Chapter 1 #2
Careful that his claws didn’t cut her delicate skin, he gently caressed a finger from her temple down her cheek to her jaw. He longed to have her open her eyes so he could look into their amber depths.
Her skin was smooth and luminous. She had a high forehead where finely arched eyebrows, the same vivid red as her hair, curved above her eyes. Her nose was aristocratic and her chin stubborn. Her lips, however, were those of a siren—wide and full.
And tempting as sin.
Tenderly, Broc lifted her hand in his to inspect the wound. The cut went from her index finger acro her palm to end at her wrist. The slice was deep, and the skin around the wound was blackening.
The dark yellow pus that oozed from the gash propelled Broc. He gathered Sonya in his arms and spread his wings, ready to jump into the air and fly to MacLeod Castle.
It was the lightning bolts that forked across the sky in a vivid and dramatic display of power that halted him. If he flew, there was a chance he could be hit by the lightning. Though it would pain him, he would survive.
Sonya wouldn’t be so lucky.
He couldn’t put her in that kind of danger. Reluctantly, Broc set her down long enough to remove the satchel and search through it for a cloak.
Once he found one and had secured it around Sonya, Broc tamped down his god. He watched the indigo skin of his Warrior form, along with his claws, fade from sight. Nothing showed of his wings or his fangs. When he wasn’t in his Warrior form, no one could tell him apart from a mortal man.
It was a small blessing having an ancient god in him. And it had all begun with the invasion of Rome on Britain’s shores. The Celts had battled the Romans for years before going to the Druids for help.
The mies, Druids with pure magic, could offer only guidance. However, the droughs, Druids with their black magic, had an answer—call up primeval gods from Hell to inhabit the strongest warriors.
And it worked. The men became Warriors and soon drove Rome from Britain. Yet, their need for blood and death didn’t end, and soon they were killing any who crossed their paths.
It took both the mies and the droughs combining their magic to end the Warriors. No matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t make the gods return to Hell. Instead, they bound them inside the men.
But the gods took their revenge by passing through the bloodline to the next strongest warrior of that family. They were unable to get free until a drough, Deirdre, found an ancient scroll that told her how to unbind the gods.
Ever since, Deirdre had been relentless in finding the gods and unbinding them. Broc was one of several at MacLeod Castle intent on putting an end to Deirdre for good.
Broc jerked on a tunic before he slung the strap of the satchel over his head. Once more he took Sonya into his arms and stood. There was a village several leagues away. There he could get Sonya out of the weather and tend to her hand.
Then he would beg her forgiveness for driving her away and hopefully convince her to return to MacLeod Castle. Everyone needed her there. No one more so than him.
He cradled her gently, but securely, against his chest, shielding her face from as much of the rain as he could. He rested his chin on her forehead and felt her skin blazing with fever.
Broc looked down into her oval face, a face that had haunted his dreams and every waking moment of his life since she had come into womanhood and he had been tempted beyond his control.
“Live, Sonya. I refuse to let you die.”
Why hadn’t she healed herself, as he knew she could? She was a Druid with powerful healing magic. The Druids at MacLeod Castle had put an incredible amount of strain on Sonya for her healing, but as a mie nothing should have restricted that magic.
Even Quinn MacLeod, another Warrior, once had need of Sonya’s healing because of Deirdre’s magic.
Broc growled just thinking about his enemy. All droughs gave their blood and their lives to Satan in exchange for black magic, but Deirdre had gone beyond that. She worked in league with the Devil. Deirdre had lived nearly a thousand years, and during that time she had destroyed many lives.
Broc cursed Deirdre with every step he took, but he cursed himself even more. From the day he had delivered Sonya and Anice to the Druids, he had sworn to protect them.
He had failed Anice, and if he didn’t get Sonya to cover quickly, he would fail her as well.
The thunder had become almost a constant boom, it sounded so close together. The storm was right over them, as was evident by the lightning striking closer and the wind howling around them.
One lightning bolt landed on a tree just in front of them and caused the pine to burst into flames and spin in half. Broc turned away before being crushed as part of the tree fell and landed in front of him.
He lifted his face to the sky and roared his anger. His rage fed his god, and it was all Broc could do to keep him tamped down. It had taken too many of his two hundred and seventy-five years learning to restrain Poraxus for Broc to lose control now.
But when it came to Sonya, his emotions always ran high.
Broc had to get out of the storm. He took a deep breath and leapt the burning tree. He held Sonya tight and ran, using the incredible speed his god gave him. He didn't slow until he spotted the village.