Dark Highland Fire (The MacInnes Werewolves #2)

Dark Highland Fire (The MacInnes Werewolves #2) Page 48

The answer was an unimagined surprise.

"All nine sisters of the Dyadd live by some miracle, though all will carry scars of one sort or another. Many more of the tribe survived as well, though there were nearly as many who did not." He shook his head. "The heart of the Dyadd survives. But it will take time to heal the wounds that the dragons inflicted upon us."

"Still, they're alive and here. All with your help, no doubt," Gabriel added, certain that Bastian had been instrumental. The man exuded quiet, slightly unnerving competence. But Bastian's voice, when he replied, was rife with frustration.

"There's no need to be impressed with me, Gabriel. I'm only just beginning to figure out my abilities. Being the if only male Dyim made me novel and got me coddled, but encouraging the development of any power I might have was pretty far down on the list for my mother, may the Goddess keep her."

"She's gone, then? You're sure?" he asked. He'd hoped, when he'd heard that her sisters had survived, that Rowan had somehow been mistaken about her mother. It was obviously not to be.

"I'm sure." Gabriel turned his head to look at him, and saw that his jaw was set in a grim line. "The survivors lit the pyres the next night. I'll always be sorry I wasn't there. But the dragons couldn't be allowed to take two Dyana in one night."

"And now we have to get Rowan back," Gabriel said, turning back to the subject that weighed so heavily on him. Mere minutes had passed, but still he felt like he'd wasted hours of precious time. God only knew what she'd been put through already. It made his own heart ache to know that she must be mourning him.

"Tell me what to do," Gabriel said, keeping his voice low. He began to be nervous again about sitting out in the open here, despite Bastian's assurances. Maybe it was because he knew he was about to invade the lair of creatures that were more than capable of killing him in any number of interesting ways. Certainly the fact that each breath he took carried a hint of fire was doing nothing for his confidence.

"I already want to crawl out of my skin, knowing what could be happening to her at any moment," he said. "Wondering. I'm going to get her out of there, and anyone who tries to stop me is going to end up with pieces missing."

Bastian looked at him a moment. "I'm glad you feel that way, Gabriel. You're going to need that anger if you're caught. But I'll do all I can to ensure you get in. After that it'll be up to you to find her. And bring her home." Bastian stood, unfolding his long, broad frame to rise and walk back toward the overhang under which Gabriel had slept.

"Come," he said. "We need to talk, brother Wolf, and quickly. And then I'll show you the way in."

Panic began to flutter in Gabriel's chest like a cage bird as he followed. He had never worried about winning a fight—ever. Not only was he big and strong by human standards, he was a damned werewolf. Who was going to beat him? Well, except Gideon, and then it was usually a draw. But dragons ... bloody dragons ...

He was no hero. He was only Gabriel MacInnes, the second son of the Pack Alpha, who had never had to work for anything, who had never really known what he wanted to work for in the first place. Now that he'd finally figured it out, it happened to be the hardest thing he'd ever had to do, not to mention something most men would never even have the option of doing. He had to rescue his damsel in distress from a den of dragons. Or rather, he thought wistfully, he would be helping Rowan to rescue herself, as she would no doubt claim.

Of course, this was if he ever even got started, much less managed to get anywhere near her.

Gabriel took a deep breath, trying to keep the old fear at bay. He was one man. He'd always had his family to back him up. He didn't feel that he'd ever really proved himself, and in the depths of his soul there was an insistent little voice that said it was because he wasn't truly up to the challenge.

"The arukhin were both feared and coveted by the dragons for their intellect and bravery, stealth and speed. You must use all of these, or you'll be taken down by the lust dragon you encounter," Bastian was saying as he ducked beneath the rock.

It's all on me, he thought dully. Every last bit of it. And for an instant he knew what it was like to be Gideon, the brother he'd always envied for having that set purpose, the duty that he alone was fit to carry out. He'd wanted such things for as long as he could remember, thinking that Gideon's life held all the answers that he would never find on his own. That being chosen, whether by nature or circumstance, brought comfort and security.

Turned out it was just loneliness. And if it had been him first in line to be Pack Alpha, he probably would havc run straight past America, which was where his brother had fled to, and ended up in an ice cave in Antarctica or something. Gideon, though, had found a few things worth fighting for, love chief among them.

Now so did he. Along with a heinous gauntlet to run.

If he managed to pull this off, he swore he was going to buy his brother a beer or ten and have a real conversation for once, minus the egregious name-calling and wrestling. Well, mostly. No sense robbing himself of one of his favorite pastimes.

"I can't shift," Bastian was saying, "so you'll have to go down alone. As my abilities stand now, I'm completely conspicuous. But we know more about their mountain than they think, knowledge passed down from the time when dragon and Dyadd often came together. Showing you how to get in where they won't expect it is the best use I can be to you. They might expect one of the Dyadd to make some stupid last-ditch effort on Rowan's behalf. But they won't expect an arukhin. Much less one who's supposed to be dead. There's been no movement either in or out of the castle since we arrived, so I don't think word of your escape has traveled here yet."

When he could go no farther forward, Bastian stopped, leaned down, and studied the rock for a moment. Gabriel had just begun to think that what he was looking for wasn't there when Bastian reached out and slid his finger down an invisible groove. Immediately, a large square of the rock slid inward and to the side, revealing an entrance into the silent darkness of the mountain.

Bastian turned back to look at him. "These upper Tunnels are ancient, and treacherous. They were built by the daemon long ago, when the dragons first claimed this mountain as their own, and were made to destroy those who didn't truly know the way. The way out will be easier, an old Dyadd path, and the circle of stones you must use is only a short distance from there. But there are things you'll need to remember, or you'll never get that far."

Gabriel nodded stiffly. He would remember whatever he needed to and then he would go, because just standing here while the woman he loved was somewhere below him was becoming physically painful. Something still nagged at him, though, refusing to let him imagine everything would be tied up neatly should he succeed.

"They're not just going to let her go," Gabriel said softly. "Not after all this." He would never understand Lucien's psychotic determination to have a woman who he knew despised him, but he knew it would only get worse if she disappeared from his grasp again. That meant risking a repeat of the massacre that had brought Rowan to Earth in the first place, and he had no idea how they planned on preventing that.

Bastian seemed to understand. "Yes. If you get her out, Mordred and Lucien are going to give chase." His jaw was set, determined. "But the dragons need to understand that they're not welcome in the forests, nor welcome to our women. That the Dyadd are a force as formidable as their own. For now, you just worry about using your strengths to get Rowan out." His eyes hardened.

"Then we'll play to ours."

Gabriel descended into darkness.

And in the darkness, time ceased to exist.

In a narrow passage devoid of both light and sound, he felt deprived even of his senses, which were of no use to him here. Bastian had explained that this was part of the enchantment that worked on this place, that it would lift once he reached the warren of caves and chambers that comprised the castle proper. Still, he felt both blind and deaf as he padded forward, a black Wolf as one with a shadow.

He moved slowly, carefully. Occasionally he would feel that disconcerting sense of openness that meant he was passing an offshoot of the tunnel. Sometimes he look a required turn, sometimes he pressed forward. Once, he saw a flash of fire far off in the distance, writhing like a tortured soul before vanishing with a ragged breath. Another time, he swore he felt the brush of dead and clammy fingers vying for purchase in his fur as he passed one of the open places.

All the while, Gabriel became more and more certain that there were horrors he couldn't begin to imagine encompassed within these labyrinthine passages. He walked endlessly, possessed more and more strongly by the creeping dread that whispered he would never get out, and he would never find Rowan. That he would eventually lie down, weary and weak, and succumb to the blackness that weighed more and more heavily on him the farther he went.

Gabriel pushed the despair aside, concentrating on his steps. Three more passages, left. Two, then right. Don't look down. Don't look back.

And whatever you do, don't run.

A soft crunch, as of a foot crushing the tiny stones that littered the floor, sounded not far behind him, down the passage he'd just passed. Gabriel swallowed hard and forced himself to control his speed. Hopefully it was just the continuing darkness beginning to play tricks on his mind. That crunch could have just been his imagination.

Just like the scrape of that same imagined foot dragging as whatever owned it started to follow him. And the footfall after that. And the soft, moaning gasp that accompanied it.

Don't run. Don't run.

Gabriel pressed on, his gait steady, even as whatever nightmare had caught his scent continued to shuffle along behind him, just a little ways back. He had to focus. Stopping, indecision, were no longer options of any kind. He couldn't be caught.

Especially not by whatever that thing was.

This was how he'd always imagined hell: dark, dank, enclosed spaces where everyone was lost, with only taunting illusions of a way out, and unseen horrors dogging your every step, watching, waiting just out of sight, anticipating the moment you would finally fall. The only thing that kept him moving through it was the vision of Rowan's face, glowing vibrantly in his memory. He had to pretend he could smell her warmth and spice rather than the decay that permeated this godforsaken place. That he could hear faint echoes of her husky laughter, urging him onward, instead of the inexorable forward movement of the thing that stalked him.