The Stag Lord (39 page)

Pulling the silk underwear out of her bag, she ran the fabric through her fingers. It felt like melting ice cream, cool and smooth. She blew out a long breath, the conflicting emotions making her wish she could go for a long, hard, sweaty run, just to get her head on straight.
How can I be thinking about sex when the ship from Planet Crap has just dumped its payload on us?

A whisper of movement. A single strand of hair tickled her chin from the displacement of air in the room.
Snick
. Her door closed.

Then arms slipped around her, the hands square and blunt and lightly marked with old scars. Runes upon the skin. “An odd thing with us, is it not?” Bann's breath warmed the side of her neck.

Liquid fire filled her, low in her belly.
Damn, his brogue alone slays me
. “What is?”

“That our bodies would want
this
.” He pressed his swelling manhood against her, shifting his hips to nestle it more firmly between her buttocks. An impressive act when they both were wearing jeans. “Even as these trials press upon us.”

She turned in his arms. His eyes were already a midnight blue with desire. “Why do you think that is?”

“‘Tis who we are. Tuatha Dé Danaan. Celts. Warriors of a race so ancient, our long-fathers spoke face to face with the Goddess Herself. We fight and we fuck and we protect our own. And even as we fall to our knees in battle, we give the back of our hand to Fate.” A line deepened between his brows. “Something I had forgotten this past year.”

“Hey.” Shay cupped his jaw with her hand. “Don't go there. It's going to work out. Like I told Cor, we're a team.”

“That we are, Shay Doyle. And my first directive as leader—”

“Why are
you
the leader?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Because I am the man.”

“That's bullshit.”

“‘Tis the natural order of things.” The corner of Bann's mouth twitched.

“And still more bullshit.” Shay fought her own smile. “So. Just out of curiosity, what's your first order?”

Bann stepped back. Glancing over to make sure the door was closed, he gestured toward the silk material she held, forgotten, in one hand. “To see
you
. In
that
.”

She glanced down. Heat flooded her body. Her joints suddenly felt loose. “Give me a moment.” On legs that trembled only a little, she slipped into the bathroom and closed the door.

38

A
S THE DOOR SHUT,
Bann reached into his back pocket for his wallet. He opened it and pulled out several small, flat packets. The plastic wrappers crackled as he placed the condoms on the nightstand next to the bed. He grinned at the memory of stopping by the local convenience store during a rare solitary errand last week. When he had approached the cashier with a box of Trojans in hand, the young clerk, full of the attitude of late teenhood, had smirked at him. Which, in turn, forced Bann to begin a friendly conversation about the merits of ribbed versus plain. All the while using his thickest, most lilting brogue chock full of Irish colloquialisms.

He had started to unbutton his shirt when the bathroom door opened. His fingers forgot how to function when all the blood in his body suddenly went south.

Shay stood in the doorway. The camisole hugged her body, emphasizing the curves of her arm muscles, the dip of her waist. The swell of her breasts. His eyes drifted lower to the barely-there-but-who-really-cares matching panties. Her long legs looked even longer.

The deep rose color of the silk fabric made her skin glow. Her thick hair, burnished gold in the light of the lamp, was draped over one shoulder. She moved toward him, causing his heart to start rapping against his ribs, as if asking if it might come out and take a peek, too.

“Dad?” A searching voice called from the hallway. Feet padded along the corridor, then faded away toward the stairs.

“Shite.” Bann ground his teeth together. He shared a look of exasperation with Shay. “I'll return shortly.” Slipping out, he started for the stairs. A door opened behind him.

Further down the hall, Rory stuck his head out of the room he was once again sharing with James. In the darkness, he was not much more than a silhouette. “Everything okay?”

“Errant child, nothing more.”

“Glad he's yours.” With a yawn, Rory disappeared.

On silent feet, partly to not disturb the rest of the household and partly to sneak up on Cor and frighten the piss out of the boy in retaliation, Bann reached the main level and paused. He cocked his head, listening.

Something moved in the kitchen. The rattle and whoosh of the back door. Even as he hurried toward the sound, a draft of cold air raised goose bumps on his arms. Or maybe it was his son whispering a name.

“Max? Is that you, boy?”

Bann slid his blade free as he stepped into the kitchen. Barefooted, Cor lingered in the open doorway, shivering in a T-shirt and sweatpants, shoes untied. Snow swirled in, ghosting along the tiled floor. At the man's footsteps, he spoke over his shoulder.

“I saw him.”

“Max?”

“Yeah. I got up to pee and I looked out my window. I could see something moving in the trees on the other side of the wall.” Cor swallowed. “It looked like Max, but…”

“But what?”

“But he moved funny. All…” The boy jerked his limbs about.

Dread trotted up Bann's spine on cloven hoofs. He pulled Cor away from the door. “Go to Shay while I—”

“What is it with you?” Shay spoke behind them.

They both whirled around. A tiny part of Bann was impressed she was able to sneak up on him, while another part of him was disappointed to see she had pulled on a pair of jeans and a hoodie. She carried her knife in one hand.

“If you think you're going out there by yourself while the kid and I sit around sucking our thumbs—”

“I don't suck my thumb!” Cor protested.

“—then you're crazy. Or stupid. Or both.”

“Perhaps. But for now, I need to know you two are safe.” Bann tightened his fingers around the hilt of his own weapon. “Stay in the house.”

“No way. I'm—”

He raised a hand, forestalling Shay's protest. “I need you to stay with our son.”

Shay's mouth formed an O. To his surprise, she nodded wordlessly.

Before she could change her mind, he stepped into the darkness and looked around, eyes watering from the frosty air as he checked the shadows. Bending low, he sprinted across the yard, keeping the wall between himself and what was waiting for him in the trees. Patches of snow lingered like white stepping stones placed randomly throughout the yard. Overhead, the stars shone with glee at having the sky to themselves.

“‘I am a bull of seven battles',” he chanted as he ran. A warming tingle started from the soles of his feet, whipped around his legs, and flooded his chest. Even his manhood swelled slightly.

Reaching the wall a few feet away from the gate, he paused to listen. His hearing, made more acute by the power of the Song, picked up a faint chuff of breath. A twig snapped.

Bann crept toward the gate. Another branch broke, the
crack
ricocheting through the night. Reaching the gate, he peered over it, careful not to touch it, the buzz from the wards setting his teeth on edge.

Max, but not Max, stood a few yards away.

Eyeballs hellhound-red, the dog swayed from side to side, his coat matted with clumps of dirt. Bann could smell the sour stink of death still clinging to the creature. Lifting his snout, the not-Max sniffed the air. Bann caught the gleam of madness in eyes that once were filled with affection and protectiveness and the pure joy of being a dog.

Rage at the gods, at Fate, and as always, the undercurrent rage at himself for being the long-son of Boru surged through Bann.

The beast opened his muzzle, revealing canines as deadly as the blade in the Knight's hand. “Bannerman Boru.” The voice rasped like the rusty hinges on a coffin.

“Lord Cernunnos, I assume.”

“After a fashion. Imagine my surprise to awake and find myself trapped within this dog carcass.” Lifting a paw, he twisted it around to gaze at the pads on the bottom of the feet. He staggered a step before dropping it again. “So different from the stag's. But I believe I will come to appreciate its unique attributes once I've determined how to shapeshift this new body.” Cernunnos pulled his lips back in a mockery of Max's wolf grin. “Although I have had one successful hunt already.”

The dead Tully, no doubt
. “May it take you a hundred thousand years to adjust, then.”

The dog-god chuffed and turned to leave. “We will battle again, Bannerman Boru.”

“Wait! What about my son? Why did you want Cor?”

The monster glanced back over his shoulder. One eye glowed like an ember in a dying fire. “Oh, I
still
desire the child. And I will take him from you. Not on Samhain as I had hoped, but certainly when you least suspect. And when I do, you will taste ashes in your mouth.” He stepped into the shadow of a massive spruce. The blackness swallowed him, as if the creature had simply passed into another room.

For a long minute, Bann stared at the spot, ignoring the cold biting his skin. Then, spitting to one side, he spun on his heel and started for the house.

Across the yard, he saw the Doyle clan spilling out of the doorway, their hair various shades of bronze in the light of the kitchen, and all armed and eager for a fight, Rory and James jostling for position to be the first into the fray. He spotted Shay waiting on the back step with Cor beside her.

And she calls
me
stubborn
. His gaze flicked down to his son holding his switchblade.
Despite everything he has gone through these past few weeks, hell, this past
year,
there he stands like a true Tuatha Dé Danaan, ready for battle
. He lengthened his stride when Shay's gaze met his.
Friend and lover and warrior and healer. Aye, she is all that. And, perhaps soon, something more
.

“Faugh a ballagh,”
Bann whispered, and hurried toward his family.

T
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TAG
L
ORD

Unholy Blue

Coming December 2015
from Spence City

A metallic clang, followed by a yelp of pain, had Bann out of the bed and on his feet. Eschewing his clothes, he grabbed his iron knife from where he had placed it, unsheathed, on the floor next to him. Panting from the shock of being yanked out of sleep, he flung the door open and raced down the dim hallway to his son's room and threw himself inside.

Cor's bed was empty.

Panic walloped him in the gut, making his exposed testicles draw up good and tight. His eyes flew to the window. The curtains were still drawn; the first light of dawn illuminated the cloth panels.

A gasp of pain jerked his head down and around.

Cor was sitting inside the crate, rubbing the top of his head while he tried to keep Sam from jumping on his lap. Bann noticed a blanket and pillow were shoved to one side.

“What the hell are ye doing in that thing?” He walked over as his son scooted out, hampered by Sam, who was doing his best to chew on Cor's hair. Bann reached down and scooped up the pup, wincing when claws scratched his bare torso.

“Sam was lonely. And Shay said he couldn't sleep in my bed.”

“So, you decided to sleep inside the dog's kennel?”
My child is an idiot
.

Cor nodded, still rubbing the top of his head. “I had to pee and I forgot where I was. I hit my head on the top of the crate.”

“What's going on?” Shay appeared, belting her robe around her.

Even in the dim light, Bann could see Cor glancing at his father's naked body—more specifically, at his father's groin—then at Shay. He could almost hear the confusion roiling around inside of the boy's head.
He's seen me nude almost every day. And on more than a few occasions, in front of his mother. But this is different
.

“Cor. Go on to the bathroom.” He stepped aside as Cor scurried from the room, then placed the pup back in the kennel and secured the door. He looked at Shay, who shrugged.

“It's only awkward if we act like it is,” she said.

After dressing, Bann ushered Cor and Sam out the back door to allow the pup to relieve himself, father and son bundled up against the early morning chill. The cold turned them into dragons with white smoke coming from their mouths. Hands shoved in his jacket pockets, Bann studied the full moon hanging over the western mountains; it seemed reluctant to give up its kingship of the sky. Nearby, Cor played with Sam. Boy and puppy scampered from one end of the fenced yard to the other, engaged in some sort of tag with rules that changed depending on who was winning.

Bann noticed that the woodpile, stacked to one side of the back door, had spilled out of its cradle. Shaking his head, he walked over to it.
She should not have this so close to the house
. Picking up the logs, he started to restack them.

“Dad! Help!”

Bann whirled around. Cor was crouched on the ground by the fence, holding one of Sam's back legs as the dog tried to crawl through the puppy-sized gap between the bottom of the fence and the ground. Before the Knight could reach them, the pup squirted free of Cor's grasp and disappeared.

“Shite!” Still a few feet away, Bann broke into a sprint. Without thinking, he started chanting lines from the Song, the ancient words that gave the Tuatha Dé Danaan speed and strength and endurance. “‘I am a bull of seven battles, I am a hawk on the cliff.'” A surge of power rushed through him. He cleared the fence with a foot to spare, as if a giant hand had pitched him over the top of it.

Landing on the other side with a grunt, he shouted at Cor to stay put, then sprinted after the small yellow blur that had whisked behind the nearest boulder in a puppy game of hide-and-seek. Behind him, he could hear Cor yelling for Shay. He wondered what the chances were that the woman and boy would actually remain within the safety of the wards instead of following him.
In Cor's case, slim. In Shay's case, none
, he thought, pulling his weapon free.