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“Ye canna—”
He drew her hand to his mouth, planting a kiss on her mud-caked flesh.“Relax. I hold different magics. It’s why I’m so valuable to Arawn and the others.”
“What other magics?”She snatched her hand back from the wonderful warmth of his lips tickling it.
“I can blend my gift with the Earth. No one will sense a thing. I wasn’t certain while we were still outside, but down here with earth all about us, I’m confident I won’t give us away.”
She nodded and stood back, giving him space to work. As she did, an odd feeling fluttered in her chest. She never gave the upper hand away, but she trusted the man by her side. Trusted him to take care of them. To do the right thing. It was such a revelation, she could barely keep her mouth from gaping open.
The fetid air in the tunnel thickened with a scent redolent of the salt tang of the sea mingled with the lush pine forest they’d left above. Angus drew a slender dirk from a thigh sheath. She remembered it clattering to the floor when they were pulling their clothes off, so anxious to get to one another’s bodies, nothing else mattered.
A low hum reached her ears, and he drew the dirk along the tips of the fingers of his left hand. Once blood flowed, he scattered it on the tumble of rocks and earth that overflowed the space where the gateway had once been.
Between the scent and the song, Arianrhod felt herself drawn into Angus’s magic. It was different from anything she’d ever felt before. Deep magic, hinting of the earliest mysteries. Colors shimmered around him as his blood sang to the stones. It grew warm in the tunnel, a deceptive warmth that could lure the unsuspecting to their deaths—if they didn’t sense the steel beneath it.
Rocks are the bones of the earth.
Where had she heard that? She tried, but couldn’t remember. Angus was of the earth, just like the stones shifting at his command. Of the earth, yet not. It was why he could breach the time-travel portals. They were barred to mortals, yet not to him. Nessa and Cathbad. What had the combination spawned? Could he possibly be Conchobar, reborn through some shadowy mechanism?
The more she thought about it, the surer she was Arawn was behind Angus’s appearance in modern time. Ceridwen and Gwydion may have been in on the plan, but the god of the dead could resurrect whomever he needed to do his bidding.
The sound of rocks grinding against one another quieted, and the temperature fell so quickly, she drew her leathers closer to her body. Angus’s eyes glittered with the power he’d channeled, but the dirk wasn’t in his hand any longer, nor did he have visible cuts on his fingertips.
He swept an arm toward the hole he’d made, and she stepped through. She had questions. Lots of them. She wanted to dissect his power. Understand its roots, but danger lay ahead. She felt a tightening in her belly that never presaged anything good.
Arianrhod turned to Angus and held up a hand. Not wanting to draw her own power so close to Rhukon and Connor, she mouthed, “Eletea?”
Angus pointed and held up five fingers followed by a circle. Fifty paces. That close. She shrugged her bow off her shoulder and nocked an arrow. Brigid had gifted her the golden arrows. Their magic meant she never missed.
Footsteps pounded down an unseen corridor. They’d left the realm of standing water on the far side of the manor house foundations. She’d stood ankle deep in it so long, she didn’t notice the hard, dirt floor until the noise alerted her.
Angus gripped her shoulder and mouthed, “Wait.”
She extinguished her mage light, expecting total darkness, but Angus glowed. Nothing to draw attention to them, but a soft white nimbus surrounded him.
“Still here, I see.” A rough, male voice exclaimed.
“And where would I have gone with iron about my neck?” Multi-toned, accented words identified the speaker as Eletea. Dragon vocal chords gave them the ability to mimic any creature.
“Och, ye’ve been dreaming about having the both of us,” a second male voice chortled. “Admit it, wench.”
“I’ve always fancied lying with a dragon,” the first voice said, his words such a seduction charade, Arianrhod nearly choked on indignation.
Light flared in the tunnel ahead of them. Dragon’s fire.
Good for you!Arianrhod stabbed the air with a fist.
“That will never happen,” Eletea announced. “You can kill me, but I’ll take you out if you rape me. Besides…” Cunning entered her tones. “You’d end up dickless. Wouldn’t that be special?”
“Absurd,” the second man scoffed.
His voice was higher. Arianrhod was almost certain it was Connor.
“Want to find out?” The dragon challenged. “I have scales in the most unusual places. Sharp scales.”
“Why hasn’t your race died out?” Rhukon snarled.
“I can sheath them—if I choose. For you,” Eletea paused, “I’d like nothing better than to castrate you, you sorry sack of shit.”
