Abhainn's Kiss Read online

  “Where did they go?” Abby whispered.

  Dead, most likely, he thought, but did not voice it.

  “Up you go,” he said, hoisting her easily over the chain blocking the stairway to the observation deck, then bounding up the stairs himself with ease fueled by the adrenaline pounding through his veins.

  “Get under the bench,” he directed as he dropped the rucksack on another bench and pulled out the wrapped, rusted sword.

  “I will not,” she said.

  He turned and found her standing on the bench rather than under it, which brought her head almost level with his. She stood defiant, holding in her hand a tiny, wicked looking knife he’d never seen her with before.

  He drew out the sword, still stained with the blood of the Tempestaries of a few days before. “Don’t be a ninny, woman,” he growled. “I can’t protect you if you’re exposed.”

  She lifted her chin. “I am not a ninny,” she quavered. “I am a queen!”

  Wind and heavy mist plastered her hair against her face, bedraggling her clothes until they hung limp from her fragile body. But this time, she thrust out no petulant lower lip as she had so long ago. She looked like something wild, something beautiful. Something not to be trifled with.

  She almost pulled it off, except for the slight tremble of her chin, the way her gaze flicked to the waters rolling and slapping against the hull. The way her chest jerked with suppressed hiccups.

  He scowled at her, hoping to mask his admiration with ferocity. “This is not a game, woman.”

  “No knight goes into battle without someone at his back! Or are you the fool Nuala takes you for?”

  A loud popping noise, and they both crouched between the benches as, below them, the passengers and crew evacuated in rapid-inflate life rafts and rowed away, locator beacon lights flashing until they had disappeared in the enveloping mist. Within minutes, they were alone and adrift on the disabled ferry.

  He rose from his crouch, his own heart thudding hard in his ears as he grasped Abby’s arm and backed her up against the bulkhead that formed the rear of the wheel house. Along the way, he snagged the rucksack and swung it onto his back, his warrior instinct telling him it might give him an extra millisecond to react if he were attacked from behind.

  Her eyes searched his, the sun-on-green-water irises standing out from her pale face like two beacons that burned with love, hope and a healthy dose of terror.

  He managed a grin and crouched down before her, holding her shoulders. Her bones feel like a bird under my hands. “I would have a kiss before I go into battle,” he said.

  Something shifted in her eyes. She threw her arms around him in wild abandon, planting her mouth on his with such ferocity that he almost tipped over backwards. Liquid fire flowed into him, and for a moment he forgot where he was. Almost forgot who he was… The warmth filled him, turned into something almost solid in his bones, something fortifying in his muscles.

  She is giving me back the strength she drew from me!

  He tore his mouth from hers, took her by the arms, and barely managed to peel her away and set her back.

  “Stop it,” he gasped.

  She sank back against the bulkhead, a faint smile on her face. “Now,” she said with satisfaction, “you will move with the speed of Faery fire.”

  The waters to the port side of the boat exploded.

  With a loud, wet slap, a Larva landed like flopping fish on the upper deck, then began to shapeshift.

  “Stay down,” he commanded, raising the sword point before him. From behind him, he felt Abby thrust the hilt of her small knife into his other hand. Not daring to take his eyes off the horridly shifting creature, he took it and flipped it so that the hilt rested in his palm, point down.

  The Larva transformed from a wormy sea-going creature into a ten-foot-tall, naked warrior female, with shark-like skin, wiry arms and legs, and wings that resembled those of a sting ray. Its dragon-like head sported a long snout and rows of jagged teeth.

  Michael sank into a crouch, the world around him compressing down to this moment, this enemy. He wished like hell he had something more potent than a rusted sword in one hand and little more than a pocket knife in the other.

  Behind him, he heard Abhainn breathing fast. “Don’t let it bite you,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “It’s not the teeth I’m worried about, sugar,” he said, baring his own in readiness to fight. “I can fight anything with two arms and two legs. It’s what’s coming out its ass end that’s got my attention.”

  A long, whip-like tail lashed out from the base of the creature’s spine, complete with a glistening razor tip.

  The thing finished shifting with a series of sickening snaps as bones locked into place, then it thrust its head forward on its long neck until it loomed inches from Michael’s face and screeched. Michael took a swipe at it, but it danced backward, taunting him with its longer arms tipped with needle-sharp claws. It tried to reach around him to stab at Abby with its dagger-tip tail.

  Michael found himself thrusting and parrying with both arms, faster than he had ever managed to do even at his top form while in the Marines. Abby’s magic flowed through his body, lending lightning and fluidity to his movements.

  And, to his amazement, the creature fell back. He followed, intent on driving it over the edge and back into the sea.

  Somewhere behind him, he heard Abby scream.

  He risked one glance over his shoulder. Another Larva had landed on the deck and was in the process of shapeshifting. He had been drawn away from Abhainn deliberately. And damn him, he had fallen for it!

  As quick as that, the Larva’s whip tale snaked around and sliced through his shirt, through skin, down deep into the muscle of his left arm, knocking him sideways. White-hot pain and rage blanked his mind. Using that momentum, he spun halfway around and used all his weight to thrust the sword backward into the creature’s soft underbelly.

  The blade gave way, leaving him holding only the hilt as the Larva fell into the sea, trying frantically to shapeshift back into the seaworm before it hit the water. It failed and sank like a stone.

  “Mícheál!”

  Breath coming hard and aching in his chest, his wound stabbing with pain, Michael turned and staggered across the deck toward where Abby stood at the bow, backed up against the safety rail, clinging to it tightly with both hands while hurling Gaelic invectives at another fully-shifted Larva. It loomed triumphantly over her, raising its tail to slash.

  Michael tried to switch the blood-slippery knife to his other hand and failed. It skittered away across the deck. He left it, put his head down and charged like a linebacker, ignoring the logical part of his mind that measured the distance and his speed and told him he wasn’t going to reach her in time.

  The Larva’s tail sliced down.

  Abby vanished.

  A cloud of white mist hung where she had just been, and the dagger end of the Larva’s tail passed harmlessly through it. It backed off a step, head cocked, as if confused.

  Abby condensed, once again clinging to the railing, this time with one foot on the bottom rung. Michael vaulted over the bulkhead.

  Another sideways slash.

  Abby misted and tried to condense farther away. She only managed a few inches.

  It took yet another swipe at her.

  Abby cried out and misted, but slower this time. Michael heard fabric ripping. As she condensed this time, she scrambled over the railing and prepared to jump. A metal-on-metal screech issued from the Larva’s mouth, a victory cry. It poised its tail to strike once more.

  Abby threw back her head, her face straining, and screamed with the effort it took to shift one last time.

  Michael threw himself the last few yards, plowed into the Larva’s midsection, and carried it—and himself—over the side.

  It sank as the other one had sunk, except this one tried to wrap its taloned hand around Michael’s foot to take him down with it.

  He’d be
en dragged down at least three fathoms before he managed to wrench his foot free. He fought his way back toward the surface, lungs bursting, twisting his arms free of the rucksack and its added weight. He let it sink without a backward glance.

  Abhainn…

  He broke the surface with a mighty gasp and looked through salt-stung eyes at the bow of the ferry.

  He caught sight of it just as it slipped below the churning surface, on its way to the bottom of the Irish Sea.

  Treading water madly, he twisted around, trying to find her in the water, in the air, anywhere. The gray fog that had enveloped the vessel was rapidly clearing, revealing the Welsh coastline, less than a half mile off. Michael refused to think about how far the ferry had been pushed off course by the Larvae. The map had gone down with the rucksack.

  There.

  He caught sight of a patch of mist that drifted slowly against the wind, fanned along toward the shore by some kind of nearly-transparent wind Faeries.

  He put his head down and pulled for shore, ignoring the pain in his wounded arm. He swam for Abby’s life.

  Because he realized that his own would be nothing without her.

  Chapter Nine

  The wind died as Michael staggered onto the rocky shore, stepping foot on the Welsh coast just as the moon broke through the ragged edges of the last of the Larvae’s fog.

  First things first. He bent over and unceremoniously got rid of what to be a gallon or so of seawater he’d swallowed, narrowly missing a scurrying flock of surf Faeries that had ridden in on the last wave with him.

  “Holy shit,” he muttered, wiping his mouth on his soaked sleeve. “They’re freakin’ everywhere.”

  Random patches of mist floated in and out among the rocks, in the cliff crevices, and the clumps of trees that crowned it. He called Abby’s name, even though he knew she may not be able to answer.

  Fruitlessly he chased one blob of mist after another, his wounded arm throbbing with the sting of salt water, and his heart thumping with dread. It can’t end this way, dammit. I won’t let it…

  He got hold of his galloping thoughts and forced himself to slow his breathing. Watch the mists. See how it moves. If I were in Abby’s place, what would I do, where would I go? Look for some mist that isn’t behaving like it should…like…

  There! Just before it disappeared above the cliff edge, he saw it. The patch of mist floating against the wind.

  The cliff wasn’t much of a cliff, as cliffs go, but it was dark and slick, and bisected by a stream that tumbled down to the ocean.

  Hang on, Abby, stay out of that stream if you can.

  Finally he gained the top of the cliff, having left a few patches of skin behind along the way. A single, giant willow tree, surrounded by hundreds of saplings lining the bank, hung heavy branches across the stream.

  “Ho, Arthur’s man! Over here!” squeaked a tiny voice.

  It was coming from somewhere in that tree. He batted his way through the saplings, ending up standing in the middle of the stream, looking up into the towering willow’s feathery branches.

  Snagged in the branches, trying to wrap itself around the willow’s proffered fingers, she floated.

  Abby’s face appeared inside the ball for few precious seconds, her lips moving in a silent litany of his name.

  His stomach dropped. She doesn’t have the strength to change back. She gave too much to me…

  “Hurry! We can’t hold onto her much longer!”

  He ran forward a few steps and blinked. The tree was filled with twig Faeries, nearly invisible, so like their host were they. Dozens of them swarmed around Abby, trying their best to anchor her.

  A drop of water fell from above and hit his nose. Alarm reared its ugly head. Dew point. The mist is condensing. The water droplet fell off his nose and into the running stream at his feet. I’m going to lose her in the stream.

  He ripped off his shirt and tried to hold it under her, but he quickly realized it was too wet for what he needed. It would never hold all of her. He looked around but found nothing of use.

  Think, you idiot, think.

  Nothing came to mind. He balled his fists in helpless rage and roared to the sky. Never in his life had he not known exactly what to do.

  No, don’t think. Just look, but do what Abby said and look with soft eyes… soft eyes…

  His peripheral vision picked them up, two red-capped Pixies poking idly under a rock, paying no attention to him. Careful not to look directly at them, he waited until they were both looking away, then shot out his good hand and snagged them both at once. They shrieked in protest, searing his ears, but he shook them until their knobby little heads rattled together.

  “You,” he pointed at one. “I know all you people you can shapeshift to some degree. I need a bucket. Can you manage a five-gallon size?” Not waiting for an answer, he jabbed his finger at the other one. “And you. I need…uh…I need…an umbrella. A big one, like they use on the Auld Course St. Andrews.”

  “What makes you think we’re going to just snap to for you, human,” they snarled in unison.

  He brought them up very close to his face, risking a nose bite.

  “I have a nice piece of fennel bread with your freakin’ name on it, that’s what. And I’ll shove it right up your snotty little noses if…”

  Snap!

  “Whoa! One bucket, one umbrella, at my service.”

  He set the bucket aside, opened the umbrella, and flipped it upside down, catching the first drop just in time as Abby began to condense in earnest.

  The full moon was riding high by the time he tipped the contents of the umbrella into the bucket for the last time. Arms shaking with fatigue, wound no longer bleeding but throbbing relentlessly, he plopped down beside the bucket and stared at the water within. It rippled and swirled, throwing the moonlight back in wild patterns.

  “You’re trying to shift, aren’t you?” he said, to himself as much as to her. She’d had expended so terribly much energy on the ferry, defending herself, that now she was too weak to change back. All he knew to do now was what he had done the first time he’ seen her. Plunge his hands in the water, so she could draw strength from him.

  Waves of dizziness washed over him, and he examined the Larva cut on his arm. Whether Larvae tails were venomous, he didn’t know, but he was pretty sure this wound couldn’t be healthy. For himself, or for her. He hesitated, hand hovering over the water’s surface.

  A glimmer of light out to sea drew his attention. He blinked and squinted, then drew in a slow breath as an island appeared, shimmering with white light under a cloak of mist. At the top of the island’s tallest mountain, a huge fire blazed, surrounded by a ring of standing stones. Ethereal shapes moved in and out among the stones.

  Avalon.

  He turned and without hesitation plunged his hand into the water, and immediately felt Abby’s pull on his soul. In a few seconds, she stood before him, safe and whole.

  The bucket and the umbrella shifted back into the two Pixies, which ran off, flinging a stream of unintelligible insults over their shoulders.

  Michael tried to push himself up off the ground, but failed. The Fae magic Abby had given him was holding off the worst of the Larvae sickness, but cold realization told him he had done all he could do.

  The rest was up to her.

  Then she was at his side, parting the shredded fabric of his shirt to examine the wound. Her breath hissed between her teeth.

  He tried to give her a smile. “So, am I going to live?”

  She grimaced. “Yes, but for a while you will wish you had not. Remember when you ate that fennel bread instead of the scone?”

  He blanched. “That bad, huh?”

  “No,” she said regretfully. “Worse, I’m afraid.”

  He groaned, but turned away her effort to throw her arms around him. “You’re running out of time, Abby,” he gasped, pointing out to sea. “Avalon has appeared. The fires are lit. You have to get to it somehow.”

&
nbsp; “I’m not going without you!” she cried.

  Michael laughed. “It’s what Nuala wanted,” he gasped. “For me to keep my polluting kind out of the Great Circle.”

  “No, you do not understand! You have to be there, too!” she said, frantic.

  He ruffled her hair. “You don’t need me any more. I’ve taken you as far as I can go.”

  Her brow wrinkled, and tears threatened at the corners of her eyes. He took hold of her face and turned it toward Avalon.

  “There is where you belong. Call your Selchies, woman. If there are any left alive, they’ll carry you on their backs, and I’m willing to bet they won’t let you get a toe wet. It’s not far. They can get you there before the Larvae know you’re in the water. Call them.”

  She got up and walked to the edge of the cliff, looked down at the sea, and called with her tears. Nothing responded but the crash of the tide, which had now risen to the base of the cliff, covering the beach in heaving water.

  Michael managed to get to his feet and walked, weaving, to her side.

  “They’re not coming,” she said, sounding truly hopeless for the first time since he’d known her. In the distance, Avalon’s brilliance grew. Tantalizingly close, yet so far. Too far for Abhainn, even if she were not afraid of the open sea.

  He tried not to think of the reasons why none answered her call. If any were left alive within hearing distance, they would have come - unless their wounds were too great.

  “You’re going to have to swim for it, Abby,” he said gently.

  She shuddered and wrapped her arms around her waist. He grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face him.

  “You can do this. You’re strong now—I’ve given you almost all the strength I have.” He looked out over the water and an idea formed in his mind.

  She saw it on his face and was already shaking her head vigorously before he spoke his next words.

  “I can give you the rest, Abby. I’ll hold onto you. Take what you need from me and use your powers over the waters. We can do it together.”

  She shook her head wildly. “No…no! I’ll lose strength before we get there. The water wi…will take me, and you’ll drown out there alone!” Her fear sent her into a violent spasm of hiccups.