Dark Sword 05: Shadow Highlander (42 page)

It was just one of the reasons he had gone in search of Sonya. Even if his god hadn’t given him the power to find her, he’d still have looked for her. Because he had been connected to her since the moment he lifted her in his arms so many years ago.

Broc was close to her. He could feel it.

A smile pulled at his lips, but it died almost immediately as lightning lit the sky and it began to rain.

“Shite,” he murmured and tucked his wings to fly above the canopy of trees.

Broc’s claws scraped the leaves atop an ancient oak as the rain dripped down his face and into his eyes. He adjusted the satchel strap that lay on his back between his wings and over one shoulder.

The strap rubbed his wings, but inside he carried food, coin, and clothing for both him and Sonya. The pain was a minor inconvenience as long as he found Sonya.

Inside Broc, Poraxus, the god of manipulation, roared with anticipation. It was a signal they were very close to Sonya. Every time Broc hunted someone he could feel them when he neared. Their heartbeat, the flow of blood in their veins. Their life essence.

It was no different now. Except this was Sonya. He had saved her as an infant, watched over her as she grew. He would not fail her now.

Broc clutched his chest as he felt fear spike through Sonya. The closer he came to his target, the more he felt them. If the terror now coursing him was any indication, he was he too late.

Just thinking she might be in danger sent rage flowing through his veins. His god roared again—this time for blood. And vengeance.

Broc reigned in his god. Sonya might need him, and he couldn’t allow himself to reach the edge and his god to gain any control. The more he fought against Poraxus, the more his god struggled to take over.

It was because his god knew how much Sonya meant to him. Even if Broc refused to admit it to himself.

Broc peered through the dense canopy of trees to try and see her, but it was near impossible, even with his superior sight. Broc then maneuvered between two trees. He hated flying in forests. He wasn’t able to spread his wings as he needed to in order to fly or glide.

So he rode the air currents with his wings as outstretched as he could get them. Several times the wings scraped against a tree and its branches, tearing the leather-like wings. Thanks to his immortality, he began to heal almost immediately.

And then he saw her.

Not even the rain could hamper his enhanced vision. Broc tucked his wings and dove for Sonya who lay unmoving on the ground, curled around a tree.

Dread spurred Broc to her side. He knew she wasn’t dead. He could still feel Sonya’s heartbeat, though now that he had found her, it was fading from his senses.

His gaze scanned the area for whatever caused her fear and spotted the lone wolf approaching. Broc spread his wings and landed on his feet between Sonya and the wolf.

The wolf snarled, his anger palpable. Broc peeled back his lips to show his own set of fangs and growled. He didn’t want to kill the wolf, but he would if it continued to threaten Sonya.

After several terse moments, the wolf sensed it was beaten and reluctantly backed away. Broc stayed as he was, listening long after the wolf was out of sight to make sure the creature didn’t circle around to attack again.

Once Broc was certain the wolf had departed, he turned to Sonya. He was so unprepared for what he saw that, for a moment, he couldn’t move. For one heartbeat, then two he could only stare at the woman who was the one thing he wanted above all else.

Sonya’s vibrant red hair which was always secured in a single, thick plait was now wild and free in a tangle of curls about her. Her dark green gown was coated in dirt and drenched from the rain. One sleeve was torn at the shoulder, and she had another tear at her hem.

But what made Broc’s stomach plummet to his feet was the wound he saw on her palm. She had wrapped a portion of her chemise around it, but the thin material had already fallen away leaving the ragged injury exposed.

Broc fell to his knees beside her. He was afraid to touch her, but he needed to feel her at the same time. He spread a wing to shield her from the rain and leaned close. Only then did he realize she was unconscious.

Careful his claws didn’t cut her delicate skin, he gently caressed a finger from her temple down her cheek to her jaw. He longed to have her open her eyes so he could look into her amber depths.

Her skin was smooth and luminous. She had a high forehead where finely arched eyebrows, the same vivid red of her hair, curved above her eyes. Her was nose aristocratic and her chin stubborn. Her lips, however, were those of a siren—wide and full. And tempting as sin.

Tenderly, Broc lifted her hand in his to inspect the wound. The cut went from her index finger across her palm to end at her wrist. The slice was deep, and the skin around the wound blackening.

The dark yellow puss that oozed from the gash propelled Broc. He gathered Sonya in his arms and spread his wings, ready to jump into the air and fly to MacLeod Castle.

It was the lightning bolts which forked across the sky in a vivid and dramatic display of power that halted him. If he flew, there was a chance he could be hit by the lightning. Though it would pain him, he would survive.

Sonya wouldn’t be so lucky.

He couldn’t put her in that kind of danger. Reluctantly, Broc set her down long enough to remove the satchel and search through it for a cloak.

Once it was secured around Sonya, Broc tamped down his god. He watched the indigo skin of his Warrior form, along with his claws, fade from sight. Nothing showed of his wings or his fangs. When he wasn’t in his Warrior form, no one could tell him apart from a mortal man.

It was a small blessing for having an ancient god inside him. And it had all begun with the invasion of Rome on Britain’s shores. The Celts had battled the Romans for years before going to the Druids for help.

The
mies
, Druids with pure magic, could only offer guidance. However, the
droughs
, with their black magic had an answer—call up primeval gods from Hell to inhabit the strongest warriors.

And it worked. The men became Warriors and soon drove Rome from Britain. Yet their need for blood and death didn’t end, and soon they were killing any who crossed their paths.

It took both the
mies
and the
droughs
combining their magic to end the Warriors. No matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t make the gods return to Hell. Instead, they bound them inside the men.

But the gods took their revenge by passing through the bloodline to the next strongest warrior of that family. They were unable to get free until a
drough
found an ancient scroll which told her how to unbind the gods.

Ever since, Deirdre has been relentless in finding the gods and unbinding them. Broc was one of several at MacLeod Castle intent on putting an end to Deirdre for good.

Broc jerked on a tunic before he slung the strap of the satchel over his head. He once more took Sonya into his arms and stood. There was a village several leagues away. There he could get Sonya out of the weather and help her tend her hand.

Then he would beg her forgiveness for driving her away, and hopefully convince her to return to MacLeod Castle. Everyone needed her there. No one more so than him.

He cradled her gently, but securely, against his chest, shielding her face from as much of the rain as he could. He rested his chin on her forehead and felt her skin blazing with fever.

Broc looked down into her oval face, a face that had haunted his dreams and every waking moment of his life since she had come into womanhood and he had been tempted beyond his control.

“Live, Sonya. I refuse to let you die.”

Why hadn’t she healed herself as he knew she could? She was a Druid with powerful healing magic. The Druids at MacLeod Castle had put an incredible amount of strain on Sonya for her healing, but as a
mie
nothing should have halted that magic.

Even Quinn MacLeod, another Warrior, once had need of Sonya’s healing because of Deirdre’s magic.

Broc growled just thinking about his enemy. All
droughs
gave their blood and their lives to the devil in exchange for black magic, but Deirdre had gone beyond that. She worked in league with the devil. Deirdre had lived nearly a thousand years, and during that time she had destroyed many lives.

Broc cursed Deirdre with every step he took, but he cursed himself even more. From the day he had delivered Sonya and Anice to the Druids, he had sworn to protect them.

He had failed Anice, and if he didn’t get Sonya to cover quickly, he would fail her as well.

The thunder had become almost a constant boom, each clap so close to the next. The storm was right over them as was evident by the lightning striking closer and the wind howling around them.

One lightning bolt landed on a tree just in front of them and caused the pine to burst into flames and split in half. Broc paused to avoid being crushed as part of the tree fell and landed in front of him.

He lifted his face to the sky and roared his anger. His rage fed his god, and it was all Broc could do to keep him tamped down. It had taken too many of his two hundred and seventy-five years learning to restrain Poraxus for Broc to lose control now.

But when it came to Sonya, his emotions always ran high.

Broc had to get out of the storm. He took a deep breath and leapt the burning tree. He held Sonya tight and ran, using the incredible speed his god gave him.

He didn’t slow until he spotted the village.

ST. MARTIN’S PAPERBACKS TITLES BY
DONNA GRANT

Dangerous Highlander

Forbidden Highlander

Wicked Highlander

Untamed Highlander

Shadow Highlander

Praise for the Dark Sword novels by DONNA GRANT

5! Top Pick!
“An absolutely must read! From beginning to end, it’s an incredible ride.”

—Night Owl Romance

5 Hearts!
“I definitely recommend
Dangerous Highlander
, even to skeptics of paranormal romance—you just may fall in love with the MacLeods.”

—The Romance Reader

5 Angels! Recommended Read!
“
Forbidden Highlander
blew me away.”

—
Fallen Angel Reviews

5 Tombstones!
“Another fantastic series that melds the paranormal with the historical life of the Scottish highlander in this arousing and exciting adventure. The men of MacLeod Castle are a delicious combination of devoted brother, loyal highlander, Lord and demonic God [who] ooze sex appeal and inspire some very erotic daydreams as they face their faults and accept their fate.”

—
Bitten By Books

4 Stars!
“Grant creates a vivid picture of Britain centuries after the Celts and Druids tried to expel the Romans, deftly merging magic and history. The result is a wonderfully dark, delightfully well-written tale. Readers will eagerly await the next Dark Sword book.”

—
Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“Totally captivating and entertaining … Cursed by dark magic, the immortal MacLeod brothers are a force to be reckoned with.”

—
Fresh Fiction

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

SHADOW HIGHLANDER

Copyright © 2011 by Donna Grant.

Excerpt from
Darkest Highlander
copyright © 2011 by Donna Grant.

All rights reserved.

For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

ISBN: 978-0-312-53348-9

St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / September 2011

St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

eISBN 978-1-4299-9580-1

First St. Martin’s Paperbacks eBook Edition: August 2011