Touching her fingertips to her lips, Deòthas remembered the feel of Tor’s kiss, hungry and sure, setting her aflame in ways she hadn’t even known possible. She would have bedded him, if Eallair hadn’t interrupted. And thank the gods he had.
If it was just sex, just a meaningless fling then it would be ok. Unusual, yes, but ok… Well, it would lead to heartbreak and disaster, but perhaps a little less so than anything deeper. However, there’d been something in Tor’s expression when he’d kissed her, in his need to protect her the night before, something that already went further than wanting to bed her to sate curiosity. And, gods help her, she wanted there to be more. The idea that someone like Tor could want her, could possibly grow to love her with time, it astonished her. Almost as much as it terrified her.
Her problem? She didn’t believe she had it in her to be a participant in something ‘more’. ‘More’ opened doors to ‘much more’, and ‘much more’ led to ‘relationship’, and then that, in turn, travelled on to ‘family’. And family? Well family existed in a place beyond her. Her mother had beaten, berated and routinely starved her. Her grandparents had fed her only to remind Drùis who was in charge, to punish Deòthas’s mother for the indiscretion of bearing the child of a daonna. Deòthas didn’t know how to form relationships. The only interactions she understood and could get behind were confrontations.
She had always been socially impaired, she knew that. And Tor would suffer for it, if she let him think they had a hope. As much as she wanted him, it seemed impossible. The idea that he craved her warmed her to her hardened heart, but it would be a mistake to fall to the sensation’s march. Self-destruct had become part of her programming after so many years of defiance, of picking fights because she didn’t know how to communicate any other way. She’d drive Tor away eventually, or kill them both trying to do so.
Wasn’t it better to nip things in the bud, even if no other man would ever gave her the chance? They’d both be saved from a lot of heartache and the inevitable catastrophe that anything more than sex would turn out to be.
Yet as her fingers brushed her lips again, she imagined Tor’s weight on top of her body. It wouldn’t be easy to say no to a second advance. Not when she wanted him as much as she did. Bean-uasal, Great Mother, guide her, because she’d never felt anything like it and she didn't know how to resist..
“Deòthas!” Raghnall’s voice sounded harsh as it broke through her reverie, and she flushed before she could mask her embarrassment with her usual defiant apathy or insubordination.
“You’ve been asked a question, would you like to focus for a moment and answer it?”
The trainees watched her expectantly from their places on the training mats, where they’d knelt after sparring to ask Tor about the trials. Some studied her with raised brows. Some sniggered and nudged each other. She sighed, wearied by her inability to present a positive appearance, and she didn’t have a damn clue what question needed answering. With no other route to take, she glanced at Tor for assistance. Much to her surprise, she saw irritation in his expression. Was he annoyed at her?
No, not at her. Tor cast a withering glare at Raghnall, then reluctantly admitted, “They want to know why you sought dispensation to take alternative trials. Raghnall’s told them that you didn’t have to face the final, mandatory trial. He said you got out of it.”
Sighing, Deòthas lowered herself onto the mats, sitting cross-legged on the floor so she wasn’t looking down on the trainees as they knelt in their disciplined line in front of her. No one had ever asked her why her trials were different, mainly because the existing ghaisgich accepted that they’d had to be. The Taghadairean couldn’t have asked her to trust the other Council warriors, as there no trust existed in either direction. Voicing that truth would sting though, because trust had never developed either.
“I didn’t seek dispensation. I guess the shield maidens found me worthy...”
Raghnall’s snort interrupted her, but she ignored it and pressed on; after all, she did nothing more than state fact. The Taghadairean had a simple role; to separate the worthy from the unworthy. The personal beliefs of an individual warrior had no affect on that.
“I guess they found me worthy but knew the final challenge would be impossible for me. You see, when you enter the trials you face four tests. First, you select three out of four options; strength, endurance, combat, or sacrifice. Most candidates choose the first three, as I believe Tor did. Then you’re given a final test, and that tests your faith in the Comhairle, in the warriors you’ll stand with. I couldn’t do that.
“I was very young when I faced the trials, just sixteen, younger than anyone we’d consider letting into the proving grounds now. I’d been separated from my people and I was trapped, in what seemed like a very harsh world, so I wanted to fight. I wanted to protect other species from the suffering which had been forced on those who must surely starve beyond the veil. When I lost my world, I wanted to make sure no one else had their life turned on its head by some enemy’s scheme.
“However, being non-bhampair, the Council didn’t want me to enter the proving grounds. By rights the Taghadairean shouldn’t have let me take the trials, as tradition dictates that no non-bhampair can. Not that I knew that at the time.
“I was so naïve,” Deòthas admitted quietly, almost to herself.
What she’d done had been reckless, she’d pushed boundaries that weren’t meant to be pushed and made more enemies than she’d considered possible. She couldn't change that, so she continued with her tale.
“I snuck into the proving grounds during the day, when the warriors were asleep. No one but the Taghadairean knew I was there. They let me in, despite tradition, but they couldn’t test my faith in the Council’s warriors because the ghaisgich didn’t trust me, and quite frankly I didn’t trust them. For whatever reason, that didn’t seem to matter; the shield maidens didn’t require me to take what is usually a mandatory test. Instead they required me to face the trial most warriors avoid; sacrifice.
“After I did as required, they impaled me with the sword I’d taken from one of them during my combat trial, and bled me out. Everyone has to bleed out. Tancred found me in the proving grounds and made me into a bana-ghaisgeach. Some deny I’m really a Comhairle warrior.”
Glancing at Raghnall, Deòthas winced at his scorn, understanding it far better than he’d ever credit her with.
“Others begrudgingly accept that the Taghadairean made their decision, albeit an unconventional one,” she added, thinking of Tancred and Corvinus.
“What did you have to sacrifice?” one of the trainees enquired. “Was it someone, a person, or something you possessed?”
Deòthas studied her hands, hands which could wield a weapon but which couldn’t use the one gift her mother had given her.
“Something I possessed,” she admitted softly. “My magic.”
She felt Tor’s eyes on her, no doubt puzzled by such a statement considering he’d felt her innate sorcery when they met. Looking up at him, she hoped her honesty showed in her expression as she tried to explain.
“They allowed me to keep the tools I needed to hunt and protect our secrecy, the same tools all baobhan sith and bhampairean use. I still have the seductive magic we use to attract prey, and the ability to wipe human minds. However, when I came to this world I had more magic than that, although I kept it hidden. I should’ve been a geas-seinneadair, a spellsinger. I could’ve controlled the elements. I could have been a sorceress. I gave it up, gave away the ability, in order to be a Comhairle warrior, because I thought I’d have more to offer as part of a greater whole than if I remained on my own.”
“Bullshit.”
All of the assembled bhampairean turned back to Raghnall, whose arms were folded across his chest, and who clearly didn’t believe such a claim.
“It is rare, even among the fey, to be a spellsinger,” he all but spat at her. “Only amongst fey royalty is it common, but among the ordinary fey the skill is hardly ever seen. I’ve read the accounts of your arrival, you had no power. You were weak from the start…”
“I was a child,” Deòthas stated, glaring up at the man who’d hated everything she was, right from first meeting her. “I’d lost everything and I was frightened. Why would I have shown my power to a band of warriors who already looked at me as though I was a threat to them? I wanted to assimilate, not stand out more than I already did. What would your kind have done to me if they’d felt threatened? Abandoned me? Killed me?”
The questions hung in the air, unanswered. The queries said far more about her relationship with the head of training, and the Council generally, than she’d wanted to show the recruits. Foreboding bloomed, and Deòthas had a feeling she’d regret voicing her tirade. The silence lingered, loaded and menacing, until the ringing of a mobile phone shattered the oppressive quiet.
Saved by the bell.
Recognising her ringtone, she peeled herself up from her place on the floor and went to where she’d dumped her bag in the corner. Snatching up the smart phone she clicked the answer button, greeting Tancred with her name..
“Deòthas.”
The chief’s voiced crackled back at her from the handset, “How’s your side doing?”
Turning her back on her spectators, she tried to control her anxiety as she answered honestly, “It’s good. We’ve had a training session this evening, and while I kept out of sparring as you requested, I’ve run through practise moves just fine. To be honest it’s almost healed. By tomorrow there won’t even be a scar.”
“Good,” Tanc answered, and she could hear relief in his tone. “Are you fit enough for an assignment?”
They’d found something? Already? “Sure, do you want me and Tor to head somewhere private so you can tell us what you need.”
“Please.”
She signalled to Tor, then headed for the door. She hadn’t expected to be given a real mission so soon, but she’d take any bone thrown her way. If the tech team had already managed to find something useful, she wasn’t about to let the trail go cold. It wasn’t in her nature.
“Where the hell do you think you’re swanning off to?” Raghnall called after them. “You’re here to assist the trainees, not to disappear as you fancy.”
Spinning on her heal, Deòthas shot the dirtiest look she could at her abuser.
“We are serving warriors, Raghnall. When Tancred says jump, we ask how high. If you have concerns about our being given an assignment on what you believe is your time, then I suggest you take it up with the chief.”
In her ear, Tancred laughed. “The day you jump on command, I’ll fear doomsday has come. How is Raghnall, anyway?”
Raghnall’s need to control her frustrated and irritated her. That he’d led the trainees to think she’d had easier trials than they would face pissed her off too, and when combined with the added stress of the Tor situation, she found that her already short fuse had been trimmed further. Deòthas couldn’t bite back the inflammatory response that tumbled out of her mouth.
“His training regime is sloppy. The trainees can all fight, but those with real proficiency have all undergone training outside of this facility. He’s neglected to tell them the true point of the trials, which is why Tor hadn’t known the Taghadairean were testing his heart and mind, not necessarily his physical characteristics. We’ve gone over that tonight, but I would recommend sending Aodh in to do a proper review.
“To be honest it’s no wonder we’ve lost so many candidates recently. What I have in front of me is a strong, determined group of recruits, who should all stand a chance of becoming exceptional warriors, but they are being misguided and underprepared, and I think it’s our duty to rectify that, to ensure they survive to reach their full potential.”
Raghnall’s jaw dropped, rage contorted his expression, and his face turned a nasty shade of scarlet as he tried to form a response.
What had she done? The guy scared her and she still had to stay under his roof. Couldn’t she control of her runaway tongue, just this once?
“Did something to piss you off, did he?” Tanc chortled, unsurprised by her antagonistic outpouring.
Stomping past Tor, she tried to ignore the look of surprise and anxiety her rookie cast her way.
“Sending me here was a mistake.”
“Hardly,” Tancred answered. “I didn’t just send you there to keep Tor occupied while you healed, you know. I picked up on Tor’s misunderstanding of the trials too, and I know as well as you do that we’re losing too many trainees. I sent you to Longhirst because I knew you’d say it like it is, even if you have no tact about it. It’s just a shame Tor isn’t teaching you any diplomacy. Surely with his background he could teach you some etiquette.”
“I know all about etiquette, I just choose to ignore it,” she retorted. “Truthfully though, you’re more likely to get two socially incompetent thugs back than you are to have me return with the manners of a socialite.”
“That is one of my many concerns,” the chief admitted softly. “But I have no choice but to take the risk.”
No choice? What did he mean by that? It wasn't like the gods had forced him to partner them up.
Twisting and turning through the labyrinthine corridors of the facility, she finally managed to lead Tor back up into the attic. She almost went to her door, but the moment her hand touched the handle she remembered what had gone on in there earlier. Her breath caught, her skin flushed, but in her heart she knew a rematch would be a bad idea. Instead she crossed the corridor and pushed open the door to Tor’s room, as if that would make their attraction easier to deal with.
Her eyes flicked to the bed, and images of what they could do on it played through her imagination like an erotic slideshow. Fighting back the rising tide of need, Deòthas positioned herself in front of the window instead of taking a seat on the only piece of suitable furniture in the room.
“You alright?” Tancred asked.
Shit. Had he heard her sharp inhale? Well of course he had, her phone was still pressed to the side of her face.
“Fine. Just got back to our rooms. Raghnall put us in the attic.”
Silence followed that announcement and she could imagine Tancred stiffening in his office chair, his thick brows dropping into a frown.
“The attic?” he asked.
“Yeah, you know, where the rats, mould, and cobwebs live, alongside the discarded and unwanted. Nothing but the best here.”
“I thought this type of thing had stopped years ago,” Tanc growled response, sounding honestly annoyed. He really had tried to protect her over the years, at great cost to himself and his reputation. “I’ll speak to Ragh...”
“No,” she interrupted. “I’ve pissed him off quite enough for one week. I’m used to this, Tancred. It’s fine. I’ll put you on speakerphone and you can tell us what you need us to do.”
After a click of a button, the chief’s voice boomed into the room.
“Nate’s managed to locate a few hospitals and care homes where suicides are becoming prevalent. He’s even managed to get the name of a helpline operator who’s encouraging callers to kill themselves. This looks like it could go deeper than we feared, so tonight, I want you to watch a member of staff at the Royal Victoria Infirmary.
“Luke Harding is an anatomical pathology technologist in the hospital morgue, and there seems to be a lot of suicides handed over to undertakers while he’s on duty. Thing is, these undertakers are all new businesses, and the corpses all belong to recluses with no living family. When we’ve looked at the contact details for the chapels of rest these bodies are supposedly taken to, they’ve all come back fake. It’s certainly suspicious, and currently that’s enough to lead me to suspect the Manipulator.
“We know the APT is on duty tonight, and that there are a number of suicides currently in the morgue. I’m hoping if you watch the morgue you might witness a hand over. If you could follow one of these ‘undertakers’, we might finally find where the Manipulator is making his puppets. I would’ve sent one of the others, but they’re all on duty, and to be honest this could call for your skill set anyway, Deòthas. You need to be silent and invisible. And, if there’s trouble, eyewitness accounts say you and your new partner are formidable when fighting together, so I’m more than willing to send you both in. You up for it?”
As if she’d turn down an opportunity to go after the Manipulator or his lackeys. She glanced at Tor and he nodded, just as she’d expected. His expression had already hardened in preparation, ready for the possibility of battle.
“We’re up for it,” Tor answered.
“Good,” Tanc acknowledged. “Just remember that your primary objective is reconnaissance, don’t engage unless you’re forced to. And Deòthas? Borrow a Range Rover, would you? That bloody monster you drive is not appropriate for trailing a suspected enemy.”
She laughed at that. “I’m eccentric, not stupid. I’ll go low profile. Are you sending plans of the hospital to my phone?”
“Nate’s on it, you should have them in five.
“Good, we’ll be out of here in ten,” she answered. “I’ll phone in to debrief once we’re back.”
She clicked the red symbol to disconnect the call, and when she looked up it was to get an eyeful of Tor’s muscle bound chest as he stripped off the shirt he’d been training in and selected a fresh one. He was gorgeous, his body rippling as he stretched up to tug the t-shirt up over his head. The tattoos on his side suited the unusually golden hue of his skin and the strangest desire to lick and kiss the patterns swept over her. When his longer than fashionable hair fell back into place, tousled and quite frankly in need of a hairbrush, she decided that the look gave him a rugged charm that seemed uniquely Tor. It made her want to tangle her hands in his unruly mane, much as he’d done with hers earlier.
“I thought it better to change before we head out, so unless you’re after the full striptease I suggest you turn around, or go get into your own war-wear.”
Mirth and heat lit Tor’s eyes as he quirked a grin at her, flashing a hint of extended fang and making the situation dangerous... Very dangerous. Deòthas knew it was unwise to stare, yet she couldn’t turn away.
“Seriously, Deòthas, if you stick around I’m going to want you underneath me again, and that’s not such a wise idea... A kiss in one thing, but taking a tumble is another, and when you look at me like that, all I can think about is getting you on my bed, with far fewer clothes between us than we’re wearing presently.”
Her pulse sped into a thunderous hum, echoing in her head at his admission. The words had as much impact upon her body as kisses and caresses would’ve done.
“Tor...”
She didn’t know why she said his name, except that it sounded as though she gave him permission to do whatever he wanted. Was she consenting to what he’d suggested? But they had an assignment to do.
“The hospital…”
“Exactly,” he murmured, then took a step towards her anyway. “We need to go to the RVI. Not…”
“Not what?” whispered Deòthas, although she had her own ideas on where this could lead. “Tell me what you want.”
Lust filled his scent; spicy, taunting until her own fangs dropped. However, just as suddenly as their next foolish episode begun, it ended. Panic tore the desire from Tor’s expression, and fear obscured the aroma of his lust. He backed away, until his back pressed against the wall and he could escape no further.
“Crap. You really should go and get changed. I’ll meet you in the corridor in a moment.”
His ability to use his common sense should’ve been a good thing. Deòthas knew going further would be a bad idea. She’d been deliberating over it ever since their first kiss. Yet his dismissal stung as she turned towards the door, a humiliated blush scorching her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” Tor said as she retreated, and genuine guilt coloured the declaration.
She shrugged as she stepped out into the corridor, responding, “No, it’s fine, it’s for the best. Nothing good comes of bedding a baobhan sith.”
Just look at what her mother’s affair had produced.
As Deòthas pulled the door shut, Raghnall’s chuckle drew her attention to the shadows of her own room, where he waited for her.
“You know, Tor’s a promising young warrior,” he announced.
Like that wasn’t obvious to everyone.
“I don’t need you to tell me that.”
He snorted at her response, his expression doubtful as he joined her in the corridor. He bent down, so that his breath hit her throat, setting her nerves on edge as he ignited every fight or flight instinct she possessed.
“But it seems to have escaped your notice that you could destroy his future. Come on, fey-born, you’ve been a ‘warrior’ for six centuries yet you’ve never made captain. You’ve never even been promoted to department head. Do you really want him to be held back because he naively decided to become involved with you?
“By the time he’s realised he’s sacrificed his future for you, it’ll be too late to do anything about it. Why not do him a favour and keep your wandering hands to yourself? Let him have the future which he’ll lose if he falls for your ‘charms’. Surely you have enough decency to do that for him? Don’t tarnish him more than you already have.”
Deòthas watched as Raghnall slipped back through the shadows and disappeared down the staircase at the end of the corridor. She wanted to argue, but the ache in her chest told her two things; the first and most important was that he spoke true. She couldn’t have Tor because he’d be marked by the association. Her second realisation was that she cared for her rookie far more that she’d ever intended, and keeping him safe would require a far bigger sacrifice than she’d made at the request of the Taghadairean.