Smoke in Moonlight (CELTIC ELEMENTALS) Read online

  This one had already elongated its head to better accommodate the teeth and its limbs were stretching now as well. It was growing some nasty ass claws. His left arm, the one it had bit, was swelling already, burning like hell's own fury. The blood flowing from the wound trickled down his fingers, smoking like acid. Ronan had been bit by Changelings before, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

  The pain was enraging him. He punched again with his right, what should have been a vicious uppercut to the chin. The increasingly grotesque version of a head snapped back like its neck was on a hinge and rebounded-a seriously ugly plastic punching clown.

  The damn thing giggled.

  Ronan suspected Aillen, the Changelings ringleader, had used some kind of demon mojo to force speech from a body that should have been incapable of it. Aillen was a sick bastard who would find the horror of the effect quite appealing.

  Without warning, the Changeling dropped to all fours and charged him. They hit the damp grass in tandem, but Ronan rolled over instantly, tossing the creature off him with the force of its own charge.

  He was on his hands and knees when it hit him again. A splintering sound and a wickedly hot burst of pain informed Ronan he had acquired a broken rib or three. It had knocked him onto his back. This time he was pinned beneath the Changeling's far superior weight.

  Ronan had his good hand round its muscled neck, his arm vibrating with the effort of keeping those teeth from gnawing his face off. He had a knee in its chest, and was trying to get a good enough purchase to throw it again. It kept shifting its form to prevent this and it was far too heavy to move with the strength of one arm alone. He grimaced as it tried to lower that serrated mouth to his throat.

  Ronan locked his arm, refusing to let panic touch him, but wondered darkly just where in the hell Lacey was.

  And if she was coming back.

  Lacey had skidded down the last stretch of path and slammed into the stout wooden door of a little cottage, unable to halt her momentum in time. Her head hit the frame and bounced off. Thankfully, the briefly blinding pain served to stop her sobbing and snap her, if not out of her terror, then at least out of the mindless reactive state it had put her in. Lacey sucked in a shaky breath and pulled open the door.

  She ran inside, ignoring the throbbing goose egg forming above her eye. The interior was filled with the long shadows of the setting sun, Lacey got the vaguest impression of Ronan's spicy-smoky scent, the sleekly dark wood of a cabinet, a fireplace facing her, unlit, and an enormous bed in the far corner of the one visible room. The shadowy images whirled as she spun around to look behind the door.

  There was a scabbard there. A huge scabbard, cunningly sewn of various shades of leather that formed an intricately beautiful sunburst design. A braided belt that could easily wrap around Lacey twice was securing it to a hook near the top of the door. The jeweled hilt almost brushed the doorframe. No way she could reach that high.

  She tried lifting it from the bottom. After long-terribly long moments of trying to slip the belt off the hook-moments where Ronan's face kept flashing in her mind, making her fingers wet with sweat, she finally succeeded in making the sword fall into her arms.

  Lacey grunted and stumbled at the unexpected weight. Oh god, but it was heavy. She tried to sling it over her shoulders, the way Ronan undoubtedly would wear it. It promptly threatened to topple her over onto her back.

  She could imagine herself, vividly, trapped on her back like a damn turtle. Unable to move while Ronan was eaten alive by some creature from hell.

  That would be so her.

  She shuddered, tears threatening again, when an idea seized her. Lacey kept the belt slung over her shoulder, but swung the weight of the sword forward, so she was cradling it her arms like a beloved child, the softly glowing amber-colored jewels of the hilt tucked beneath her jaw, the leather butter-smooth and cool against her bare arms. She ran out of the cottage leaving the door wide open, tearing up the path where the sunlight was trickling away from her like an outgoing tide.

  Lacey chased the waning light up the slope of the back yard, her head aching where she'd smashed into the door, her thighs and lungs burning, her shoulders cramping under the weight of the sword. The scent of roses grew stronger. The trellis's dark shape loomed ahead. Then she saw Ronan on the ground, that insane creature's mouth inches from his throat.

  She ran forward even faster, evening dew soaking her feet as she left the path. Lacey stopped abruptly as she realized she wasn't exactly going to be able to hand Ronan the sword while he was pinned to the ground. She’d have to free the blade first.

  Oh, crap, oh, crap! Lacey's chest rose and fell, the sword banging into her collarbone and hip with every harsh breath. Ronan was going to be killed right in front of her! And then that nightmarish thing would undoubtedly turn its wicked teeth on her...

  No, NO! Not even realizing what she was doing, her eyes fixed on Ronan's struggle, Lacey's fingers began to undo the thongs securing the sword in its scabbard. She dipped her head and the sword and scabbard hit the ground. The ties undone.

  Lacey looked down at it blankly, as if wondering where it came from. Her mind was shutting down in shock.

  "Oh, pick it UP! You stupid chit, do you WANT to watch him die?"

  Lacey's head whipped around, searching the shadows. That had been Aine's voice! But no bird or dark-haired girl hid in the shadows.

  There was just her.

  Lacey's teeth snapped together and she bent, somehow freeing the sword with shaking hands that had gone ice-cold. She didn't think she'd be able to lift it- the damn thing was longer than she was tall-but Lacey wrapped both hands around the hilt and pulled.

  It came up gracefully, flashing in her hands with a weight suddenly no more than light itself. A last sliver of sun illuminated the Changeling's hunched back, as if guiding her to her target.

  Guttural snapping sounds came from it, and she could hear Ronan's curses as she approached, her toes digging into the damp grass and earth. A moan of horror rose to her lips, but Lacey choked it down. It might hear her. Lacey lifted her arms, waiting for the perfect moment, knowing that she daren't strike until it lifted its head. Or the sword would plunge through and kill Ronan, too.

  She bit her lip, not noticing in her concentration that she was drawing blood.

  Everything happened in blindingly fast succession. Ronan made a low noise, almost of triumph, and the creature's whole torso lifted off him. Lacey plunged the sword, down and out, right between the monstrosity's skeletal shoulder blades. It screamed shrilly, almost like a child, its death throes yanking the sword from her hands.

  Lacey's empty arms began to shake and she sat down abruptly, not caring as the wet grass drenched her bottom. Ronan heaved and the whole quivering mass of creature and sword flew over his head. It continued to twitch. Ronan sat up, groaning.

  "What in the hell did you do that for?" He stared at Lacey in something like amazement, tempered with chagrin.

  Lacey lifted her head, his words must not be penetrating her dazed mind. "Excuse me?" Her tone was incredulous.

  "I had him, it. I was just about to throw it, you should have waited a second." Ronan got to his feet. He turned and pulled the sword casually from that thing, that was now still. That thing that she had killed. Lacey's mind was unthawing fast in a wave of righteous fury.

  She had saved his life!

  "Really? I just saved your life, you stupid ass!"

  "Is that what you thought?" Ronan shook his head, his lips twitching. She wanted to slap him!

  "Oh!" Lacey found herself unable to articulate anymore than the one syllable at the moment. All her fear and panic, and pain, she remembered, as the bruise on her forehead gave an almighty throb. And this jerk was acting like her act of heroism was merely an amusing foie paux. She didn't notice the way Ronan's head kept swiveling from side to side, his eyes racking the ground.

  Getting to her feet, her fists clenched at her side, Lacey started to stalk with slow dignity
into the house. The dignity part suffered a bit as she slid on the grass and her arms briefly wind milled. Ignoring the chuckle behind her, Lacey got her limbs in order and moved swiftly for the trellis.

  “No, wait!" Ronan's shout of warning came just as something terribly heavy dropped onto her head.

  Lacey barely got her arms up around her face, an instinctive reflex, before she was slammed down into the ground. Something babbled above her, its’ fetid breath surrounding her head. Another one? Lacey wanted to scream, but the weight of the creature was crushing her ribs. She couldn't breath... Pinpoints of lights did a frenzied dance behind her closed eyelids. There was an odd whistling sound. Seconds later the weight was gone.

  “Damme!" Ronan said. She could feel him standing above her, but Lacey refused to open her eyes. "Do ye not have an ounce of sense?" He'd moved closer, she could smell the blood and the sweat, but underneath it was that cedary tang oh his that pulled at her belly.

  Lacey moaned in frustration and curled onto her side. How could her body to this to her, even now? It was crazy! Craving a man that treated her like either an entertaining sideshow, a vicious enemy to be attacked or a meal he wanted to devour. She was insane to feel anything remotely like desire for him. Especially after all that had happened tonight!

  Her mind refused to go there, to rehash current events. It was too much. She just wanted to sleep, go to sleep and maybe find out this was all another scary dream. Tears trickled down her face, cutting tiny rivulets through the grass and blood and dirt.

  Ronan knelt beside her, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, its tip a foot from the severed head of the second Changeling. He looked from his sword-the sword he knew very well could only be lifted by him-or someone Lugh also looked upon with favor. Or because he approved the action the sword would used for. Saving him was something Lugh would favor-at least Ronan certainly hoped so.

  That is why he had sent Lacey after the sword in the first place. And because it had been his only damn choice. Still, the fact she had been able not only to lift it and bring it to him, but also to unsheath it-and kill with it… Not to mention that she had brought it to him in the first place…

  That meant something. But what?

  It could also be nothing more than a ploy to gain his trust.

  Ní thuigim déithe! Of course, that was nothing new.

  He watched Lacey, still curled up with her eyes tightly closed. As if by shutting everything out, she could put off dealing with it. She looked pitiful. But still too damn lovely to be allowed His throat worked when he saw her tears, wanting to reach for her.

  He reached for his power instead, his head bending toward Lacey, focusing every pore as he felt his heart begin to race. When he raised his head, the whole yard glowed with cobalt light. If Lacey had lifted her head, the backyard would have appeared normal, but he was using his power to scan the grounds, even the parts he couldn't see from here.

  Nothing. Ronan bit back a sigh of relief. Aillen really wasn't too bright. Having somehow launched the first attack in daylight ever (and wasn't he going to bust some heads figuring out how they'd managed that little trick?). Aillen should have immediately overwhelmed him with numbers. Instead, just the two.

  Maybe it was just a trial run. Ronan considered that, letting his gift drift back down, until the vivid light of healing drenched his fingers.

  Still it had been stupid. Now he'd be forewarned.

  He brought his hands to Lacey's head, straining to focus. It was harder for him to heal injuries he hadn't caused, but he could still do it, if they weren't too severe. Ronan wondered where she'd gotten the bump.

  She really had been magnificent, he thought with a smile as his fingers drifted down over her face, the intense cobalt illuminating her pale golden skin. Killing a Changeling, when she'd never even seen one before!

  She had a lot more guts than he'd thought. She seemed so ready to give in all the time, to whatever circumstance demanded...including his treatment of her.

  The light from his hands died. Stars were just beginning to appear and their light was almost too dim to make out her features now. But Ronan remembered how angry...and hurt she had looked when he dismissed her assistance. Not that she had saved his life, of course. Though she had brought him the sword and without that... Okay, so maybe she’d saved his life.

  Ronan frowned.

  "I should nae have called you a mouse," he said quietly. Lacey made a sound of agreement.

  "Nope, not a mouse." she agreed firmly, her eyes still closed. She sounded beyond tired.

  With a sigh, Ronan slid his still-swollen arm gingerly beneath her and gripped his sword in his right hand. He stood, his lips pressed tightly together as his body screamed in protest. Lacey's head lolled gently and bumped his shoulder. He winced and looked down at her.

  His eyes rested on the shadowy sweep of her cheek, the lush outline of her slightly parted lips. Hell, she really was falling asleep! What a way to deal with stress, he thought in amusement, though he knew his healing was part of it. Healing made both giver and recipient relax. Then her lips moved against his shoulder and Ronan froze at the feather-light contact. He realized she was saying something.

  "What was that, lass? I didna hear you." Ronan's voice was gruff.

  "Lioness!" she mumbled and the silky brush of her mouth was a small torture.

  His brows came together in puzzlement, then smoothed.

  "Oh, aye, Lacey. You certainly were a lioness." Ronan said with a smile. No harm in soothing her ego now-she probably wasn't going to remember this conversation.

  He considered that briefly before dipping his head and capturing those torturing lips of hers. A soft sound escaped her before his mouth cut it off. Unlike before, there was no battle of wills, no clash of energy.

  But there was heat.

  Damme, but there was heat! It flowed over him as he claimed her mouth, ravaging every sweet corner with his tongue. Her hand came up languidly to curve over his neck and he felt a delicious shiver as she threaded her fingers into his hair. She tugged him down, her mouth soft and utterly pliable under his. Ronan's arms tightened...

  ...and the kitchen light flickered on.

  He groaned at the cacophony of voices coming from inside, his mam's loudest of all, saying they'd all played the day away, they could help with dinner or starve. Ronan reluctantly lifted his mouth from Lacey's and looked down at her. Her arm was still curved around his neck, but her eyelashes were a thick gold smudge against her cheek. Her breathing even and quiet. Even though he'd used her exhaustion to his advantage, he couldn't help feeling a mite insulted. He glanced toward the doorway of the bustling kitchen, and a muscle in his jaw twitched.

  Ronan stepped forward and entered the house. There was an immediate up swell in the level of noise as a dozen voices cried out in alarm. Lacey sat up abruptly in his arms, her eyes wide.

  Ronan gave Lacey her an impassive look.

  Next time he kissed her, she would be fully awake for it.

  And even if it killed him, that was going to be soon.

  Aine was amused it had been so easy to convince Aillen to overplay his hand.

  Sitting on the fountain in the star gardens of Tir'na N'og, Aine felt satisfaction trump bitterness once again. She had kept insinuating to her dear brother that they had to know if the Changelings could actually handle this new 'power' he discovered. If they were functional enough under its influence... and it had worked.

  She snorted as she watched Fand prance past, her half-sister's long blonde hair sparkling in the fragile light. Aillen had dismissed her concerns...at first.

  Then the worry had ate at him. As she had known it would. Ronan had been warned something monumental was up, just as she had wanted. And like the wolf he was, he'd track it down.

  Straight to Aillen. Rage made her fingers tremble and she dipped them into the fountain, wishing it were full of her brother's blood.

  "Hmmm, that's a rather nasty look, little one. Thinking of a lover, are
we?" Aine glanced up and had to school her expression immediately before it blanked out to fear.

  Bav.

  Damme! She had been dreading this, but she hadn't expected it so soon.

  Aine turned her voice to ice. "Not even close, I'm afraid. Losing your sight? Getting older is such a bitch, isn't it?"

  "Aye, you’d love to think so, wouldn't ye?" Bav laughed, throwing back a magnificent tangle of bright red hair. She had three forms, not just disguises as the other gods used them, but three distinct goddess entities, together known as the Morrighan.

  Like The Three Faces of Eve, only in spades. The maiden, the crone and there was Bav, the form she was taking now...

  A woman in her seductive prime, the prophetess of death and patroness of vampires. She drew flocks of ravens on earth in this form, trailing her to feast on the blood they knew would follow.

  "Unfortunately for you, dear heart, I see as well as ever. I see death for…"

  Aine grabbed Bav's arm, pulling her into a crouch so that they were face to face. "Don't say it," she hissed.

  Bav watched her with dark amusement. "Why ever would I listen to you?"

  "Because you're wrong."

  Bav raised her strong eyebrows. "Is that so?"

  "Yes, it is. I'm on top of the situation. You know visions change, Bav. This one will change...trust...oh, screw that! I know you don't trust me, but just do me this one favor, just one. Damme, Bav! I'll owe you."

  Bav watched her with eyes like green ice. Aine could feel her considering the offer. Bav loved manipulation, she was an artist of it. And she appreciated the skill in others-not to mention she could get very creative with favors owed.

  She might let Aine off just to see what her plans were.

  Then again, she could just as easily blow everything right now...and if Lugh found out....Aillen would kill her. Aine had already seen her own death and it was not pretty. She shivered and waited for Bav's answer with forced patience. It was never a good idea to rush the goddess of death.