Chapter 9
Broc leaned against the door in the hallway and closed his eyes. He shouldn’t have given in and kissed Sonya. The sweet, blissful taste of hers in his mouth and on his tongue. Her scent was on him driving him wild with a need so primal, so primitive Broc shook with it.
The feel of her hands as they looped around his waist and her curves pressed against him, her passion as she returned his kiss. All of it would be his undoing.
He wanted nothing more than to walk back into the chamber and claim another kiss. He longed to kiss her through the night, learning her body and hearing her sighs of pleasure as he made love to her again and again.
But he couldn’t. He had a wyrran to kill..
Broc’s eyes opened and he felt his fangs fill his mouth. If he couldn’t relieve his body, he would appease his god. It was time for death, time for blood. Anyone who dared to try and take Sonya would die.
Viciously. Violently. Brutally.
Broc pushed away from the door and made his feet walk away from Sonya. The sooner he left, the sooner he could return. The sooner he would have to confront her and the kiss they shared.
He walked out of the inn and into the forest with long, purposeful strides. No one dared to get in his way. As soon as he knew nobody could see him, Broc removed his tunic and tossed it on the limb of a tree.
Then he unleashed his god.
His skin turned the darkest blue as claws sprouted from his fingertips and wings erupted from his back. Broc spread his wings and stretched his shoulders.
He might not like the god inside him, but he took pleasure in his speed and power, and certainly his ability to fly.
Broc felt the snarl of his god inside him, knew Poraxus wanted blood and death as much as Broc did to protect Sonya. And with Poraxus’ gift, the wyrran didn’t get far.
With a deep breath, Broc opened his power and began to hunt for the wyrran. In an instant he picked up his trail. It was like a thread glowing brightly in a world of gray.
Though he wanted to take to the skies, Broc couldn’t chance being seen yet. So, he ran, his wings clasped tight against him, ready for flight.
Once Broc caught the wyrran’s trail, he would keep it until he found the vile creature. The beast was as fast as Broc, but it had no idea Broc was chasing it. Once it did, the wyrran would use all of its wily tricks to try and escape.
But nothing could elude Broc.
The silence of the chamber following Broc’s departure was deafening. Sonya let out a shaky breath and ran her tongue over her lips.
They felt swollen. And sensitive. She’d had no idea kissing could feel so good or make her body come alive as if it had been sleeping for ages. One touch of Broc’s mouth to hers and everything had changed, forever altered.
She didn’t know why Broc had kissed and she didn’t care. For those few moments he had wanted her. That’s all that mattered.
Sonya walked to the bed and took the dagger in hand. She wasn’t sure what to do with it. Broc hadn’t showed her how to use it as Lucan had shown Cara, but Sonya would do her best regardless.
She buckled the scabbard around her waist and stroked the hilt as she sat. All she could do was wait. She tried not to worry. Broc was a Warrior, immortal and deadly in any attack. Yet, Sonya had seen what the wyrran could do. They were rarely alone sine they preferred to attack in groups.
Broc had assured her the wyrran he’d seen was alone. How long before it joined others? And would Broc be able to fight them all? He knew them better than anyone after spending so much time in Cairn Toul.
Sonya rose and began to pace the chamber. She wished she had something to occupy her time. Too many hours were ahead of her to sit idly and let her mind race with possibilities.
She yanked open the door and paused. Broc had made her promise to stay in the chamber. But it wasn’t as if she were going outside. She only wanted to go downstairs.
It was only for a moment. Nothing would happen while she was still inside the inn.
Her decision made, Sonya walked from the room. She found Jean behind the counter, though this time the portly woman was pouring ale into goblets.
“What can I do for ye, milady?” Jean asked with a smile. “I hope ye doona plan on leaving the inn. Yet husband made it clear you were to stay inside.”
Sonya smiled as she imagined the conversation between Broc and Jean. “I’m not leaving. I have several long hours ahead of me. I wondered if there was anything I could help you with?”
Jean chuckled and reached for another goblet before yelling at a woman to take the ones filled into the dining room and the men waiting for them.
“Lady Sonya—”
“Please,” she interrupted her. “Call me Sonya.”
Jean raised her brows, not believing a word. “I know nobility when I see it, milady, and Lord Broc is certainly nobility. As I was sayin’, I wouldna give ye any of my work.”
Sonya was still reeling with the notion of Broc as nobility, but now that Jean had mentioned it, there was a certain aspect about Broc which was different from other men. He had the same bearing as Fallon, who led the Warriors. But Broc’s confidence went beyond even that.
“I cannot have idle hands,” Sonya argued. “I will go daft as I await Broc’s return. There has to be something I can do. Is there mending to be done?”
Jean set down the now full goblet and braced her hands on the bar as she looked Sonya over from head to toe. “Ye do look a wee bit better than this morning. The sewing willna tax your strength, but it will keep ye busy. If ye really want something to do, I’ll bring it up to ye when I can.”
“Thank you,” Sonya said with a smile.
Sonya returned to the chamber and blew out a perturbed breath.
She bolted the door behind her and went to the window.
Being on the second floor gave her a good vantage point when peering out over the rest of the village.
But not even being atop the rest of the inn would help her if the wyrran wanted inside.
They had claws, as all Warriors did, but the wyrran also had claws on their feet, which they used to h n them scale walls and ceilings.
Sonya shuddered as she thought of the huge yellow eyes and the mouthful of sharp teeth that its lips couldn’t close over. They were small, yellow creatures, about the height of a child, but they were as deadly as a Warrior.
In some ways more so because the only person the wyrran served was Deirdre. Her will was theirs, and nothing stood in the way of the wyrran completing a command made by Deirdre.
And Deirdre had a never-ending supply of wyrran She created the wyrran, so when they were killed, she simply made more.
Sonya sank into the chair, her gaze focused on the forest and rolling foothills of the mountains. Broc was somewhere out there. So were the wyrran. And Deirdre. How long would it be before Deirdre began to seek revenge?
Or did she already?
Everyone said Deirdre never left her mountain, but Sonya had a suspicion that Deirdre’s near death by the MacLeods had changed everything.
And Sonya feared the everything would be the world as they knew it.