"Yes. So why do you think there were vampires on your Hunting Grounds?" she asked, turning the subject back to something important as the car began to move forward again. She didn't really want to sit here thinking of Gabriel in the context of those old stories, a wild and untamed hero. And still, it was hard for her to believe he hadn't been mistaken about the vampires. Why would they come here? True, they had played host to her and Bastian. But they had seemed to her to be a cold sort, not any more interested in her and her brother than they were in anything. That they would pay a visit all the way out here struck her as bizarre. Kin they might be, but only in a very mild sense anymore. A Dyim and a daemon, she thought, disgusted. Some of her sisters had had poor taste in men, but that was really pushing it.
"'I know there were vampires in the woods, Rowan," Gabriel said, sounding slightly annoyed. "They smell fouler than anything I can think of, which, considering my nose, is saying something. And it didn't feel right out there. Whispers. Shadows that kept disappearing when I got too close."
The levity of only a moment ago evaporated in an instant, and Rowan's mood sank like a stone. It was only one more reminder of the impossibility of their circum-stances, and the insanity of pursuing the simmering emotions Gabriel produced in her. For the millionth time that morning, she wished everything were different. But nothing was, nor would it be. She needed to remember that.
"Did you tell the others?" she asked, her anger at having slept so deeply last night resurfacing. She should have known. She could have helped. These were creatures she knew, and understood in some ways, even though she didn't care for them.
"I did," Gabriel sighed, raising a hand to rub the back of his neck. "But by the time I got everyone up and out there, they'd vanished. And no amount of provocation called them back." He smiled, the slow, sexy lift of his lips that never ceased to turn her thoughts to mush no matter how angry he was making her. "Believe me, we tried. But the scent was there. And we've all agreed that getting you out, and bringing more Pack in, is best for now."
Rowan bit her tongue, trying not to take offense at the "we've all agreed" and failing miserably. She never seemed to be involved in the "we" anymore, and it was increasingly tiresome. Still, she didn't like the sound of any of this. And she was glad that the MacInneses were bumping up their security, even though she was still skeptical that any vampires would be lurking around a remote estate in Scotland just on her account.
"I still don't see why we had to leave entirely just on the basis of some shadows and a smell." Rowan muttered. "I would rather be close to the Stone, in case Bastian returns soon."
"And I would rather you weren't, for reasons I think we both understand," Gabriel returned. He looked infuriatingly smug. She could only glare at him. It was that or punch him, and since she couldn't drive and didn't really fancy walking, dirty looks seemed like the only decent option. For now, anyway.
"Look, Rowan," Gabriel pressed. "I can see you think this is crap. But Lucien sounded pretty confident about getting to you, don't you think? Maybe he's found a way to use the vampires. You said yourself, they do have Drakkyn ties. Maybe they kept up on theirs." And then, more to himself than her, he murmured, "We've never actually fought them. It could get interesting."
"I was with them for quite a while, remember?" she said, looking at her hands so she wouldn't have to look at Gabriel and see the certainty she didn't want to feel about this. "I just think that's very unlikely." Her stomach knotted up, though, at the very idea. Was it possible? She supposed it wasn't any more impossible than her brother's apparent ability to jump from world to world with little more than a thought. But she didn't want it to be true. Because that would mean that the danger they were facing was far more real, far more imminent, than she had feared. And while she wasn't certain how the vampires would fight either, since they'd never seemed to find it necessary, she was certain it would be more about cunning and less about brute strength. And it would be as dirty as possible, she thought with a sinking feeling.
Oh, by the Goddess. I hope not.
"You're as unlikely as it gets, and you're still here," Gabriel pointed out. "The Lia Fáil didn't do anything but sing at the full moon for centuries, and now it's brought us homicidal shape-shifters and blood-drinking sorceresses in just a matter of months. Maybe we could stop it if we could figure how it even works. But the damned thing never came with an instruction manual."
"Is there that much guesswork involved with something your people have guarded for a thousand years?" Rowan asked, only half joking and more than a little perturbed. She had simply assumed that the werewolves had an implicit understanding of how to use and protect the Lia Fáil. That had given her some comfort, since she herself possessed no such knowledge. Now, however, it seemed they were all at a very steep disadvantage.
"I'm afraid so," Gabriel replied, looking morose. "Apparently my ancestors were just fine with forgetting their roots. Blind faith in the saint who civilized us, and in his instructions, sufficed for this long. Saint Colurnba felt guided by God to try to assimilate us into humanity, into the Clan MacInnes. They gave us their name, and their history, and it was a wondrous gift. But," he sighed, rubbing at the back of his head, "we're paying now for forgetting. We had a place in that other world too. Along with enemies we don't even remember having."
"But they remember you." Rowan watched him, sensing his frustration with the limited information he had. She couldn't imagine how he and his people must feel, discovering that there was so much more to their identity as a group, much of which they might never know. It would be like losing a piece of herself, she thought, if it had happened to her. Then her eyes narrowed as a thought struck her.
"He remembered you. Lucien. How? What happened, that you even came to meet the Andrakkar?" she asked, the questions coming out in a rush of words. She tried to tell herself it was natural concern for the safety of Gabriel's Pack.
Yeah, right.
He just looked again at her, puzzled. "Don't you know?"
"Should I?"
He frowned and looked away, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. "It's just, after last night I seem to know a little more about you. Tiny bits and pieces. Your childhood. The way you lived." His lips quirked slightly. "Quite a party. I'd only ever toyed with the idea of being worshipped as a god who walked upon the Earth, but I have to say, it looks to be a hell of a lot more fun than even I'd imagined. And that's saying something."
Rowan arched one slim brow. "Music, dance, joy. All things that serve the Goddess. Morgaine is the mother of creativity, and as her descendants the Dyadd seek to inspire that in others. I don't think 'party' is really the right term."
He shrugged. "Whatever. It didn't look half bad, anyway." He paused, then said, "So. Didn't you get a look inside my head as well?"
Rowan tilted her head to consider him, but he pointedly avoided her gaze. She supposed he was worried that she'd seen ... well, exactly what she had seen. And it was true—the careless conquests were less than admirable. But there had been plenty of good to outweigh that.
"I did," she said, "but only bits and pieces, like you. Pictures. And nothing to do with Mordred or Lucien except for a sort of image of the two of them crossing the threshold over the Stone. And of Mordred transforming into his prettier form." He laughed, and it pleased her. "But I never got a good sense of what it was all about."
"It's a long story."
"I think we have a little time."
So he talked in that wonderful husky burr of his as the green rolled away outside, and the ocean swirled around jutting rocks as ancient as time before disappearing once more beneath a gray and threatening sky. She simply listened. First with interest, then with concern, then with outrage as Gabriel related how Gideon had been betrayed by their cousin, nearly killed by Wolves working under his orders, and how all of it had been orchestrated by none other than Mordred Andrakkar. It seemed that one of his exiles had inadvertently found the lost arukhin, once protectors of the vast Carith Noor, then powerful and coveted slaves of the dragons. The slight of the shifters' escape into this realm had never been forgotten, and knowing how Mordred operated by now, Rowan knew he would see them as a challenge. He always wanted what he'd been told he could not have. All dragons were that way, pillaging lands and then leaving them, stealing women only to mistreat them, and seeking to claim all power they could find as their own.
This world, this Pack, would all be irresistibly appealing conquests for the dragon king.
Mordred was, as misfortune would have it, both power hungry and in danger of losing his house's centuries-long grip on power. A lethal combination. And one, when combined with the fact that his son's erstwhile intended was now among the descendants of his people's escaped slaves, that could conceivably get not only Gabriel but his entire Pack slaughtered.
Rowan's headache intensified as Gabriel fell silent once again. Could the fates really be so cruel as to condemn her to be the downfall of not one but two whole families? It was mind-boggling, and utterly disheartening. She was going to have to get back, and as fast as she could. No matter Lucien's reaction should he discover she had twined her fate with Gabriel's, she would at least be a distraction until the others could be warned to get away. It hurt both her head and her empty stomach to think about it. As if to illustrate this point, the latter picked that moment to growl, loudly.
"Sorry," she muttered, though she wasn't. If she hadn't been dragged out of the house this morning without so much as a slice of bread, then her stomach would be behaving itself.
"Don't be. You can have lunch at my place once we get there. That is, if you, um ..."
She rolled her eyes. "Yes, I eat real food. Normally, anyway, though that's been in short supply for some reason since I got to Scotland."
