Concentric Circles Part 10

She noticed a cool ruthlessness there she had not seen before.

"The blood of the son."

"The blood of the son!" Shock spiked through her, birthing a new fear. She jumped up. The chair hit the wall with a bang. "You're the son."

"Yes." In her mind, Meekal's stance radiated strength. "Admittedly, it has taken Syther a while to figure it out. That's why they were there last night. They want me."

Shayla decided it was time to reap the benefits of pacing. She used to bite her fingernails when stressed, not anymore. "Kal. d.a.m.n it. How could they do this to you?"

The nonchalant shrug irked her even further.

"It's because at the time, I went into hiding. There was no way Malvenue would've found me. It's a double edged blade. If I'm safe, then the Chalice Well is safe. Trust me; he didn't have a clue where I was. Afterward, we never changed the ward."

A growl of exasperation escaped. Her pacing picked up speed, her breathing matching. She muttered, frowning and she had a personal argument with herself. "Can't you change the protection ward now?"

"Shay, I don't want it changed."

She stopped, feet frozen to the floor, heart pounding as though it would burst forth from her chest. "That's crazy!" she roared, shaking from the depth of anger and fear consuming her.

Meekal stood and tried to pull her close.

"No. d.a.m.n it, Kal!" The stinging of tears burned her, sending the vision of him into a wavering blur. She turned away, trying to hide her emotions. The window of her suite let in the bright morning sun; its beauty shimmered over the landscape enhancing the fall colors. From somewhere deep inside, she sobbed.

Strong arms wrapped her into a coc.o.o.n. His chin placed against her hair, he whispered, "They won't get me. I can do things they don't know about. Even if it's as simple as shape shifting. Very few know about my cat form."

She ran her hand across the wetness on her cheek, smearing moisture, spreading an insistent blanket of worry. "That doesn't help." She turned and hid her face in his neck. Inhaling his cool masculine scent, she whispered, "Too fast."

He combed fingers through her hair, petting in gentleness. "Sometimes, that's just the way it happens." He nudged her, seeking her lips.

Not appeased, Shayla pulled away and turned back to the window. She brushed the lace curtains to the side, the texture delicate against her skin. "What are you going to do?"

Meekal's hands rested on her shoulders. "Mum's already contacted Grandfather, James and Leith. They'll probably arrive tomorrow. They're in France right now. Mum said Vince hasn't had any contact with the other Cimmerian since Malvenue's downfall."

"Cimmeria what?"

"Cimmerian is what Malvenue called his minions. It just means dark and gloomy. As to Vince, we keep in contact. He married and lives in Shepton Mallet. Shay, come on, love, don't worry."

She glared and reached for her small knapsack. The bra.s.s curvature of the doork.n.o.b did not have the power to stay her feet. The memory and trepidation of her previous experience with clicking doors and unexpected journeys propelled her forward. She bolted from the room. Drowning in panic, her brain twisted into contortions never before experienced.

"Shayla!"

The interior of the Tor Sunset Inn flashed past her. She ran out the door and down the broad staircase. In the lower foyer, she b.u.mped into Carling. "Scuse me," she said in a fog of anger without stopping.

"Shayla, are you all right?"

She did not respond because she was already through the door. Out on the front veranda, she paused to look around. Huffing in an attempt to expel some pent up fury, she started down the stairs.

"Hey, watch where you're going."

"b.u.g.g.e.r off," she said, heart pounding in her chest. Tears escaped her eyes. The wetness on her cheek only intensified the urge to shed more. She had never felt this way about anyone. Meekal. The haze of desire's blissful recollection wafted over her. The memory of the way he felt within her invoked a deep sense of longing.

She pa.s.sed the door of a bank. The corner of a brick building loomed ahead. She turned.

d.a.m.n. The first face she saw was Dragar.

A wicked grin greeted her while he motioned to someone at the corner.

She spun around to see another man to her right, just three steps back.

His lip moved up into an ugly curl and he advanced closer, eyes raking her with scathing eagerness. Antic.i.p.ation curled his fingers around a weapon, a cross between a wand and screw auger.

Dragar circled, like prey, joined by his thugs.

Rage boiled up within and emotions roiled into a vortex, transforming into an angry scream. Like the flash of a lightning bolt, she attacked. She reached up, grabbed the closest Thyrza by his greasy hair, and then pulled his head down to meet her rising knee.

Wham!

The stunned Thyrza, instantly immobilized, went face down on the concrete.

A whistle pierced the air. "She's not the one you want," Meekal taunted.

"The Fae b.i.t.c.h will go down, too." Dragar said derisively and turned, wand pointed at Meekal.

Silent as a cat, she moved against the other two Thyrza while Meekal distracted Dragar. Pressure point on one man's neck, and then a heel of her palm to the nose of the other. Both went down.

"Whoa!" Meekal said, staring at her in surprise.

Her anger not yet appeased, she growled, "Really? I have news for you, berk. Idiots like you make foolish mistakes. Wand."

The wand lifted through the air. Dragar spun, panting with fervor when it appeared in her upraised hand. "b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l!"

A fast pirouette and she knocked him down with body momentum and a foot. He cried out painfully when her boot made contact with already injured ribs, then he rolled on the ground, moaning.

The memory of the shadowy chamber flashed through her mind. Despite its power, she sneered at him. "Tell Syther, he can't have Meekal or me. Now, get lost." She snapped the wand in half and tossed it to him. With a dismissive flick of her hand, she moved her head in the opposite direction.

Clutching the broken wand, Dragar looked around at his three thugs. They were either out cold or groaning in miserable pain.

Meekal grinned, leaning against the corner light post, arms crossed over his broad chest.

Wearing a mask of pain, the wicked Thyrza reached for the closest thug and vanished within a puff of black smoke. The other two, making sounds of misery in unison, followed.

"I'd appreciate it, Shay," Meekal said, stepping away from the lamppost, "if you didn't take off like that again." His expression switched between amus.e.m.e.nt and annoyance. He finally decided on grateful. Relief spread across his face. He took two steps, grabbed her arms, and pulled her into a kiss.

She squirmed, and then decided to enjoy the offered treat. Sending her tongue within, she moaned and clasped his belt. With a teasing tug, she brought him closer, eliciting a delightful sound of appreciation. He deepened their kiss.

"I've said it before, git a room."

Meekal laughed into her mouth.

Grinning, Harry joked, "Aren't there enough private places in Glas...o...b..ry you could be doing that?"

Meekal shook with laughter under her hands. "Shayla just took out four of Syther's thugs. We're celebrating."

She licked her lip and reached for his hand. "Come on. We gotta talk. I have something to tell you."

Palm to palm, they walked to Chilkwell Manor with Harry.

A voice laced with a Highland brogue spoke when they entered. "Ah, she is a comely la.s.s."

Surprised, Shayla gasped. The portrait in the foyer at Chilkwell Manor was of a man and a woman, looking at her with happy smiles.

A musical laugh sounded. "That she is, Bry. Why, she looks just like Keira."

Shayla stood frozen to the spot just inside the door.

"Bry," Meekal said, shaking his head. "You shouldn't startle Shayla like that." He turned and squeezed her hand. "It's okay, love. It's just Black Bry and Morna."

She swallowed, trying to push her surprise down. "Hi," she whispered in awe.

Morna smiled.

Shayla, mesmerized by Morna's face, stared while her thoughts spun in fast circles. Too rapid to speculate upon.

Morna studied her in return. "You have the look of my sister, Keira."

Black Bryan quirked a brow, allowing his gaze to wander. "Is she setting?"

Harry sn.i.g.g.e.red.

"Bry!" Meekal pulled her toward the library, glaring at Black Bryan.

"Setting?" Shayla paused, looking from Meekal to his ancestor.

Meekal glared fiercely, and hissed low, "Nesting, with child, pregnant."

Another gasp rose and she turned back to the foyer. Meekal stopped her, shaking his head. "Shay, he's from ten sixty-six."

Another sound a.s.saulted her senses. Harry, collapsed on the couch, laughing and breathing hard, observed her discomfiture.

Her annoyance peaked, pushing to the surface. "Excuse me, what's so funny?"

Harry pulled in a sharp breath, and then let it out with an ear-wide grin. "Well, I guess this confirms it, cous, you're one of us. Welcome to the Radgie Farm."

"Cous? Radgie? And why can I see them move now and not before?"

Meekal smirked at his life-long friend and tried to rea.s.sure her. "Morna says you look just like her little sister Keira. Mum thought that, too. If you are descended from Keira, you are related to Harry." He paused to toss Harry a mock glare. "Radgie means crazy. I guess if you're related to this prat, then aye, Radgie Farm would cover it. As to seeing Bry and Morna, your magic is fully opened now."

Harry sn.i.g.g.e.red some more, turning red as he tried to suppress his mirth.

Shayla blew out through clenched teeth, walked to the round oak table, and sat. "That's not all." She met Meekal's look, determination wrapping her heart. "Have a seat, Kal. We have a few things to talk about."

Meekal sat next to her.

In slow contemplative motion, she reached into her boot and pulled out her sgian dhu. Before speaking, she studied it closely. "This," she said, unsure where to begin.

"TIS GOOD TO TELL HIM, LITTLE ONE."

A breath of exasperation burst out at the shear lunacy of the circ.u.mstances surrounding her. She looked between Meekal and Harry with dawning comprehension that they heard nothing.

Hearing voices-insane... Gotta do this, Brinawell. The thought skipped through her mind like a petulant child.

"It's d.a.m.n radgie if you ask me," she replied to the sgian dhu. Small black handled knife, my a.r.s.e. A sense of laughter tickled her. She squeezed the handle in her palm, the tightening sensation of fingers around black adamant balancing her. At last, she looked up into Meekal's confused eyes.

"What?" His black brows puckered into a jagged line as he looked from her face to the knife.

She took another deep breath, let it out, and handed the knife to him. "This is CIARANLEXISS."

Meekal took the sgian dhu and studied it. The carving of a snake and Pictish glyphs marked it as being of the House of Asp.

Harry stood and joined them at the table, his gaze focused on the black handled knife. "CIARANLEXISS? d.a.m.n."

"Precisely," Shayla said, nodding. "He told me Dragar was going to attack. I wasn't watching where I was going. When he spoke to me, it caught my attention."

"I'LL SAY," CIARANLEXISS responded with a chuckle.

"The Guardian," Harry murmured, awe reflected in his voice. "He really talks to you? I'd heard about that."

Meekal jumped up, reached for the phone, and dialed. "Mum, you need to come to the library. Now."

"Kal?" Shayla looked from one to the other.

"YE ARE THE NEXT GUARDIAN, LITTLE ONE."

"Guardian?"

Footsteps drew her attention just in time to see Chaeli pause inside the door, watching them. "Meekal, what is it?"

Meekal held up the knife. "Mum, Shayla is the next Guardian."

Chaeli appraised her, and then took the knife, studying it.

Shayla stood, frustration welling within. "Will somebody please tell me what is going on?"

Meekal responded, "You are the next Guardian for FyrTaehhers."

"Huh?"