CHAPTER ELEVEN #3
Royce paused before him, standing aggressively. “Why did ye take an Innocent hostage?”
Aidan curled his mouth. “To amuse myself.”
Royce’s gray eyes glittered. “Ye still act like a boy of twelve. ’Tis fortunate that she’s nay hurt.”
Aidan felt like striking him. “I’m nay a boy of twelve years an’ ye willna berate me like ye were wont to do. She’s an Innocent, an’ ye can protect her now. I’m done.”
Royce stared closely. “I dinna believe ye’ve protected her, Aidan. What game is this?”
Aidan fought the sudden fury of the beast seething in him, and it was very hard to do. “Moray has returned. She needs protection from him until he is vanquished. He is usin’ her to destroy me.”
Royce went still, his eyes flickering. “I dinna think to ever see the day he’d return,” he said softly, after a long pause. “Does Malcolm ken?”
“Nay.” Aidan smiled savagely. “Oh, afore I forget. He has powers from the Duisean.”
Royce paled.
Aidan shifted. Crouching, he growled long and low at Royce, but Royce did not step back in fear. Annoyed—he’d meant to frighten him, at the least—Aidan searched Royce’s mind, which was open. There was no fear, just wariness and anger. His hand, however, had crept to the hilt of his long sword.
He would love it if Royce raised that sword toward him. But he didn’t move.
Aidan turned away. It was time to hunt his deamhan father.
“Hunt with care,” Royce called after him.
Aidan leapt.
THE PACK STAYED BACK IN THE line of trees, a female whining nervously. The sun was shimmering high in the early morning sky. The wolves would not hunt in the broad light of day.
He did not care. Aidan stood a short distance from the tree line, intently watching Frasier’s army breaking camp, still in the Wolf’s body. He coursed with power and life; he and the pack had been hunting since dawn.
Frasier’s red-and-gold tent was being taken down and bundled up.
Aidan’s gaze veered past the servants dismantling it, the cart and waiting team of horses.
He saw the tall figure preparing to mount a charger and knew it was Frasier, not Moray.
Frasier’s power was relatively weak compared to that of a deamhan, and it was very human.
Aidan sat down on his haunches, his patience infinite. Come to me.
There was no reply.
Behind him, the pack settled, lying down.
Come to me, coward.
The morning shifted ever so slightly—a whisper of leaves, a dancing of dust.
He stared at the army below, aware of his pulse pounding slowly and steadily, rising as he prepared for their final battle. Darkness gathered behind him.
His hackles rising, he turned. The wolves stood, growling. They all stared deeper into the forest. The shadows became longer, darker—emerald turning black, dark clouds forming in the woods.
Dead leaves crunched.
Aidan licked his lips, feeling the black power coming, and he snarled.
Moray appeared in his true form, clad in black robes and hose, carrying only a small dagger and a single ax. “You should fear me, my son,” Moray whispered softly.
Aidan growled. I fear no one. But he was elated. His father had dared to fight him in his own body, and that meant, possibly, that Aidan could vanquish him at last.
“I trapped you in a dream, and I can trap you anywhere, anytime, as anything.”
Aidan tensed. Did he mean that he would trap him in the Wolf’s body? It did not matter. He did not care. Die today.
Moray threw the ax as he leapt, roaring.
Aidan meant to deflect it, but the ax sliced through his power.
He screamed with pain as the ax pierced through muscle and bone.
He landed on Moray, sending him to the ground.
Moray’s demonic energy was a huge force, and he fought to get past it, to sink his teeth into the jugular vein.
It was as if the energy were a coat of armor and he only scraped skin as the black power finally threw him backward.
He tumbled wildly through the forest. Instantly Aidan leapt up, seeing Moray’s ax flying back into his hand, summoned with impossible power.
A sliver of fear went through him. This time he deflected the hurled ax, which was aimed at his head. It veered, glancing off his chest instead.
Flesh was ripped open. The pain enraged him, and he tackled Moray, shocked when the dagger stabbed up between his ribs. He tore through the wall of energy with claws and fangs, viciously determined to get to Moray’s throat.
From behind, the ax sliced through Aidan’s flank. Pain blinded him, but, aware that he must not stop now, Aidan fought to maul his way through the shield of energy. And suddenly he tasted fresh blood as his teeth sank into flesh and tendon.
Moray’s eyes widened in alarm.
In another second, he would rip Moray’s throat apart, Aidan thought in savage satisfaction.
He sank his teeth deep.
You will never find Ian if you kill me now.
Aidan went still, releasing his jaw, lifting his head.
Moray smiled at him, and his mocking laughter sounded.
It was a lie. Aidan snarled, but before he could rip Moray’s throat into shreds, Moray vanished into time.
For one moment, Aidan crouched over the air and the earth, and then the pain blinded him. Whimpering, he sank to the ground.
In that moment, there was shocking clarity, and he became aware of how badly injured he was. He had been wounded in the chest twice, once with the dagger, which had come terribly close to his heart. The ax had knifed into his shoulder, hip and leg and he was bleeding heavily now.
In spite of the daylight and the army not far from them, the wolves had gathered around him, whimpering.
He was going to die.
But he was supposed to hang.
It was the gods, enjoying themselves at his expense. They had never intended the hanging, he thought. Suddenly he was afraid. He wasn’t ready to die. He had to vanquish Moray. And what about Brianna?
Her beautiful face came to his mind and settled there, bringing sudden comfort. He softened deep within himself. She needed him. He had to protect her. He could not die, not yet.
He tried to stagger to his paws.
Pain blinded him.
He collapsed. He tried to stand again. He could not bear it. Two of his legs were worthless. Instead, he started crawling to her, inch by painful inch.