Chapter Six
Connor
Connor woke to the low murmur of voices drifting in from the hallway, the soft creak of floorboards, and the faint scent of woodsmoke lingering from the fire Moira had no doubt stoked.
He’d been working in his study earlier, dealing with business calls, then once done, he’d closed his eyes for a second.
I must’ve dozed off. His body felt heavy, weighted with the residue of too little sleep and too much responsibility.
For a moment, he didn’t move, letting awareness trickle back into him like slow-flowing water.
The storm had passed.
He sat up, muscles protesting, and scrubbed a hand over his face. It was almost four p.m. He’d been sleeping a while. His mind immediately replayed his discussion with the clan telling them about Glengáill, and the villagers.
And then damn it, there was Adrian.
The image of the Frenchman’s face in the storm light crept into his thoughts unbidden.
Wet curls plastered to his forehead, green eyes flashing with stubborn courage and compassion.
Connor could almost hear the lilt of his voice, could almost see the way his coat had been whipped back by the wind, revealing the lean lines of his body.
He growled under his breath. He didn’t have time for this nonsense. Not with a magical village on his land.
Standing, he threw on a clean shirt and combed his fingers through his hair. When he stepped into the corridor, the voices from downstairs grew distinct.
Moira. Fraser. Laird. Louella. And Alicia’s giggle.
Connor descended the stairs; the moment his boots touched the bottom step, half the room turned to face him.
“There he is,” Fraser drawled from the kitchen doorway, cradling a mug of coffee as if it were some sacred artifact. “The conquering hero himself.”
“Oh hush,” Moira scolded, though her eyes softened as Connor approached. “Sit down, lad. You look like you’ve been wrung through a mangle. I’m glad you managed to get a couple more hours of sleep.”
Louella set a fresh cup of coffee on the table, steam curling upward like an offering. Alicia, still in her tiny sheep-patterned pyjamas, ran toward him and latched on to his leg.
“Connie. Did the storm monsters go home?”
He blinked. “Storm monsters?”
She nodded solemnly. “The black ones with funny eyes. I dreamed about them.”
A chill crawled up Connor’s spine. Shadows? He forced his voice steady. “What exactly did you see, wee ’un?”
“Just shapes.” She held her hands apart. “Big and blurry. Like shadows eating other shadows.”
Louella pulled Alicia gently away from Connor, her expression tight with worry.
Connor met Moira’s eyes. “I’ll go visit the village again this evening. Everyone will need to be patient. I must think.”
“Aye.” Moira squeezed his shoulder. “You sort your thoughts. We’ll handle the house and the residents.”
He nodded, grateful, but his mind was already back in the valley. Back in that impossible village. Back with the faces of people torn from their world.
He couldn’t shake the memory. Couldn’t shake the feeling that the Triarc hadn’t merely named him and Adrian protectors.
They’d bound them.
Connor shook himself and headed back to the study. He needed to gather his thoughts, draft a plan, and make sense of the impossible.
But when he closed the door and stood alone in the quiet, one truth echoed louder than all the others.
This wasn’t over.
The storm had only opened the door. Even little Alicia was feeling it.
Connor closed his eyes for several seconds before moving. The quiet inside the room should’ve comforted him. Instead, it pressed around him like a second skin.
His clan needed him.
The village needed him.
And Adrian—
No. He was not going to spend time thinking about the blasted Frenchman.
He crossed to the window overlooking the courtyard. A soft snow had fallen sometime before he had woken, thin and bright against the stone. A few clan members hurried between buildings, their breath fogging in the cold.
He dragged a log onto the fire and watched the sparks rise. There was a knock, sharp but hesitant.
“Come in.”
Fraser entered, rubbing a hand over his beard. “We need your instructions, Connor. Folk want tae see the village for themselves. Others want to bar the gates.”
Connor pinched the bridge of his nose. “Bar the gates from what? A magical village full of frightened people who barely know where they are?”
Fraser gave a wry snort. “Aye. Logic’s no’ a currency today, lad. Fear is.”
Connor sighed. “I told Moira we’ll head back to the village later. Until then, keep the peace for me. Tell everyone we’ll have more answers soon.”
Fraser nodded, then hesitated at the door. “Connor? You sure you’re all right? You look…worried.”
Connor waved him off. “I’m fine. Go.”
Once Fraser left, Connor sank into his chair. Worried was a lean description. He felt stretched across two worlds, his clan and that impossible valley.
He touched his chest, where the Triarc’s chant had seemed to vibrate through bone.
Valour.
He felt the memory of another heartbeat then. Not his. Adrian’s. From the moment they had stood back-to-back, pressed close during the chaos, breathless and alive, something passed between them.
Connor shoved the thought away so hard it felt physical.
He had work to do. First, though, he needed to have a stiff whisky, and plan what questions he wanted answered later.
***
Adrian
Adrian couldn’t decide whether the pounding in his head was from the storm, adrenaline, or the fact that he still needed sleep. His earlier hours resting had been filled with dreams of battle scenes, monstrous shadows, and danger. He’d dozed off in his bed while reviewing the fort’s accounts.
At the washbasin, he splashed cold water over his face, staring at the reflection that blinked back. Tousled hair. Pale skin. Eyes too bright from worry. His pulse jumped as the dream he had had hit him hard and uninvited.
Connor standing before him on the hill. His hand gripping his arm during the fight, then turning toward him after the last creature fell, eyes wild, breath shaking.
He gripped the edge of the basin. “Merdre. This is ridiculous. It was only a fucking dream.”
He dressed quickly, tugging on boots over warm socks, and pulling his coat tight before stepping into the hallway. Piper stood there, a steaming mug in her hand.
“There he is,” she said, taking him in with a raised brow. “You look like you’ve been dragged through three hedges and interrogated by all of them.”
Adrian bit back a smile. “Charming.”
“You get my meaning.” She pressed the mug into his hands. “How bad was it? Really?”
Adrian exhaled. “Bad enough. Something, I don’t know what, came through with that storm. Something magical.”
Piper nodded grimly. “The others will want answers.”
He knew that. He could feel the weight of eyes on him. His people expected strength. Expected steadiness, command. But even with all the chaos, the fear, the responsibility, his thoughts kept drifting back to one thing.
One person.
Connor Brannigan.
A stubborn, infuriating, broad-shouldered Highland menace.
Adrian took a long drink of tea, trying to burn Connor’s face from his mind. It didn’t work.
Max entered with heavy steps. “We need to head back to that village as soon as we can, get more answers,” he said.
Adrian nodded. “Connor will be thinking the same.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “You seem awfully certain of that man’s thoughts.”
Adrian sent him a murderous glare. Max smirked.
He felt restless the whole ride to the village. Even Max noticed, though he said nothing beyond a raised brow and a grunt.
The village was beautiful in the daylight. Frost-rimmed gardens, stone cottages glowing amber in the sun. But beneath the beauty lay fear. Adrian saw confusion in every face, pain in every movement.
He gathered small groups, asking what they remembered. Most had no answers. Some remembered lightning. Others remembered a sound like a crack in the sky.
He was speaking to an elderly woman when he sensed him.
Connor.
Adrian turned, his heart leaping before he could stop it.
The Highlander strode across the square like a storm given limbs. Focused, determined, and his eyes locked on Adrian as though nothing else in the valley existed.
Adrian’s breath caught. Stupid. Unwanted. Immediate.
When Connor reached him, Adrian felt warmth flare low behind his ribs.
“You’re here early,” Adrian said.
Connor’s voice was low, rough. “Wanted to get it out of the way.”
Before Adrian could answer, Xiathen approached, and Adrian reluctantly tore his gaze from Connor’s.
But as they followed Xiathen toward the Athenaeum, Adrian felt Connor’s presence beside him. Solid, steady, grounding.
Their arms brushed once. Neither stepped away.
He smelled like pine, cold air, something warm beneath the surface. Something that made Adrian’s pulse behave in ways entirely inappropriate for a diplomatic meeting.
Adrian leaned closer, murmuring, “You all right?”
Connor nodded. And when Adrian stumbled over a root, and reached out to Connor to steady himself, their hands brushed. It was a small touch, an insignificant thing
Adrian’s breath hitched, barely audible.
Connor’s eyes snapped to his. And for a heartbeat, the world hushed.
***
Connor
“Valours,” Xiathen said behind him, his voice distant and echoing. “You step toward your path.”
Xiathen was still speaking, something about the village, the energies, shifts in the Veil, whatever the hell that was, but the words washed over Connor in an indistinct rhythm, muted by the blood pounding in his ears.
He forced himself to listen, to nod, to appear composed. A Valour. A protector. A king. A wolf.
“I can’t answer all your questions yet,” Xiathen said softly.
“The Triarc is researching history to gain more knowledge about the strange set of circumstances we find ourselves in. Once they have consulted their writings and the Knowledge, they will better understand what we are doing here and what your part in our journey will be.”
“I haven’t even agreed to be part of any damn journey,” Connor said with a scowl. “I have no idea what this has to do with me personally. I need some answers for me and my pack. I need to understand if anyone from my world is in danger.”
Adrian nodded. “I feel the same way. There are strange elements at play here.” He hesitated, as if wondering what to say next. Then he sighed. “I may as well tell you what happened this morning when we left the village.”
Connor’s skin tingled with goosebumps. “What happened?” he asked roughly.
“I saw a shadow.” Adrian stared out into the distance. “It followed me to the car, made my skin crawl. Max saw it too, although he wasn’t as affected as I was.”
“What did it look like?” Xiathen’s voice was strained. “Did you manage to see its form?”
“It was dark, not quite black, and had long appendages. Not much of a face. All eyes, mostly.”
Connor edged forward, unable to stop himself. “How close did it get to you?”
Adrian blinked, snapping back into the room. “Too close. It didn’t touch me, but…” His fingers curled unconsciously at his sides. “I could feel it. Like it was sniffing around me. Testing.”
Xiathen nodded. “Nightwrought do not test without purpose.”
Connor braced himself. “Nightwrought?”
“They are scouts,” Xiathen whispered. “Shadows given hunger and sentience. They do not feed on flesh. They feed on potential. On power. On the spark of a marked soul.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened. “It knew who I am? And what do you mean, a marked soul?”
“No,” Xiathen corrected gently. “It knew what you are. We still must wait for the Triarc to define it, but I feel it in my bones that you are something special to the Council.”
Connor growled under his breath, hands curling into fists. He glared at Adrian. “And you didn’t think to mention there were shadow-things roaming around sooner, threatening you?”
Adrian’s lips twitched in irritation. “I’m mentioning it now, aren’t I? And forgive me, but I was somewhat occupied trying not to get taken or whatever by a sentient smudge.”
Xiathen stepped forward, his robes whispering across stone. “Adrian, did it speak to you?”
Adrian hesitated. Connor’s breath hitched. “Adrian.”
“It didn’t speak,” Adrian said, his voice thin. “But it made a sound. Like static.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “And I felt something. A pull. Not physical, but here.” He pressed two fingers against the hollow at the base of his throat. “As if it recognised me.”
Xiathen’s eyes filled with dread. “Then the Council is already searching.”
A heavy, choking silence fell over them. Adrian’s breathing hitched. “You’re telling me that thing was sent for me?”
“Yes,” Xiathen breathed. “Sent to confirm you still exist. For whatever purpose they need you for. Once they taste it,” he shook his head, “more will come.”
Connor stepped in front of Adrian, instinctive and fierce. “Not on my land, they won’t.”
Adrian blinked at him, startled.
Xiathen studied the two of them with a frown, as though seeing something new take shape. “Valours,” he whispered, “your bond is awakening faster than I feared.”
Connor didn’t care about bonds or prophecy. Not in that moment. His gaze stayed locked on Adrian’s.
“Next time it shows up,” Connor said, his voice low and lethal, “it won’t sniff you. It’ll choke on its own shadow before it gets near you.”
Adrian exhaled shakily, a breath almost like relief. “And here I thought Scotsmen were meant to be calm.”
Connor’s mouth twitched. “You’re mistaking us for the English.”
Xiathen cleared his throat gently. “We must focus. If the Nightwrought has found Adrian once, it will find him again. And if it does, it will not come alone.”
Adrian’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Then what do we do?”
Xiathen looked between him, his expression grave. “You prepare,” he said softly. “Because the Council has begun its hunt. And you two—whether you wished it or not—are now the brightest flames in the valley.”
Connor’s chest tightened and he felt it then. How, he didn’t know. But somewhere far beyond the walls of the Athenaeum, the wind had shifted. Soft at first, then with the faintest undercurrent of static.
He had no idea what that meant.