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WHILE HE UNDERSTOOD he was reliving a memory from another life, it didn’t make what he witnessed any easier.
He had stirred out of a sound sleep, only to find his mate gone. Their twelve offspring slept soundly curled up in little groups around him. When thunder cracked and lightning flashed, shaking the ground with its fury, he jolted with alarm.
What had his mate done?
What was she about to do?
Because he knew what the storm meant. What it ushered in.
They were coming.
Alarmed, he made sure their little ones were safe and went to the mouth of the cave, trying to keep fear at bay as he called out to his mate. “Where are ye, mo anam cara?”
Yet as he asked, he already knew.
The sun had nearly set beyond the incoming storm.
When she didn’t respond, and her essence grew further away, he realized he was almost out of time. His alarm turned to terror. He roared into her mind to stop and launched into the air. She could not leave him. Them. Her tribe. Her kin. He kept roaring that she cease. Wait for him.
They would find another way.
Anything but this.
Anything but losing each other forever.
Pumping his wings as hard as he could, he flew toward the Stonehenge, desperate to catch up with her. Save her. But the darkness closing in told him it was already too late. They had come like they said they would, and she was doing what she thought she must to protect her kin.
“Nay,” he roared when he sensed her wings bound.
Sadly, desperate to get away from not the darkness, but her mate, she struggled against her bindings. Though they would have taken her away, it wasn't happening fast enough. She didn’t want him to reach her. Stop her. Terrified for him and their offspring, she struggled and flailed, before finally breaking free.
She was in sight now but fleeing from him.
He would stop her, though. He had to. There was still time. He would not lose her. Could not. His heart would never survive it.
But, alas, the sun hit the horizon and cracked through the blackened clouds. A burst of ominous orange light spiked through the portal in the isle’s rock. He roared in denial and flew with all his might. He had to catch her. Wrap her safely in his wings.
Close.
Closer.
Almost there. He nearly had her.
Then he got her.
Or so he thought until his wings wrapped around nothing.
He was too late.
She had vanished, swallowed by the setting sun, leaving him behind forever. She’d done what she thought she had to do and given herself over to final darkness. A death there was no coming back from.
For his beloved had sacrificed herself to the minions of Donn Fírinne.
“Bloody hell,” Cray cursed, released from the memory as swiftly as he had been sucked into it.
Rather than catching her dragon in another life, he had caught Madison instead. He held her tightly, terrified for a moment she might vanish like her incarnate. That she might not be real.
“It’s okay, Cray,” she managed, a little breathless. “It was just a memory. I’m right here.”
It wasn’t okay, though, and they both knew it.
“Och, lass,” he ground out, never so emotional.
It felt like his heart had been ripped out. Like he’d lost everything that mattered most to him in one fell swoop. He met her wet eyes, not surprised to find tears streaming down her cheeks. Where he had lost her, she had lost everything.
Including their children.
“What did ye do,” he whispered, wiping her tears away. He rested his forehead against hers and tried to gather himself, trying to come to grips with how strongly he had felt about her. How strongly he still felt. “We would have found another way.” He frowned and met her eyes, trying to hold onto what his dragon had known, but it eluded him. “What was that other way, though? And how did your sacrifice benefit the brotherhood?”
Because what she had done was most certainly for them.
“I don’t know...” She shook her head. “I thought I did, but it got away from me...”
“Aye, no doubt it did,” Grant said from somewhere in the darkness. “’Tis best you two return to Marek and Ethyn, for we’ve much to discuss.”
“Ethyn’s here?” she exclaimed only to blush at her current position.
“’Tis not surprising considering his beastie.” Cray helped her up. While loathe to do it, he chanted her into clothing, pleased his magic behaved. “And dinnae worry about Grant seeing you. Ghosts arenae concerned with matters of the flesh.”
“Right.” She eyed him with equal disappointment when he dressed. “Makes sense.”
Though alarmed by what they’d just witnessed, his disappointment that they had to cut their romping short preceded all else. He’d never felt anything like Madison. Nothing so perfect.
Before the memory took them, he’d been about to show her how else it could be. How it would feel when he took her the way she was meant to be taken. How bloody exceptional she would have looked taking it too. Crying for him to stop while begging him for more. He would show her things she could never have imagined. Make her feel things that made what she’d just experienced pale in comparison.
He scowled at his erection, pleased when he could control it with magic, but frustrated that he still felt his need for her as though erect. While he assumed his discomfort was from having been without a woman for too long, he sensed it was so much more than that.
She was so much more than that.
The way she moved her body, enticing and arousing both his human and dragon at the same time, was a first. He wanted to possess every wee bit of her. Taste and lick every little part of her. He would, too. Often. So often, in fact, she would spend most of her time on her back. Or hands and knees. Or mayhap her sweet arse. Definitely her elbows. Her side. Stomach. Shoulders. Even on her feet offered plenty of possibilities.
She chuckled and shook her head, curious. “My shoulders?”
“Aye.” He imagined several positions he could take her whilst on her shoulders. “’Tis good you’re limber already.”
Her eyes widened, and her arousal flared as she witnessed the images he showed her. Then, as was her way, she began counting them. Which, not surprisingly, made her fixate on numbers. Her humor faded, and sadness returned to her eyes as she thought about the number of things.
Specifically, the number they had just become aware of.
“I wonder if that’s why I made that offbeat comment about the number of children we would need to have to repopulate the world.” She wiped away another stray tear, no doubt envisioning each and every wee dragon they had called their own. “We had twelve children and intended to have more.”
“Aye,” he said softly, wondering what had become of them. He should have never left them alone and could only hope that they were well when he’d returned. “’Tis likely your inner dragon was influencing your tongue, hinting at what you had forgotten.”
“So you don’t remember what happened to them?” she asked, reclipping her hair looser than before as they headed back. “I was so hoping you did.” She tilted her head in question. “Is it usual for dragons to have so many children? Were we,” she shrugged, “I don’t know. Could we have been trying to repopulate or something?”
“Nay,” Grant said gravely, appearing alongside them as they rejoined the others. A fire crackled and Ethyn and Marek roasted game as well as some sort of stew. “But, I would say you were most definitely targeted by the brotherhood.” Though brief, amusement flickered in his eyes. “No doubt, all the wee bairns just came naturally for the two of you.”
“Aye.” Cray eyed Madison as he tucked her by his side on a log. “No doubt, they did.” He considered what they had just remembered. “Though I sense ‘twas a time when broods such as ours were more common.”
“Indeed, ‘twas,” Adlin confirmed, appearing right on time beside Grant. Once again, he was in ethereal form having astral-projected here from MacLomain Castle. “’Twas a time long before ours in Ireland when dragons were far more common, and less of a secret.” A flash of whimsy lit his eyes. “’Twas a time from which fairytales were born.”
“’Twas also a time when the old gods held more sway,” Grant added. Bits of his form caught on leaves blowing by in the wind. “When they interacted with mankind far more than they do today.”
“Aye.” Cray narrowed his eyes. “To be specific, Donn Fírinne, aye?”
“Who is he?” Madison asked softly. “I feel like I should know the answer to that...but it’s just out of reach.”
“He is known by the Gaels as the dark one,” Adlin said gravely. “He who represents death.”
“Aye,” Grant murmured. “There are many tales about him. But one above all pertains to our story and explains some of what we’re dealing with. ‘Tis but a version amongst several but ties in with what happened at the Irish Stonehenge. In part anyway.”
Adlin nodded, picking up where Grant left off, clearly surprised by everything they were learning. “Long ago, Donn, and his brothers, were set to invade Ireland. They meant to put the isle’s inhabitants to the sword, determined to claim its land for their people.”
“Aye.” Grant shook his head. “But ‘twas not to be. As he and his brothers, known as the Sons of Míl, went behind the ninth wave to make their approach, Ériu, Goddess of the Land, refused them their approach.”
“Indeed she did,” Adlin concurred. “Calling forth a vicious storm, she saw his ship wrecked on the Isle of Tech Duinn, where Donn and his brethren perished.” He shrugged, stepping aside when Grant caught on the wind then stabilized. “Some say ‘twas due to his insult to the goddess for wanting to claim her land. Others say ‘twas punishment for his bloodthirsty nature.”
“A truly bloodthirsty nature to be sure,” Grant echoed.
Cray glanced at Madison, wondering if she was putting the pieces together.
“Nevertheless,” Grant continued. “Beyond what most would say is unlikely mythic history, we see truth.”
“Aye.” Adlin nodded in agreement. “Donn was the first human to suffer death off Irish shores, thus became the ruler of the land of the dead in Celtic mythology.”
“The Isle of Tech Duinn,” Madison murmured. Her disturbed eyes met Cray’s. “That’s where I was trying to go when I broke free from the brotherhood’s binds at the Stonehenge, isn’t it?”
“Aye,” he replied. “’Tis what mythologists now believe is called Bull Rock.”
“Because its silhouette is similar to the shape of a bull.” Her eyes narrowed. “But it’s the hole that cuts through the bottom of it, allowing a stream of setting sun through it that’s important here.”
“That’s right,” Grant confirmed. “’Tis not only a portal but quite clearly involved with Guardian Witch magic as well. So says their use of the setting sun at the solstice.”
“The setting sun,” Cray murmured. He knew, based on what had happened on his kin’s adventures, that it was a clock ticking down in all this. “Something that seems is part of mine and Madison’s story as well.”
Adlin nodded. “And now we have a better understanding of why amongst other interesting new tidbits.”
“We do,” Grant agreed. “For Donn was originally a Gaul.”
“What's a Gaul?” Madison asked before the two kept going.
“Gauls were Celtic people,” Adlin explained, “who spread over many areas through time, but primarily originate from what is now known in your day and age as France, Belgium, Western Germany, and Northern Italy.”
“So how are Gauls relevant to all this?”
“They measured the passing of time in nights,” Grant revealed. “Not days.”
“What does measuring time have to do with any of this?” Marek asked, only for Madison to respond, evidently sensing something.
“It marks the end of one Stonehenge and the beginning of another.” Her dragon eyes flared. “Somehow, the brotherhood, or should I say Donn’s minions...” She frowned and whispered, “Descendants,” before she cleared her throat and continued. “Because they descend from Donn Fírinne, the brotherhood tapped into the power of the portal at Bull Rock, where Donn met his death, to begin something they could ultimately manipulate.”
“From the ninth wave,” she tapped her finger on her knee, counting under her breath, “came nine stones.” She shook her head. “Never six, or even five. Only ever nine.”
Her eyes met Cray's in shock. “Despite what we’ve seen in our dreams, the Irish Stonehenge always had nine standing stones. My bet is five of those now, however, aren’t the originals.” Her eyes narrowed as she followed her newfound knowledge. “Four are now located at Stonehenges in Scotland. Yet all the while, they’re connected to the Irish Stonehenge through us and our influence over them.”
“Och!” Adlin crossed his arms over his chest and grinned. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” He cocked his head. “Though one has to wonder why there are only five stones present in Chloe and Aidan’s memory and five still when Julie and Tiernan traveled back in time to the Irish Stonehenge.”
“And five as well in my memory.” Madison thought about that. “Perhaps a means to remind us that we influenced five at the beginning?”
“Something the brotherhood likely already figured out if they’re accessing the Scottish Stonehenges via the stones we influenced,” Ethyn pointed out, mulling it over. “But also likely the verra reason we and our Brouns have the power to close the Stonehenges off to them.”
“Precisely.” Grant contemplated Cray and Madison. “One has to wonder, though. If four stones are now in Scotland, where is the fifth located?”
“Mayhap in New Hampshire?” Marek theorized before he presented another idea. He reminded them about a stone that had already proven helpful on their quest to keep King David safe. “Or mayhap ‘tis the Stone of Destiny?”
“The Stone of Destiny,” Adlin and Grant murmured at the same time before Adlin continued. “Though ‘tis always a possibility, the stone we’re looking for is far more likely to be in New Hampshire, I would think. Not to say we shouldnae keep the Stone of Destiny in mind because God knows anything is possible.”
“Aye,” Grant agreed. “Though I have been to the Salem Stonehenge and never sensed anything, I will go back and look around with fresh eyes.” He nodded. “It certainly makes sense there might be one there considering the MacLomain-Broun connection across time.”
“Aye,” Adlin agreed, eyeing Madison and Cray. “Meanwhile, ‘twill be interesting to see what part your dragons played in this.”
“No doubt,” Madison said softly. “Specifically, how me sacrificing myself helped the brotherhood.”
“Aye, there is that,” Adlin concurred, looking at them curiously. “But more so, I think, how you two influenced your individual stone for future MacLomains.”
Now that, at least in part, Cray had an answer for.
