost her footing again. How the heck did he appear at her side when just a moment ago, he'd stood at the top of the cliff? Clutching at his arm, she pushed off his chest and peered down into the abyss below. Suddenly losing the ability to breathe, Hannah fought against the tightness crushing her chest. She would've fallen if he hadn't caught her. Irritation flared through her body. Of course, she wouldn't have stumbled in the first place if he hadn't appeared out of thin air. “How?” She glanced back up the cliff where he'd stood but a few seconds ago. She fixed him with a suspicious glare, tightening her fist around the rock she still held in her hand. “I thought you said your only magic was healing, not zapping across distances at super speeds.”
Taggart chuckled, pulling her closer while edging them to a smoother patch of ground. “I never said healing was my only magic. I just told ye I could heal.”
“You ...” Hannah licked her lips, her mouth suddenly very dry. The caress of his heartbeat tickled against her breasts. Her traitorous nipples tightened, straining toward him. Rebellious desire battled with her common sense. She wished he'd press her closer.
No. I'm not going down that road again.
She pushed against his chest. “You can let me go now. I won't throw the rock and I'm sure I've got my balance.”
“Are ye certain, Hannah?” Taggart smoothed his hand up the middle of her back, pulling her closer as though he'd read her mind.
Damn his eyes. Hannah cursed their intense blue depths that fluctuated whenever he spoke. Hypnotic eyes ordered her to let him in, mesmerizing her into melting wherever he touched her.
The rock slipped out of her hand and she raised her fingertips to stroke the stubble of his jaw. “No.”
“No?” Taggart trailed his hand along her arm and laced his fingers into her hair.
“Don't let me go,” she whispered against his mouth while leaning her body into his. A gust of wind shoved against her back as though urging her to complete the kiss. Icy spray peppered across her body, but only heat surged through her veins. She opened to him. It had been too long. He tasted of ale, fresh air, and the sea. Hannah molded her body tight against the hardened length of him. Dear God, she risked bursting into flames.
“Hannah.” Taggart pulled away, his breath ragged as he mouthed the corner of her lips. He curled his fingers deep into her hair. With a groan, he delved into her mouth with his tongue. He pulled her closer, the softness of her body tantalizing him. He smelled the fragrance of his home world's orchids lingering in her hair. The aroma triggered visions of Hannah sprawled across the perfumed pillows of her Draecna bed.
This was madness.
He deepened the kiss. He scented Hannah's need pulsating through her body; her senses called out to him. The caves. The mineral springs heating the nursery. He could take her to the seclusion of the caves. Damn the tenets. He would have her. To hell with the Guild of Barac'Nairn, his monstrous ancestry, and his past. She belonged to him.
With a groan, Taggart tore his mouth away from hers, shuddering as he lifted his head. Cradling Hannah's face between his hands, he traced his thumb across the softness of her lips. “Do ye trust me, Hannah?”
With a silent nod, Hannah snuggled tighter against him as she slid her hands up his back underneath his leather coat.
“Close your eyes then,” he whispered. He couldn't believe he dared risk it. But she had to know
before.
He wanted her so badly his entire being ached, but he wouldn't deceive her, not his Hannah. He'd danced around the truth long enough.
He tucked her head under his chin and cradled her to his chest. God's beard, he hoped he'd become enough for her. He prayed she wouldn't run screaming back across the Atlantic. With a great shaking breath, Taggart reached deep inside and removed the barriers blocking his Draecna form from the physical world. As the barricade came down, every fiber of his body burned as though acid pumped through his veins.
As his body tensed, Taggart concentrated on not crushing Hannah in his arms. The metamorphosis to his natural form pained through his tissues like lightning splitting the air. He grimaced as wings erupted from his back and unfurled to the rising wind. He shifted as the ledge started crumbling beneath them. It was now too small to hold them.
Hannah opened her eyes and screamed.
Taggart's already muscular body increased tenfold and sheathed itself in dark, iridescent scale-like armor. He shimmered a mesmerizing purple-black, depending on how the rays of sunlight hit him. His hands armed themselves with retractable, razor-sharp claws. His black leathered wings spanned out behind him as though he were a minion straight from Hell. Horns of blackest obsidian sprouted out of his forehead, glistening as though buffed to a high sheen and silver-tipped at the end of their long curved points. He retained the body shape of a well-muscled man, just amplified with Draecna attributes. Disbelief tore Hannah's breath from her body as she squeezed her eyes shut, then reopened them. All Taggart missed was a Draecna tail on his deliciously defined derrière.
“Hannah, it's still me. I will never hurt ye.” Taggart held out a clawed hand, a pleading look reflecting in his icy blue eyes.
Hannah winced, curled her hands to her chest, and tried to back away. This thing sounded like Taggart, even though the voice resonated much deeper and echoed as though coming from the center of the earth. What in the world had he become? Magic was one thing, but she'd never expected this demon thing standing before her.
BOOK: Eternity's Mark
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