Shadow Magic (10 page)

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Authors: Cheyenne McCray

BOOK: Shadow Magic
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“Drow warriors do not approve of women being in the training cavern,” Garran said, although his thoughts consistently turned in another direction. “Women are meant to remain in their homes or in the village.”
Hannah came to a complete stop and he had to pull up short. Her expression turned furious and she balled her fists at her sides. “I cannot believe—”
Garran put his fingers to her lips. “We have discussed this, Hannah. Regardless of your personal feelings, this is
our
way of life.”
His groin tightened as he let his fingertips slide down the curve of her neck. Her pupils dilated as she stepped back, and he noticed her shiver. His touch, that slight connection between them, had affected her, too.
“You're right.” Hannah's throat worked as she swallowed. “It pisses me off, but it's not my place to judge you or your people.”
“Thank you.” Garran resumed his steady pace toward the great hall, and Hannah jogged up to his side then had to double her steps to keep up with him.
HANNAH TOOK A DEEP breath of fresh air as they climbed the stairs out of the Drow realm and stepped into the darkening evening. She shuddered as the door scraped closed behind them and wondered if WD-40 worked on rock. Maybe some heavier oil.
She frowned. “It's already night?”
“You slept the night and most of the day through.” Garran
moved beside her. “By the time you finished your shower and I met with my men, it was evening once again.”
“I never sleep more than six hours at a time.” She glanced up at him and cocked one eyebrow. “No Drow magic?”
He gave her a wicked look. “If it had been up to me, I would have kept you occupied throughout the day.”
“I'll just be you would have,” she grumbled.
She hitched her pack higher on her shoulder as she looked up at the sky and the stars starting to peek through the growing darkness.
Over the horizon the slightest wisps of pink remained in the sky, leftovers from what had probably been a beautiful sunset.
“What do you miss most about not being able to come out during the day?” Hannah asked as they moved away from the door.
Garran was silent for a moment. Likely she'd touched a sore spot. Then he took her hand and she experienced a bizarre quivering at the electric zing the contact sent through her body.
“Seeing a beautiful woman with sunlight in her hair.” His low voice caressed her skin, causing goose bumps to rise on her arms.
Absolutely no response would come to her mind as the intensity of his gaze said that he meant her. He wanted to see
her
in the sunshine.
He smiled and clasped her other hand and squeezed them both. From the way he was looking at her she thought he might kiss her. And in the magic of the moment, in the night, she wanted him to.
Instead, he said, “Close your eyes and picture the transference stone.”
Oddly, a sense of disappointment flowed through Hannah as she obeyed and tried to prepare herself for the trip. Last time she had been with Rhiannon, afraid the witch's Shadows might want to tear her apart or leave her in that vast blackness.
Now she was with Garran, somehow trusting him so completely that she didn't understand the why or how of it—and he no doubt had even more Shadow magic than the half-blood witch, his daughter.
In the next moment it was as if her head were spinning. The void they entered swallowed her gasp. Seconds later her feet landed on something solid and her disorientation caused her to stumble into Garran's arms and against his warm body.
Hannah opened her eyes and looked up at him. Crazy sensations, like small bursts of fireworks, centered in her abdomen. She parted her lips and Garran's gaze focused on them, his expression hungry and filled with desire. The rising moon shed enough light to bring his features into sharp relief. The strength of his jaw, his high cheekbones, the firmness of his lips. Even his eyes appeared more like liquid silver than ever.
Garran's gem-encrusted leather straps rubbed her chest and his sword hilt bumped her hip. He pressed his very firm erection against her belly and she let out a little gasp that wasn't lost in some kind of void this time. His hair was more silver now and it drifted over his shoulder plates as the grass- and wildflower-scented breeze swirled around them.
Blood rushed in Hannah's ears, so loudly that the songs of night birds and Faerie song faded away. He released her hands and slid his palms over her skin until he reached her upper arms and gripped them tight.
All thoughts left her mind save one—she wanted Garran to kiss her. Wanted to feel his lips on hers and taste him as he slipped his tongue inside her mouth.
“Hannah …” he whispered as he lowered his head.
A screech sliced the night.
HANNAH JERKED FROM GARRAN'S arms at the sound of the familiar cry.
Whatever spell had been between her and Garran vanished as Banshee's shriek brought her back to reality.
Garran wore a puzzled expression as she stepped away, but he didn't try to stop her. He loosened his grip on her upper arms and let his hands drop so that they were at his sides.
“My familiar.” Her throat was tight and dry as she met his gaze. “Banshee.”
Garran didn't say anything as she turned her attention to the sky. The falcon let out another cry of greeting as he circled high overhead, his form small and dark between the moon and where she stood. Banshee was both diurnal and nocturnal and he had a sixth sense when it came to Hannah.
She held out her arm and Banshee arrowed toward her at what would have been an alarming rate if she didn't know him so well. Peregrine falcons could travel at speeds well over two hundred miles an hour when diving for their prey.
He slowed to land gently on her bare forearm. True happiness bubbled up inside her at seeing her friend, her companion. Time passed oddly in Otherworld. It hadn't been long since she'd left for the Drow realm, but it seemed like it had been ages.
Banshee eased up her arm to her shoulder, his eyes focused
on Garran as if determining whether he was friend or foe. She wanted to laugh, but managed to hold it back.
“Garran, this is Banshee.” The falcon settled himself on her right shoulder, the one opposite Garran. “Banshee, meet the king of the Drow.”
Banshee and Garran locked gazes, then to Hannah's surprise, Garran gave a slight nod and the falcon bobbed his head. Through the magical connection she had with her familiar, she sensed that Banshee hadn't made up his mind whether or not he approved of Garran but did wish to show him respect.
Hannah got the feeling it had more to do with her coming close to kissing the Drow king than anything else. From Garran's expression it looked like he didn't appreciate the interruption.
She held back a smirk.
Males
.
Banshee nuzzled her neck with his head and Garran clasped her hand. It felt natural. Right.
What's wrong with this picture, Hannah Wentworth?
While they walked into the forest, she almost laughed at the fact he kept calling her “sweet one.” Instead, she said, “That's the last thing I am—sweet. I'm considered a ballbusting bitch in my ‘Otherworld,' and I don't apologize for it. That's how I've gotten where I am today.” She frowned. “Where I was.”
Her company had never been far from her mind. What in the Ancestors' names was happening to her company and her employees right now?
Garran broke into her thoughts. “I find that most difficult to believe. That anyone would think of you in such terms.”
This time she did laugh, but it was humorless. “Believe it.” She sidestepped a bush as leaves crunched beneath her shoes. Garran made no sound as he walked, just as he hadn't in his own realm. “I'm not exactly the girl-next-door type.”
“I am not sure what you mean by that expression,” he said. “I think of your appearance as strong, capable, regal.”
Hannah blinked and looked up into his eyes. “Regal?”
His expression remained thoughtful as he nodded. “However, despite such a hard exterior, inside you are a warm, loving woman.”
She turned her gaze straight ahead into the dark forest as her face felt as though her skin had tightened over her cheekbones. “I don't know what the hell you're talking about.” She adjusted the strap of her pack with her free hand and Banshee had to sidestep her fingers. “I am who I am.”
“You are more than you think you are.” Garran squeezed her other hand as she tried to pull away from his grasp. “Tell me of your childhood.”
Hannah ground her teeth and this time tried to yank her hand away from his, but couldn't. Damn, he was strong. “There's nothing to tell.”
His voice was low, soothing. “I want to know.”
Hannah's thoughts whirled and she almost stumbled over a tree root, but Garran kept her steady. Some compelling force took hold of her, drew the words from her, just as when she met the Great Guardian.
“I had a rough childhood.” Hannah's laugh was cynical as her body tensed. “No, that's not exactly right. Most people would believe I lived a dream life. I had everything I ever wanted. Every toy, every dress, every perfect thing a child could have. I traveled the world as many times as I wanted and visited any theme park I demanded to be taken to. I had it all.”
“Belongings. All that you fancied.” He appeared very serious when she glanced up again. “Those things are not what give a person happiness.”
“No, they don't.” Hannah couldn't hold back the sigh that rushed from her as she faced straight ahead into the dark forest.
“It was much the same for me and my brother,” Garran said, and she snapped her attention to him. He gave a casual shrug. “We were the sons of royalty. Anything we commanded was ours.”
Surprise filtered through her. She hadn't given his childhood
much thought, that he was the son of a king. She kept her gaze on him as he continued.
“Our father was busy with war as Naal and I grew from babes to men.” He didn't sound bitter or remorseful, just factual. “In those years, the Elves were always at war when we lived in your Earth Otherworld. Demons. Men. Fae. Gods. If it was not one war it was another.”
Amazement at the thought of what Garran had lived through flowed through her. “What happened to your mother and father? When did you become king?”
“They died in a battle against several of the old gods who attacked dishonorably—with no warning. Many of our men, women, and children died.” Anger was apparent on Garran's features and in the way he squeezed her hand. “Somewhere around three millennia ago. Give or take a few centuries.”
“I'm sorry” seemed like a trite thing to say at that moment, so Hannah said nothing.
He relaxed his grip on her hand but continued to hold it. “Continue with your story.” A kingly demand.
She hated talking about her childhood—she never did. But after what he'd shared, her own childhood woes seemed insignificant.
Yet thinking about it and saying the words still caused her chest to tighten. “I grew up with a mother I rarely saw. From the time I was born, one nanny after another raised me. When I began to get used to the new nanny, my mother would get rid of her and hire another.
“I think she resented getting pregnant with me.” Hannah's lips quirked, but again she felt no humor. “Probably the stretch marks.”
Garran raised a brow when she glanced at him.
“Selena Wentworth is definitely a socialite in every sense of the word. That's all she cares about. Parties, status, the best clothes, the nicest cars, the most luxurious homes—having more money than anyone else.” Banshee gripped Hannah's shoulder and she sensed waves of comfort coming from him.
Fireflies danced to her right in interesting patterns and she realized they were Faeries, not fireflies. Maybe having their version of a Fae celebration.
“Continue,” Garran said in that same commanding voice that propelled her forward.
Hell, she'd gone this far. Why not all the way?
“When I was old enough, my mother sent me to boarding schools, which meant she didn't have to deal with me for most of the year.”
Hannah inhaled the clean forest air. Sometime during their short journey, holding Garran's hand had begun to feel natural, as if he belonged right there, and she had to shake the strange thoughts off. “When I hit thirteen I started to do the rebellion thing,” she added.
Garran smiled, the kind of smile people shared when they understood one another. “My mother and father were forced to deal with my insurgence before I reached adulthood. Many years passed before I realized that during that short time in my life I rebelled because I wanted my father's attention.”
Hannah nodded. “I really went at it in school. Talking back to my teachers, sneaking out of the dorms at night, and refusing to do what they told me. I never let my grades drop, but I gave everyone so much hell they were constantly calling my mother.
“That got her attention.” Ahead Hannah could see the lights of the D'Danann village. “She decided she'd had enough, so she sent me packing to live with my father.”
Garran guided her forward, along a maze of a path. “Was living with your father difficult as well?”
“It was certainly different.” Hannah cocked her head. “My father was a male version of my mother.
Mr
. Socialite. But what he did that turned my life around was to introduce me to my heritage by letting me spend time with a grandmother I'd never known. She taught me about my D'Anu ancestry and I became an apprentice.”
The trials of her upbringing truly seemed minor in the
scheme of things. “I know so many people have it worse in one way or another.” Hannah lowered her voice the closer they got to the village. She didn't want to be overheard by her sister witches—she'd never shared any of the facts of her childhood with them. “But it sucked at the time, and, yeah, it influenced my life. Like I said, I am who I am.”
He brought her to a stop at the edge of the forest as raucous laughter spilled into the night from one of the taverns.
Garran lowered his head and lightly brushed his lips over hers. When he drew away she could barely catch her breath. She could only stare up at him.
“As I told you before, Hannah Wentworth”—he skimmed his knuckles over her cheek—“you are far more than you think you are.”
Two leather-clad D'Danann warriors with grim expressions emerged from the shadows, their swords unsheathed. The women warriors' sudden appearance startled Hannah into almost dropping her pack. Garran maintained his grip on her hand and Banshee ruffled his feathers.
“You are not welcome, King Garran,” the redheaded warrior said, her sword raised.
“You were allowed to witness your daughter's joining with Keir, but we will not let you trespass again,” the second D'Danann, a blond, said while narrowing her eyes.
Banshee made a low sound that indicated his disapproval. Hannah scowled and started to tell the warriors where they could put those swords.
With a calm expression, Garran looked from warrior to warrior. “I am here to see the D'Anu and D'Danann who fight the Otherworld battle. Send word to them that I am here.”
Neither woman so much as twitched. “The witch may pass, but you will not,” the blond said.
“Oh, for Anu's sake.” Hannah pushed herself between the women, in front of Garran. “We have business to take care of to help in the war in San Francisco. Garran stays with me.”
“Very well.” The redhead tipped her chin. “One of us will accompany you and the Drow to the training yards where the commanders are.” Her gaze met Garran's. “And we will ensure the Drow king is well guarded.”
Hannah wanted to growl. This rivalry was absurd.
Instead, she ignored the woman and shoved her way past the warriors, Garran at her side. With the silence of the Fae and Elves, one of the warriors followed close behind—Hannah only knew because she cast a glance over her shoulder and saw the redhead, who still bore her sword.
Garran said nothing and his expression was well schooled as they headed toward the training yards. Banshee continued to make low sounds of disapproval. Hannah was surprised that her familiar was siding with Garran, yet not. The falcon was so in tune with her decisions and feelings that he normally didn't question her choices. Even if he was a little jealous and possessive.
When they arrived, they stood at the entrance to the main yard as warriors left to summon Keir and Tiernan at their homes, and yet another warrior went to assemble the D'Anu witches in one of the taverns.
Hannah wanted to snap at all the warriors for acting as if Garran were a plague, but she gritted her teeth and waited beside the calm-looking Drow king.
Finally, she and Garran were escorted to one of the village's many taverns. It was less crowded and therefore had a more subdued atmosphere.
Banshee gave a cry and took to the air before she and Garran headed in. She watched Banshee for a moment, her heart twisting as he joined with the night, then she followed Garran.
At once they were greeted by Hannah's D'Anu Coven sisters, those who were not presently in San Francisco. As Hannah and Garran entered the tavern, two of the three leaders of the D'Danann contingent to San Francisco walked through the door behind them—Tiernan and Keir. They were so silent she hadn't realized they were there until they gathered in the entrance beside the witches. By his nod to each man and his
expression, she was certain Garran had sensed them even if she hadn't.

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