Midnight's Kiss (16 page)

And then he saw Ronnie.

The strange pale dust swirling around her was coming from a box she held, and the magic arising from the dust felt … wrong. Very wrong.

Arran entered the chamber when the dust materialized into a mass of creatures unlike anything he’d ever seen. There had been nothing in his time as a Warrior that gave him pause. Until that moment.

The beings were tall and emaciated, as if someone had stretched their skin tightly over their bones so they looked like the bones would punch through at any moment. Long, stringy white hair fell in their elongated faces. Their eyes were solid black and their skin the color of ash.

They looked like death. And Arran comprehended that’s what they’d bring.

The creature closest to him snarled, showing fangs even longer than the ones Arran had in his Warrior form. The magic he’d felt earlier only intensified, and there was no mistaking the evil now.

He had no choice but to release his Warrior. In an instant, claws sprang from his fingers, fangs filled his mouth, and his skin turned the white of his god.

Then they rushed him.

Arran used his long claws to slash the creatures. Whereas such a cut would have killed others, it did nothing but anger these new monsters.

Their regeneration was almost instantaneous. Arran knew he was in trouble, but he wasn’t going to go down without a fight. In true Highlander fashion.

He released a loud roar from deep within his chest. With speed and skill, he began to move rapidly, cutting and slashing every creature that surrounded him. Something began to sting his skin. It burned like acid fire, and soon it had him on his knees.

The creatures were smiling as they closed in around him. Arran wasn’t ready to die. Who would protect Ronnie when he was gone? Once more he lashed out with his claws, but it wasn’t the effort he’d wanted.

The nearest creature caught his arm, its smile widening. Alarm swept through Arran. But it was too late to wish he had another Warrior with him.

Instead of cutting him, the damned thing bit him. Arran threw back his head and bellowed at the feel of fangs on his skin. But it did no good. The others soon began to feed off him as well.

He could feel the blood draining from his body, weakening him more effectively than whatever was burning his skin. Through the mass of bony gray bodies, he spied Ronnie. She was backed against a wall while one of the creatures stood over her.

“Nay!” Arran thundered. He turned to his god and sought Memphaea’s strength, his power. His rage.

When it gathered inside him like a great ball of energy, he threw the creatures off him.

The monsters were immortal, and if there was one thing he knew, it was how to kill an immortal. Beheading. He stopped cutting at their chests and went for their necks.

He killed two before they realized what was happening. Then three more fell. They began fighting to restrain him, and in his weakened condition, they should’ve been able to stop him.

But there was Ronnie. She was all he could think about, she was all that kept him on his feet and fighting. He had to reach her, to get her to safety before the beasts harmed her.

Tears coursed down her face as she stared up at the monster in fear. Arran reached the being in front of Ronnie and swiped his claws through the bastard’s neck.

Dimly, he heard Ronnie scream as the creature’s head fell off its body and rolled on the ground. Arran grabbed the monster nearest him and wrapped his hands around its head. With a jerk and a yank, he pulled the creature’s head off.

When he turned to continue fighting, he found the others gone. Arran felt himself begin to fall and moved one foot forward to keep his balance. He looked down at his body to see it riddled with bite marks and the blood of the monsters. It was then he grasped that it was their blood that burned his skin.

The chamber began to spin, and no matter how hard he tried to keep his feet, his legs gave out. Arran fell to his knees hard, his body working double to keep breathing.

A sound behind him—half cry, half moan—caught him right before he fell facedown.

Ronnie
.

Arran knew his skin was still white, and no matter how hard he tried to tamp down his god, it didn’t work. He was in too much pain and too weak to have much command. The only good thing was that his god was also weak, so there was no chance for him to take control of Arran either.

Arran tried to push onto his hands and knees, but only managed to scoot forward. If those creatures came back, there was no way he could protect Ronnie. That thought kept him moving.

Somehow, he got back on his knees and turned his head to her. She stared wide-eyed at him. How he hated the fear he saw on her face. Didn’t she realize he wouldn’t hurt her? Didn’t she know he’d do anything to keep her safe?

“Willna. Harm. You.”

Each word was more difficult to say. The edges of his vision were darkening, and he didn’t know how much longer he could stay conscious. He had to get her out of the chamber and to safety, and preferably call Fallon for help.

All he was able to get out was, “Get. Away.”

“No.” Suddenly she was beside him.

He saw her reaching for him. Arran jerked away, which caused him to topple sideways. Dirt ground into the bite marks and rubbed against the creatures’ blood, burning him for a second time.

“Nay. Ronnie. Leave.”

*   *   *

Ronnie licked her lips and looked down at the man who had fought so valiantly to save them both. He’d been far outnumbered and wounded. Yet he hadn’t given up. He had stopped that monster from touching her.

Bite marks peppered Arran’s bare torso, arms, neck, and even his face. She had to help him somehow, and leaving him wasn’t an option.

“What do I do, Arran? Tell me,” she urged.

She was afraid to touch him, not because his skin was as white as new-fallen snow, but because he was in such pain. When he opened his eyes and she saw they were solid white from corner to corner, she could only stare.

They were the same eyes she’d seen in her dream. The man who wound her body so tight with desire did indeed have a secret as great as her own.

His eyes shut and his hands fisted. She swallowed when she saw the long white claws. Ronnie looked around, trying to find some way to help him. She could call for help, but what would they do when they saw Arran?

She wouldn’t do that to him. Whatever he was, he kept it secret—and now, so would she. Ronnie rushed out of the chamber and saw a large bottle of water that had been left by someone. She grabbed it and ran back to Arran.

All the bites had to be cleaned before an infection began. Hesitantly she dribbled water onto a wound near his shoulder. The water ran down and smeared blood on his biceps.

A sigh left him.

“Better?” she asked.

He gave a single nod. Ronnie began to clean off the bites, but it didn’t take her long to realize it wasn’t the bites that hurt him, it was the blood.

She then worked diligently to remove the creatures’ blood from Arran’s chest, arms, and face. Only then did she turn him over so that his head rested on her legs and she had access to his back.

“What are you?” she asked, now that his breathing had evened out.

“A Warrior.”

“Of course you’re a warrior.”

“Nay, Ronnie. A Warrior. Remember the story that old man told you about the Celts?”

She stilled, her hand holding the bottle above his back, ready to pour. “Yes.”

“Tell me what he told you.”

“I think I’d rather you tell me.”

He winced when she touched a spot with the dried blood.

“I’m sorry.”

He squeezed her leg with his hand, a hand that had so tenderly held her hours ago while they kissed. A hand that was pierced with bite marks and that had claws he kept carefully away from her. “Doona fash yourself. I’ve withstood worse kinds of pain.”

“That’s hard to believe after seeing you like this.”

“It’s true. Ronnie, I’m immortal.”

“Okay.” She wasn’t sure what a person was supposed to say when given a statement like that. She continued to wash the blood off his back. Her hands were soft as she barely touched his skin. But she was sure there had been more bite marks on his back the last time she looked.

“Nay, I really am. The story the old man told you is true. Long ago, when Rome came to Britain, they couldna conquer the Celts. But no matter how hard the Celts fought, they couldna make the Romans leave.”

“What happened?” she asked, and began to work on cleaning his hands.

“There is magic in this land I love. It’s in the water, in the verra air we breathe.”

“And the ground?”

“Aye,” he said. “Magic is here because of the Druids. As with anything, there were the good Druids,
mies,
and the evil ones, the
droughs
.”

“What’s the difference between them? The choices they make?”

She felt rather than saw his smile. “Somewhat. The
mies
magic is the pure form they were born with. They use it for good, to teach, or to help. The
droughs,
however, give their soul to Satan in order to have black magic. A single
drough
against a single
mie
will win against the
mie
every time. But gather a group of
mies
together, and the
drough
doesna stand a chance.”

Ronnie was enthralled with his story and how easily he spoke of magic and Druids. Her hands had gone from stroking his shoulders to playing with his hair. She chided herself and poured more water on the bites.

Only to discover there weren’t so many as before.

“So the Celts went to the Druids for help,” she said.

Arran nodded. “The
mies
wouldna help them, but the
droughs
would. The
droughs
called up gods long forgotten and locked in Hell. The strongest warriors from each family stepped forward to host a god.”

“That doesn’t sound like a good idea.”

“They were desperate to rid their land of the Romans. So the warriors accepted the gods, and in the process became unbeatable in battle. They attacked Rome again and again. It wasna long before Rome left Britain altogether.”

Ronnie twisted her lips. “That’s not what Rome says happened, but then again, I know all about how countries in power decide what will be written in history.”

“Aye. With the Romans gone, the warriors began to turn on each other and anyone else they encountered. The
droughs
had expected to be able to pull the gods out of the men once their mission was finished, but it didna go as planned. Nothing the
droughs
did stopped the gods. So they went to the
mies
for help.”

“That took some guts.”

Arran shifted his back, the muscles moving as fluidly as water. “It did. It also took the
droughs
and the
mies
working together to bind the gods inside these warriors. It was the first, and last, time the two sects worked together.”

“So the gods were bound. What happened to the men?”

“They remembered nothing of what they’d done since the gods entered their body. The gods were bound, passing through the bloodline and going to the strongest warrior each time. The gods were never again supposed to be unbound. But there was a
drough
who wanted to rule the world. She found a way to unbind the gods.”

Ronnie looked across the chamber at the vacant wall and thought back to the old man’s story. “The MacLeods. The old man mentioned the MacLeods.”

“That’s where Deirdre began her run for power. She used her black magic to make herself immortal and spent centuries looking for the MacLeod who was the key. She found out it wasn’t just one MacLeod, but brothers. Three brothers, in fact.”

“This Deirdre didn’t really murder the entire MacLeod clan?”

“She did,” Arran said, and sat back on his heels. His skin was still white, and his claws still visible as well. Claws …

They accounted for the marks she found in the dirt after Arran had saved her, when the ground caved in. He’d used his claws to secure himself. Now it was all beginning to make sense.

Ronnie took one of his hands in hers again and inspected the long, curved white talon. “Did Deirdre find the MacLeods she needed?”

“Aye, and she unbound their god. The three brothers shared a god because they were equal in battle. They were the first of us, and the ones who were lucky enough to escape Deirdre. It didna deter her, though. She set out, finding more of us and unbinding our gods.”

“This white skin, the claws, and your … your eyes,” she said, and paused to swallow. “They are what make you a Warrior?”

“Doona forget these,” he said, and peeled back his lips for her to see his fangs.

“Are you trying to scare me?”

“I want you to know me.” He glanced away. “Ronnie, the form you see me in now is what happens when I allow my god to rise up. I have control over him, but no’ every Warrior does. The gods are strong. They want battle and blood and death.”

“As strong as you Warriors are, did you not go after Deirdre?”

He smiled and looked at the ceiling. “That’s a verra long story, but we did. And we beat her as well as her successor, Declan Wallace.”

“Declan,” she said in awe. “Interesting. Does Saffron know what you are?”

“Of course.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, and it was a moment before she realized why. “Because her husband, Camdyn, is also a Warrior.”

“Precisely.”

She looked at his chest in time to see one of the bites heal. A quick glance showed her all but a few of the bites were now gone.

“You really are immortal. Can you not be killed?”

“Aye. Take our heads, or put
drough
blood in our wounds.”

“Lovely,” she murmured, and stood. She dusted off her hands and looked around the chamber. “Those creatures. What were they?”

“I’ve no idea. I’ve never seen the like in all my years.”

“And just how many years are we talking about?”

He grinned and got to his feet. “Six hundred and forty-six.”