Fey Born Read online

  “I feel there is a need now.”

  She shifted a little away from him. “How convenient. Are all guardians so indecisive?”

  “We are not indecisive. By the white moon, do you not understand what has happened here?”

  “I understand. The spriggan gave me covet bread. What I doona understand is why.”

  “Child woman,” he muttered under his breath.

  “I am not a child.”

  “Pretty gold fleece.” He imitated the spriggan’s inflection perfectly. “Master Spriggan wished to convince you to mate with him. If you had eaten more of his bread, you probably would have done so.”

  “I would not have mated with him.”

  “You would have,” he said with conviction.

  She glared at him, giving way to the disturbance inside her. “Never would I have allowed that creature to touch me! Do you hear me?”

  “I hear you well enough,” he said severely. “There is no need to shout. ‘Tis a dilemma for both of us. I must give your body ease from the lust fever, yet I canna find physical ease within you.”

  “What is melding!”

  “It is the guardian’s magical mating of blood to blood. It enhances the physical joining between a male and female.”

  “But we will not join physically?”

  “Not that way.”

  Before she could ask what way, the Urge to mate surged between her legs and she sucked in her breath from the shock of it.

  “The lust fever has begun.”

  “Everything must pass,” she said hoarsely with fervent hope.

  “Not this.”

  Lana felt tears well in her eyes.

  Slowly.

  Ever so slowly.

  As if every movement was for her benefit, he came down from the tree, muscles rippling, and edged up beside her.

  “I will give you ease,” he said in husky command. A strong hand snaked possessively around her nape. “Trust me. I will not hurt you.”

  She closed her eyes and gave herself willingly into his care.

  Keegan pulled his willful bride into his arms. “It will not hurt for much longer.” He lowered his mouth and kissed each of her eyelids tenderly. Sharp fingernails dug into the flesh of his shoulder.

  His mouth skimmed across her jaw line and licked his mating mark, a reaffirming of false vows. In the back of his mind, he knew he should not be touching her this way, but he would not leave her to suffer.

  Gathering her in his arms, he stood and strode down the grassy shores to the loch.

  “Keegan, where are you taking me?” Slender arms locked around his neck, a nose pressed against his ear.

  “To the loch. You stink of the spriggan’s bread.” He stepped down into the cool waters.

  In answer, the smoothness of her tongue glided along the shell of his ear. He jerked his head away. He continued walking outward, the water reaching his shoulders, the bottom of the loch becoming uneven beneath his feet. Wet ardent kisses trailed down his throat.

  He submerged, taking her with him. For a few precious heartbeats, he dragged her out deeper, wary of those flailing limbs. With a quick gesture of his hand, he magically removed her clothes and brought them both back to the surface. Bracing himself, he prepared to weather the coming storm of a young female tainted with spriggan lust bread.

  Lana came up sputtering and found her clothes had mysteriously disappeared. Gasping for air, she found herself pressed against a hard male body.

  “How dare you,” she coughed angrily, and shoved wet hair out of her eyes.

  “Now that the stink of the spriggan is gone, we can proceed. First, you must understand these be fey waters. Mortals are heavier here and you will drown.” His arm tightened around her waist. “Do you understand me?”

  “Why do you not kiss me?”

  He arched a decadent brow. “Do you understand you must stay close to me?”

  In answer, Lana clamped her mouth on to his with such force that teeth struck teeth.

  He pulled back, his tongue skimming across a bloody bottom lip.

  Their eyes met and locked.

  “Forgive me, Lana. I have waited too long.” His mouth lowered, slanting over hers in a welcomed possession. “Savor me,” he murmured seductively against her lips.

  She did, feeding on him. A throaty groan vibrated in his throat, spilling into her mouth. She could feel his passion, just out of reach. Her bare thighs slid against his, the sensation sending a wild yearning through her to join with him.

  Shifting higher, she rubbed her woman’s place against his thick man root, an unexpected jolt slamming through her.

  It was nothing compared to the jolt of lightning spearing through Keegan’s blood. He responded aggressively, deepening the kiss, and then caught himself. She was grinding against him, a like madness erupting between them. If he was not careful, she would impale herself through his breeches.

  With every ounce of control, he struggled to tame his forceful nature.

  He intensified the kiss, bringing her full focus back to what his mouth was doing, an erotic tease and play. She quickly responded and he had to tilt his head so he could breathe.

  She was incapable of understanding what he truly was, what he had lived these long lonely years. The guardians were the oldest of the fey born, cunning, predatory, and lethal, if wronged. He lived a solitary existence, defending the waters, defending the fey, and took what he wanted without thought, without explanation. A barren life of power, he wanted it no more. Nothing had been left of interest to him until now, until her.

  She was luscious, perfect, and innocent in his arms, despite the lust fever. His mouth softened, showing her how to taste him, how to stoke the liquid fires within. Her soft breasts pressed into his chest and he drank of her virgin passion. Slowly, he began to sense a secret, hidden deep.

  His mouth stilled upon hers.

  His senses tuned to the irregular beats of her heart.

  He pulled back, breathing heavily in shock, passion waning.

  Her eyes opened. “Keegan?”

  He kissed her lips gently then, feeling the pulse of her heart in his mouth.

  His hand moved to rest between soft breasts.

  She immediately stiffened and grabbed his wrist, the power of her secret temporarily surpassing the lust spell in her blood.

  “So now you know.” Her gaze flashed with hurt.

  “You have a weak heart, Lana.”

  “Aye.” She tried to pull out of his arms. “Let me go. I doona wish to be rejected by you.”

  “I doona reject you,” he gritted out, holding her close. Desire and passion wilted within him with the discovery of her weakness, but he would not leave her in discomfort. “You will take what I give you,” he said with deliberation, and cupped her chin, turning her pale face back to him.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  Lowering his mouth to hers, he kissed her, only to flinch back.

  “You nipped me?” he said in disbelief, his tongue skimming over a bloody bottom lip.

  “Let me go.”

  “I think not. Shall we fight more over this?” He knew her emotions were in turmoil; she was hurting inside and striking out.

  “Care to draw more of my blood?” he challenged, and dragged her toward the shallows.

  When the water reached his chest and he felt on sure footing, he turned to her. “It is time.” Bracing his hands under her arms, he lifted her. A knee smacked him in the chest, but he refused to release her. Latching onto the dusky peak of a bare breast, he drew the straining tip into his mouth and began to draw her will to him.

  Lana gasped, hands fisting in thick brown strands. She twisted in urgency and desperation, her body trembling. Large hands spanned her rib cage, holding her imprisoned while he suckled her, while that hot tongue flicked over the sensitive nipple with a heated exploration. Tears spilled down flushed cheeks with each pull of his lips. She strained against him in a wild agony only to have him latch onto her other bre
ast with the same ferocity. Panting, Lana cried out in pleasure. His mouth was hot and moist, her body bathed in perspiration and anticipation.

  Hands slid to her hips. He kissed the underside of her breast and his mouth began a slow, tantalizing journey down her quivering belly.

  He dropped beneath the waters, brown hair spreading outward upon the surface and then he cupped her bottom as if she were some rare delicacy.

  His face moved between her thighs, finding her moist heat. Lana cried out in astonishment. He kissed her there, where the hurt and desire burned. Gasping, she felt him settle in closer.

  A firestorm raged between her thighs.

  She bucked against his face.

  His hands tightened, balancing her, fitting her more intimately to his mouth.

  His tongue darted, flickered, an aggressive and heated exploration of her. Unearthly flames licked inside her womb.

  Wheezing for air, she felt him tense.

  His mouth pressed closer to her woman’s place.

  And he…

  He… melded.

  Lana screamed, her body shattering. Sheer pleasure fed to every pore of her being, drowning out the spriggan’s false lust. Her eyes rolled back into her head, an inferno of wetness and blaze clenching in her womb, burning outward until only glowing embers were left of her spirit. It stole all that remained of her strength.

  Sobbing uncontrollably, she went limp, falling back and below the surface of the waters, where her guardian mate cradled her and brought her back safely to the surface.

  CHAPTER 9

  THE NIGHT AIR OF THE mortal place felt cool on his heated flesh. He glanced down at his sleeping bride, feeling unexpectedly awkward.

  She lay near the thick trunk of an oak tree, her pink lips parted slightly in exhausted slumber. Her slender body lay quiet, the lust fever gone, while his throbbed in unquenched desire. He fingered his bottom lip, still tender from her false boldness. Though he melded with her, the magical mating of blood to blood in the ways of the guardian, it had only been half a mating for him. The craving to join his body with hers remained, an untamed beast battling his hard won control.

  He touched her hair, the blond strands soft between his fingers. Leaning down, he balanced on an elbow and brought the glossy strands to his nose. Closing his eyes, he inhaled the delicate fragrance of her. Slender white thighs flashed in his mind. Through the gift of the waters, he had tasted her virgin passion.

  Made her quiver with his tongue.

  Her body writhing above him.

  The taste of her first ecstasy in his mouth.

  His eyelids flung open.

  Releasing her hair, he pushed up. “Stop this,” he said tightly, angry with himself.

  She murmured in her sleep, a response to his disquiet.

  He raked a hand through his hair, his spirit entangled in obsession and idiocy. “It must end,” he said with hushed vehemence. This fascination with his bride would only lead to pain and punishment for him. The fey were unforgiving of stupidity, and this infatuation was most definitely stupidity.

  He scanned the area. They were not far from the pillars which first caught his fair one’s interest. He returned here knowing she needed rest. Lana had not confirmed the sword lay at Knowth, and so he must wait for her to awaken. Wait for her heart to recover and rest. A few hours would not matter, he mused.

  A small herd of goats grazed on the hill to the north. It was night again, the moon goddess high in the sky. A full four days had passed in the mortal world while he gave her pleasure in a fey place. Time moved differently there.

  He inhaled deeply, the silence inside him lengthening.

  This claíomh host has a weak heart. Lana has a weak heart.

  The thought of it twisted his insides.

  How could this be? he wondered. How could Lana be a chosen host?

  The host must be strong, he reasoned. She must be able to defend the lands. Lana could hardly maintain her breath while walking up a small hill. Eyes narrowing at a familiar swift brilliance a few horse lengths away, he stiffened with recognition.

  “Blodenwedd,” he said softly, wearily, recognizing the flowery scent of the volatile territorial goddess.

  She shimmered into view, wearing a white hooded cloak reflecting the moonlight.

  Rising to his feet, he went to her and bowed respectfully. “Good eve, Goddess.”

  “BE THAT FRAIL CREATURE YOUR CLAÍOMH HOST BRIDE?” She ignored his greeting, her attention focused behind him.

  “Aye,” he said, regarding her steadily. “Why have you come?”

  “CURIOUS.”

  “I doubt that,” he grunted, but she heard. He met her glower with one of his own.

  “YOU BE OF FOUL TEMPER THIS EVE, GUARDIAN. BODY NOT SATED?”

  “Watching again, Goddess?” he asked with a slight mocking smile.

  Her mouth snapped shut, her increased breathing showing her anger.

  He waited, struggling for patience with her.

  She lifted her face to him. “NEEDED TO FIND YOU.”

  “You have found me.”

  “WAITED UNTIL YOU FINISHED WITH HER.”

  “I am finished.”

  “BUT NOT SATED.”

  “Blodenwedd,” he said between clenched teeth, “doona test my temper this eve. Why are you here?”

  “INVADERS ARE COME.”

  He frowned. Many of the territorial goddesses had premonitions and the high king often sought their council. Blodenwedd’s dreams, however, were never accurate concerning time so he always practiced caution around her. “You have seen this?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “OTHER TERRITORIAL GODDESSES.”

  “Go on.”

  “KING NUADA SENT ME TO YOU.”

  He nodded.

  “BRESS MAC ELADAN RETURNED TO THE FORMORIANS.”

  “I know this.” Bress was the youthful tyrant king who had ruled in Nuada’s place before the just fey king returned with his new silver hand and reclaimed his fey throne.

  “BRESS RAISES AN ARMY AGAINST EIRE AND THE TUATHA DÉ DANANN.”

  “These be the words of King Nuada?” he prompted firmly.

  “Aye.”

  “Does he wish me to abandon my quest for Valor and return to Tara?”

  “Nay.” She shook her head and hesitated.

  “Tell me, Blodenwedd.” His jaw tightened. “What is the king’s wish?”

  “RAIN, IN THE BATTLE TO COME THE KING BELIEVES…”

  “What?” he prompted.

  “… HE BELIEVES DEATH COMES UNLESS VALOR BE IN HIS HAND.”

  “How long do I have before our enemy arrives, Blodenwedd? When do the invaders come?”

  “MAKE THE HOST TAKE YOU TO VALOR SOON.”

  “Lana will show me the way. When do they come?” She shrugged. “A MONTH, MAYHAP LESS, THE OTHER GODDESSES SAY.”

  “A month,” he muttered, looking away. That is not much time. When he turned back, the golden goddess had winked out, leaving him to the silence and torture of another long night.

  He returned to his frail bride and looked down upon her delicate features. Not a defect could he see in her, but underneath the lovely pale skin, weakness lived.

  “Keegan?” she said softly, not fully awake, yet sensing him.

  “Here.” He dropped down behind her. “Rest, Lana.”

  She sighed in her sleep.

  He lay down on his back, careful not to touch her, a new sense of urgency blooming in his blood.

  A month he had, mayhap less.

  He willed his eyes shut, and allowed her a few more hours of rest.

  ———

  Lana awoke with a fully clothed fey guardian snuggled beside her, his nose pressed into her ear. Her first waking thought was that he had not rejected her.

  “Ahem.”

  A spriggan stood near her hip.

  “Sleeps,” Cadman said quietly, pointing at her guardian.

  Tensing a little, Lana wondered how the ugly rock faery had fou
nd them.

  “Hungry?” He delved in his left pocket and held out more of his confounded covet bread.

  “She is not,” her guardian growled in answer, pushing up on his elbow. Power and threat vibrated in the warm air. “I will give you this warning only once, spriggan. She is mine. If you ever come near her or even think of touching her again, I will kill you.”

  Without a word of response, the spriggan wisely winked out.

  Lana pushed up to her elbows, her heart warm and brimming with joy at his words. She is mine, he had said.

  Icy silver turned toward her. A quick chill replaced the warmth which filled her but moments before.

  “How do you feel this morning?” he asked in a strangely detached tone.

  She blushed uncontrollably.

  “I will take that as a good sign.” He sat up and ran a hand down his face, a mortal gesture she found endearing.

  “Why did you not tell me about your heart, Lana?”

  “I almost did,” she whispered, sitting up.

  “You could not be meant for the sword spirit,” he said suddenly, and gestured to her chest. “Not with that flaw inside you.”

  His words hurt. She stiffened her spine, hands clenched in her lap. “You know the thinking and ways of the sword spirit?” she challenged impudently.

  “Do you?”

  “I bear the birthmark of the sword spirit. I must be good enough.”

  Climbing to her feet, she disappeared behind a bush to take care of her needs. It was a weak excuse to hide the turbulent emotions colliding inside her.

  Keegan supposed she was indeed good enough, for who was he to question the spirit of the sword? A mere fey guardian. He stood and gathered their things. Moments later, she came stomping back, glaring and annoyed.

  He regarded her with a raised brow. “Which way?” he asked.

  Flinging her arm out, she pointed. “That way.” And then stomped off in the same direction. He followed.

  Hours later, they were walking north at a slow steady pace. Now that he knew she battled a weak heart, a new respect formed inside him. Thinking back, he remembered how she helped her family about the farm, how she cheerily performed chores for the druidess, and aided others of the village. Mayhap he underestimated her, he thought, rubbing his chin. Mayhap the strength of a great defender came from within self and spirit, and not physical strength alone.