Beyond the Highland Myst(537)

Chloe was a shaft of sunlight that had lanced through the storm clouds he'd lived beneath for so long, illuming his world.

She'd flung herself wholly and without reservation into their intimacy. She loved to touch, indeed, she seemed to crave it. She was constantly slipping her wee hand into his, or burying them in his hair, grazing his scalp with her nails. Like a wild tomcat who'd had absolute freedom, but known no place to call home, he savored the gende constancy of the familiar touch of familiar hands.

He'd been right in thinking that with her, lovemaking might yield some indefinable result he'd not before experienced. Sex had always calmed and soothed him, easing his muscles, relaxing his mental tension, but now, when he fell sated, holding Chloe close, his heart was also at ease.

But if his present was a vast and sunny blue sky, his future was filled with the ominous roll of crashing thunder-heads.

And he dare not forget that.

He dragged his gaze away from Chloe and inhaled deeply, forcing his thoughts back to less savory matters.

In the past ten days, though he and Silvan had discovered a wealth of long-forgotten information about their clan in the chamber library, and learned more about their purpose as Druids than they'd ever known, they'd still found no mention of the thirteen and scant information concerning their benefactors. Silvan was hoping they might find some way to contact the Tuatha Dé in the old records, but Dageus didn't share his da's optimism on that score. He wasn't convinced the ancient race was even still about. And if they were, why would they bother to appear to a Keltar who'd fallen from grace when they'd not bothered to appear to any other Keltar? He wouldn't be surprised to learn they'd planted their traps in the in-between and gone away thousands of years ago, never to return.

The search was taking too long. In the twenty-first century there'd been a dearth of information, now there was too much, and sifting through it was an epic undertaking.

That wouldn't have fashed him, except he'd recently noticed something that had made him realize time was critical: His eyes were no longer returning to gold, not even with their constant lovemaking. Nay, his eyes were now burnished copper, and darkening further each day.

Though he was using no magic, though he was tooping incessantly, though the ancient ones had not spoken again, the darkness inside him was changing him anyway, in the same manner that wine inevitably soaked into and permeated the cask that held it.

He could feel the thirteen growing stronger, and himself growing more comfortable with them. They'd been a part of him for so long that they were beginning to feel like another appendage—and why wouldn't he use an extra hand? Now, instead of catching himself only a few times a day about to use magic for something simple like filling the bath, he was catching himself a score of times or more.

At least he was still catching himself. He knew that anon he wouldn't. And in even yet more time, he wouldn't care. That fine line he mustn't cross was getting increasingly difficult for him to see dearly.

Rubbing his unshaven jaw, he wondered if it might be possible to strike some kind of deal with the thirteen.

Strike a deal with the devil? his honor hissed. Like what? They get to use your body part of the time? The devil cheats, youfool!

Aye, there was that worry. The beings in him were not honorable, could not be trusted. The mere fact that he was considering trying to barter with them proved how critical time had become.

And proved how desperate he was to find a way to secure some kind of future with Chloe.

Sighing, he turned his attention back to the text. Now more than ever,'twas imperative he exercise utmost discipline. Though he'd far prefer to sweep Chloe into his arms, carry her from the chamber and show her more of his world, live only in the moment, he knew he had to revert to the schedule he'd kept in Manhattan.

Work from dawn till dusk, love Chloe only in the night, then work again whilst she slumbered.

He had his eye on much more than a few moons with his mate. He was determined that he would have his full measure of life with her.

When she got up and slipped from the chamber, he kept his gaze firmly fixed on the tome in his lap.

Chloe strolled blissfully through the gardens, marveling that already a week and a half had sped by. They'd been the finest days of her life.

Her time had been divided primarily between exploring the contents of the chamber library and exploring the newfound pleasure of passion. The explosive heat between her and Dageus was evidently palpable enough that on several occasions Silvan had ordered them to leave the chamber library, telling them dryly "to go… walk a wee or… some such activity. The two of you are like a pair of tea kettles, steaming up my tomes."

The first time he'd said such a thing, Chloe had blushed furiously, but then Dageus had given her what she'd come to think of as The Look and she'd swiftly forgotten her embarrassment. He had a way of canting his head low and looking up at her, his dark gaze heated and intense, that never failed to make her weak-kneed with desire, thinking about all the things he was going to do to her.