Fallen, p.8
Fallen, page 8
part #5 of Ancients of Light Series
Gideon glimpsed the panic in Maeve’s eyes the second before she disappeared. Broderick had riled the gorgeous Ancient, and Gideon wanted nothing more than to pummel his fist against the other male’s face. Instead, he spent twenty minutes talking Lorcan down, convincing him Maeve was certain to put in an appearance at Laverock before the sun rose.
CHAPTER 12
Wandering the labyrinth beneath her manor, the soft leather of Maeve’s boots made no sound on the stone and dirt lining the passageways. She’d been traversing the same path for an hour, analyzing the ramifications of her decision. Maeve knew her ban had been lifted, and she was being called to return to the Realm. It was necessary that she engage in the battle once again. Of that she was certain.
The source of her hesitation was how she would reintegrate and what her role would be. And how and when she would be called to deal with the issue of Broderick. That single piece was the one thing keeping her from heeding the innate call and returning to the Realm posthaste. For now, she would visit, make inroads, and begin solidifying her right to return, hoping to skirt the problems with Broderick until the war with Rhydach was finished.
Maeve was attired for battle—Realm battle—in her black leathers and flowing red cape, even though she had no intention of drawing her weapon. This night she would return to Laverock and conclude her discussion with Lorcan on her own terms. It would be a preliminary step in assuming the position she felt she was being pushed towards and finding alignment with the current Realm ruler. The arrogance of the leadership had grown stifling. She needed to remind the males comprising that inner circle to respect her strengths… or she’d break their kneecaps and teach them to kneel.
The night was frigid. Moisture from her breath wafted in crystalline puffs as Maeve pushed through the gates, contemplating the stately castle looming slightly above on the rise. Grass on the knoll remained vibrant green despite the cold temperature that would result in a blanket of hard frost. Maeve could see the essence of magic protecting the green blades as she trekked past on the cobblestone path. The sweep of her cloak gathered late night moisture onto its hem.
Warm light from the main hall cascaded onto the grounds on either side of the grand steps leading to the front entrance. The castle was guarded by a beautifully carved wood and iron door stretching two stories in height. As she took the stairs, Maeve sensed light within the souls occupying the space and could hear murmurs of conversation through the panes of glass and ancient mahogany. She’d never been able to enjoy the presence of these kin in Ancient times nor enter this wondrous abode of magic as though she belonged. The change in circumstance warmed her soul enough that her slight smile was still present when she pushed the door open wide enough to slip through the entrance. Turning her attention towards keeping the length of red from being snagged by the close of the door, Maeve did not see her less-than-enthusiastic greeter. Instead, the grit of Brod’s voice erased her smile.
“Bloody fraking hell.” He’d wagered on the probability of her appearance and lost.
The small utterance under his breath was enough to reach her over the other conversation in the giant space. Disconcerted, Maeve failed to summon an immediate retort. She had not sensed his soul prior to entering and, therefore, hadn’t braced herself for an immediate confrontation with the surly Elite. Tracking him, Maeve’s worry was compounded when she found his location and realized his aura was hidden. That oddity prompted a recollection of the night she’d confronted him at Mars. She had also then only sensed Light beings.
Perplexed, a delicate frown formed between her brows, and Maeve attempted to recall the last time she’d delved into that spiritual piece of him. As a matter of practice, she’d learned to avoid using her otherworldly vision because it crushed her heart to view the wickedness smudging a soul who had once been near-perfection. Using it also severed the mental barriers she erected to keep the heavenly voices from invading her every waking moment. Focusing with more intention, Maeve could still feel the tether binding them… but nothing more.
The remainder of the room had grown quiet, a usual effect of her appearance. Breaking from her study to scan the room, Maeve issued a fervent prayer that he was not the most senior still in attendance. Finding Kaitriana tucked up against her mate’s side near the hearth, Maeve nodded in silent greeting to the pair and almost allowed a relieved sigh to escape. Lorcan’s face mirrored her own expressionless demeanor, but Kaitriana did not operate under the same guise of indifference. Enthusiastic, Kat was far-removed from her earlier war-mongering appearance and offered an exaggerated wave of greeting. The Queen was clad in an overstated ballgown of silver silk and lace with full skirts. Draped in diamonds with her hair piled high in riotous curls, Kaitriana extracted herself from Lorcan’s arm and came forward to gush her welcome. “While I do not think we will ever be BFFs—because you are entirely too sour—I was just telling Lorcan I was certain you’ve earned a much greater appreciation for me each time we are in one another’s company.” Kat added three quick nods, with an expectant look to Maeve, awaiting her agreement. “Was your nose burning?”
It took Maeve a second to puzzle through that convoluted mess of dialogue. “No, Kaitriana, my ears were not burning.”
The witch’s nod was slow while she mulled it over. The reason came forth a second later. “Well given the extent of Broderick’s blabbering on about you—not a single bit kind, I might add—I am relieved by your report. If both your ears and your nose were aflame, I dare say that might incapacitate even those most noble of warriors.”
None of the remainder seemed inclined to clarify the issue for the daft female. Maeve took on the task with a sigh. “If your ears are burning, some believe it to be an omen of someone speaking about you. If your nose is itching, old tales say it means you are about to come into money. Others suggested it meant you were about to encounter a fool.” Unable to resist, Maeve added lightly. “My nose might have tickled a bit before I walked through your door.”
Kaitriana processed that tidbit and tucked it away for future reference, delaying her reaction to the jab. A lecture followed her gasp. “For someone who is growing fond of me, you are making a poor showing of it.”
“Perhaps I might develop a certain amount of tolerance for your odd quirks.” The witch was staring in expectation, prompting Maeve to add. “It might one day even turn to fondness, so long as my time in your company remains brief.”
Again Kaitriana was halfway through nodding her acceptance before she identified the veiled insult in Maeve’s explanation. Sensing the warrior was taking secret delight in tormenting her, Kat cast an I-told-you-so look to her mate. Following the direction of her gaze, Maeve spared Lorcan the need to respond. “If you have a few moments and the leadership is available, I believe we have a conversation to finish.”
He put forth poor effort hiding his surprise. Lorcan had not expected her arrival, much less her willingness to submit to badgering by the Council. Rather than voice his doubts and give the Dark Queen reason to reconsider her offer, his acceptance was indicated in his instructions to Colm. “Take Marcus with you to track them down and then all of you can join us.” Taking Kaitriana’s elbow, Lorcan used his free hand to motion Maeve in the direction of the Elite’s room. When his mate attempted to steer his steps toward the Queens’ chamber instead, Lorcan leaned down with a meaningful whisper, a sparkle of magic dancing around the iris in his stormy-gray gaze. “Vampire matter, Witch.”
Maeve saved the argument, interrupting. “I do not see the need to involve your warriors in this matter, Lorcan. This discussion is for those who comprise the current leadership for the breed.”
No matter how much either in this pair of powerful females attempted to dictate the course of his actions, neither would find success. “My warriors are privy to all things of importance to the Light. If you are too intimidated by Broderick to feel comfortable, I am willing to request he not attend.”
The insult sent Maeve striding past him in a swirl of crimson cape, taking the lead in the procession towards the end of the hall. A warning was shot back over her shoulder. “Don’t press me, Lorcan.”
CHAPTER 13
Still fuming over his insinuation, Maeve was glad she’d kept Lorcan waiting. She paced to the center of the chamber, dismissive of the group who trailed behind. A hushed whisper turned her attention, and her smile warmed. Ella was ensconced in a large chair, popcorn in hand, with her feet dangling over the arm at the farthest end of the room. The witch’s conspiratorial smile conveyed that Kylie, seated to her right, had already enlightened the Fire Queen of their recent escapade and it met with her approval.
Bedecked as a warrior queen herself, it was Maeve’s intent to impart the message that she’d been at home at Laverock eons before any of them existed. Their opinions of how she should comport herself either in or outside the Realm were of no consequence. Despite the many months of isolation since her horrific confrontation with Lorcan and Broderick, not a single being in existence could make her feel as though she didn’t have the right to be there. The Warrior of Light’s heavy hand and general insensitivity with regard to the situation surrounding Broderick had pricked her temper. She was far less congenial than on arrival, offering smug disdain rather than the olive branch she’d planned to extend. “I have matters yet to attend this night, so I’ll appreciate you wasting as little of my time as you are able.”
Lorcan stepped around her and continued to the round table positioned five feet ahead of where Maeve had stopped. Availing himself of the chair opposite where she stood, he lowered onto it and rapped his fingers against the dark wood as though he’d been sitting there for ages—and lost patience waiting for her arrival—the cad. When Lorcan failed to offer any answer, Maeve crossed to the edge of the table. With the Elite off gathering the remainder of the Council, and her nemesis absent, Maeve provided the Warrior of Light with rare insight into her state of mind. “You are lucky I didn’t tie your innards into a bow in response to your earlier threats.” Allowing a slight bit of displeasure to slip through, Maeve struggled to stop the deluge that followed. Her voice slipped up an octave. “Your suggestion to offer me like a trussed-up turkey as a prize for the brute was demeaning and only validates Brod’s boorish behavior. The last thing he needs is to think he is justified…”
His smirk came first, followed by the arrogant lift of his brow. It stopped Maeve mid-tirade. Both Ella and Kylie, still seated in positions behind him, had begun shaking their heads. Thinking little of it—she would not be warned off picking a fight with the surly beast if it was warranted—Maeve could scarcely believe Lorcan was neither engaging nor attempting to mollify her upset. Her fist slammed against the table. “Damnit, Lorcan. You are a jackass.”
A droll voice coming from over her shoulder made her jump. “If you are letting people tie you up, Pet, I’ve got to get on that waiting list.”
Turning slow in a half-circle, her eyes touched on the jade green gaze of the Casters’ leader. Outrage widened them when she spied over his shoulder the small group who had quietly gathered at the threshold of the doorway, intent on watching the exchange between her and Lorcan. The leadership had obviously not been scattered too far—she was willing to wager Lorcan had known as much. Turning frigid, Maeve batted away Cade’s outstretched hand. The Caster had undoubtedly been a member of the party until he’d slithered up behind her. All of them, including Broderick, had witnessed her ire.
The newly formed Council of the Ancient leaders was intermingled with the bunch, but it was Dunkirk who broke the awkward silence. With a wink, he lifted his tankard in salute. “Lass, I’ll be mighty glad to lend you a finger to help tie that bow if you become ready to make good on your promise.”
That Dunkirk would offer such traitorous assistance in maiming Lorcan while surrounded by Light leadership indicated not one of them took her threat as serious. Though she was particularly fond of the hulking highlander—the light in his soul was dazzling—Maeve launched a litany of curses in answer. Presenting the louts with her back once more, she pivoted to the table. Planting both palms on it, she leaned down to hiss at her seated host. “I am going to rectify that I did you no bodily harm earlier, you fraking bastard.”
Kaitriana gasped in dramatized fashion, appearing at Maeve’s side. Laying a hand on the other female’s arm, her admonishment took the form of a quiet whisper. “Maeve, you cannot speak like that. You are holy.”
Jerking free, Maeve debated whether to use a weapon or simply ram her fist into Lorcan’s chest cavity. “I am not, but even the most pious saint couldn’t remain sanctified in the presence of these infuriating creatures.”
Kaitriana pulled a face and countered smoothly. “You’re one of these creatures too.”
Pushed beyond her lofty coolness, Maeve’s eyes narrowed on Lorcan while she addressed Kat. “And you’re a half-brained nit-Witch, but we weren’t discussing either you or me, now were we?”
The loss of control and hurtling of insults was unprecedented for Maeve. Her slur raised a round of applause from Ella. The Fire Queen echoed with a short bark of laughter. “Nit-Witch.”
Distracted by the Queen, Maeve did not notice Lorcan’s movement until he stood next to her. His hand fell atop her shoulder in a gentle grip, causing Maeve to snap. “You will not escape unscathed a second time if you continue with your insolence.” She was required to inch her head back to meet his gaze. Her sneer was chock full of danger. “If you do not remove your hand, I will bite it off and shatter your skull.”
His magic had been prompting visions of Maeve in recent weeks. Lorcan understood the importance of bringing this one home even if he was not privy to the reasons. It was a revelation he planned to keep to himself until he better understood it. Earlier this night he’d allowed his temper to direct his actions and lost sight of that goal. It had been a mistake to stage their discussion in a setting that might unsettle her, but Maeve’s continued challenges left him with no choice other than to force the confrontation or have his position undermined. She was the one being in existence who could unseat him. Disgusted by the outcome and his mistakes contributing to the rift between them, Lorcan caught the gaze of two warriors loitering by the door. Withdrawing his hand, his slight nod to them accompanied his warning to her. “Don’t give me a reason to demonstrate who rules here, Maeve.”
“Only because I am not here, Lorcan.” Maeve did not blunt her arrogance when she stated the obvious. “You rule in my stead and I permit it.”
Feeling the strong grip of two hands around her left arm in synch with a pair encircling her right, Maeve realized Lorcan had played her. The Ancient power of the males flanking her clashed with her own. To his credit, Lorcan had given no indication she was about to be seized. He’d distracted her so she hadn’t noticed their encroachment. Setting the pair of aged Ancient Vampire back on their heels would require an unleashing of power that could lead to the destruction of both. Left with the option to yield or bloody the entire room, only her darkened eyes gave evidence of the fury wreaking havoc on her soul.
Maeve didn’t need to confirm the identity of the male on the left. The look of Brod’s hands against her skin was imagery burned into memory and sought time and again during the darkest nights of her existence… nights when she’d needed to be reminded that she was capable of being loved. This night, she felt nothing of the sort. Rewarding their manhandling with the roll of her eyes, Maeve flicked her gaze towards her other captor. Aidan. Traitorous plonker. Mentally relegating him to a position beneath her notice, she settled her icy gaze on Broderick, lingering where his fingers encircled her upper arm. Lifting her eyes to meet his, she was certain he felt the fissures beginning in the bones of his hand. His grip tightened as the torture continued, but Maeve didn’t relent until his eyes flickered dark. It was his only outward reflection of the agony she was quietly inflicting. She claimed victory with a mocking smile.
His answering one was full of menace. He released his hold to ease the ache radiating from his palm into his fingertips. Guiding her forward with one hand on the small of her back and the assistance of her other escort, Broderick motioned to a waiting chair. He remained standing until Maeve settled and then squatted in front of her, his forearm resting across one leg. Peering up at Maeve, she finally deigned to give him her notice, her expression giving the impression he was as welcome as a pile of dung at her feet. “If you don’t cooperate, Sweetheart, I have all the chains you could ever want waiting for you in my castle.”
Fool. She’d already determined to play along and permit their misdeeds for a time in order to ascertain Lorcan’s end game. “Your very own castle. Does it make you feel special?”
Lorcan dragged a chair directly in front of Maeve and dropped into it, answering in his stead. “Broderick owns Shadowmere.” Witnessing a fit of temper darken her gaze, Lorcan felt the impact of a ripple of energy, an unintended shift in her power. “I gave it to him.”
Broderick’s occupation of the home that had once meant so much to her was as bothersome as his hand now resting on her knee. Her next wave of energy was intentional and focused, shoving Lorcan’s chair back without warning. It gained twelve more inches of distance between them. “It wasn’t yours to give.”
“Shadowmere had been a holding of the Darks since the day you left the Realm. We relieved them of it some time ago.” Unspoken challenge threaded his tale, daring Maeve to offer any plausible excuse for her upset.
Breaking the tension between the trio, Kaitriana interjected before Maeve could stretch forward and claw the skin from Lorcan’s face. “Technically, I seized it from the Darks. Lorcan stole it from me and gifted it to Broderick.” The witch finished her recitation of their crimes by shooting a malevolent look down at that same Elite.
Ignoring Kat, Broderick rose and took a position slightly behind Maeve. An area of her neckline was exposed where the cape fell away. Dropping a hand to her shoulder, only half of his palm rested on the red material… the remainder occupied a tantalizing stretch of creamy skin. He almost fell victim to the mindless urge to run his knuckles across the length of her collarbone. “I’ve lived there for some time now. Didn’t Gideon tell you?”
