Addictive Gloamshade (6 page)

Chapter 10

Now is the flight of eagles
Over the field; the sailors
Of the sea-horses hie them
To the Hanged-God's gifts and feasting.

~ Skáldskaparmal

Deliah:

Ewan's already seated at the long table when I waltz in with Alweada.

Looking up from his plate piled high with onions, mushrooms, scrambled eggs, and bacon, he raises his mug, “Took the scenic route did you?”

He offers his eat shit wink as he toasts me, giving me a full frontal view of bunched muscles straining against shirtsleeves when he tilts his neck to down his coffee. He's all sinew and bulge. He could snap enemies with his neck tendons alone. How come he seems so harmless when he's clearly anything but?

He points to the waiting plate opposite his, “Breakfast is getting cold. Get a move on prima-donna.”

Alweada squeezes my shoulder, “See you later, I have to go see a man about some food.”

Adam grins like a buffoon as I sit down opposite Ewan, looking up at the high ceiling clad with wooden carvings of battles. Drawn to the depictions of bloodshed I get a little lightheaded with my neck cramped. The walls are the customary satanic black, but the world on the ceiling is mottled with age into various shades of tortoiseshell.

“
Deliah,” says Ewan, pulling my attention back to him. “I'll take you for the guided tour after you've eaten, then Adam here will introduce you to the art of attack.”

I look between Adam and Ewan. They are polar opposites as Ewan has hair darker than midnight while Adam's is pale as a dandelion seed, yet their eyes are paradoxical. Adam's being ink black and Ewan's such a light hazel they seem golden.

And the boys are both smiling at me like they're sitting on a secret.

Pursing my lips I look at my plate, my stomach already gurgling at the tempting aroma of sustenance. Copying Ewan I savor a big sip of coffee, rather enjoying the fact that for some reason this man makes me coffee and does so perfectly. I like mine bitter with a dark roast, strong enough to give me a unibrow, and on the edge of scalding.

Inhaling the brew with sublime appreciation I replace my mug to catch him giving me a fond stare.

Shit, you know what I'm thinking.

Just for the record I think this is horrendous. I am entitled to some privacy, Ewan.

In answer he flashes a fleeting wink at me before turning to Alweada who is just joining us, “We have trouble coming. I'll send the scouts out to keep us appraised of developments.”

Alweada sits next to me, his bulk cramping my style when I try cut up a mushroom. I have flyaway elbows and huff as I inch away, trying again.

“
What trouble?” he asks Ewan, 'the chief' of this entire facility.

“
Looks like Wolf is framing us for an attack on Raven. Raven will not wait before retaliating. Adam here tells me they're heavily armed with thundereggs. We either wait for them to come to us and return the assault, or we go out and meet them before they reach us. If we can't talk sense into them we're about to have a battle on our hands.”

Giving Ewan a huge smile, Alweada lifts his mug in toast, “Battle!”

Ewan bursts out laughing, his unrestrained laugh rather pleasant. It's deep and effervescent.

Watching him through my eyelashes I stubbornly stop myself from smiling, finding myself more and more drawn to the nicest killer I've met yet.

I'm still waiting to discover why I'm even here. This entire turn of events is more bizarre than taking acid and falling through a mirror.

He loses his smile, stabbing bacon and looking through me for a second, his irises darkening to gold dust for a moment, “Deliah, we understand how disorienting this is for you. I haven't forgotten that you like your information served cold, so here's the hard truth. Your father was a bawbag who lost his mind. For whatever reason he conceived in his peabrain, he was convinced humans were evil and decided to take matters into his own hands, going on a rampage of raping women and murdering their husbands. Even the best dogs sometimes go rabid and we had to put him down. We retraced his path of destruction and found a survivor. We do not make small babies and your mother fatally hemorrhaged when you were born, which left you in your grandmother's care. We decided to leave it at that until you were a bit older, and then you vanished. We only found you a few days ago which is why I've brought you home. I hope you will not persecute us for your father's mistakes, because you are welcome here and one of our family.”

Scrambled egg lodges in my throat with all eyes on me.

You're a fucking arsewipe! Was this really the time to bring up my lonely years of orphanages and loser foster parents?

His mouth twists, “Sorry love, I didn't mean to upset you. You have questions and I wanted to address them. It's my fault you weren't raised with people who understand you, where you are normal and not an oddity. We're of Norse heritage, descendants of the Frost giants, which is why we live on the fringes of society. Their ways are not ours, and we live in our own society away from the system belonging to humans. We are too large to blend in over the age of twenty-five and prefer to hold our own counsel regardless.”

Swallowing with difficulty, I say, “What do you mean it's your fault?”

Is it your fault I was beaten daily and sent to bed without dinner? Is it
your
fault I never heard the words I love you once my entire childhood? Is it
your
fault a foster father tried his luck with me and only my muscles and bad attitude saved me when I threatened to kill him if he laid a hand on me? Is it your fault I would never be a precious princess with Barbies and birthday parties because I couldn't keep a family longer than six months?
Is my pain
your
fault?!

Dropping his fork with a suddenness that jars all of us, Ewan stands so swiftly I go into defense mode.

“No! It's my fault that we didn't take you away as a baby. My mother decided it was best for a child to be raised by a woman who loves her, instead of here. It was a mistake, and one I shoulder willingly as
my
parents made that call. I have done my utmost to find you but you were like a ghost! Just when we'd get a lead you'd disappear again. Like you've been living on the run. You hide so well, just like an eagle should! Our camouflage works effectively so we can't be found at night, our nests are too high for any predator to find by chance. And that was you, Deliah! You fucking vanished! If you'd just stayed put for two years we might have had a chance, but...”

He sits down just as dramatically, giving me a sour stare, “I apologize.”

Adam and Alweada both look like they've had their nuts clamped under the table, their eyes large as they table-tennis between me and Ewan.

It's done. It's the past and I don't want to go there. Thinking about it just pisses me off.

I'm staring at him, bitterly disappointed that hot tears are shimmering in my eyes. It's weak and futile. Crying never made the world a better place. It never stopped the hurt from hurting.

Ewan stands again, vaulting over the wide table as easily as a sprinter taking a hurdle, gripping me out of my seat and hoisting me into his arms, squeezing me inside a grinding hug, he whispers in my ear, “I'm sorry. Please forgive me?”

Fuck! Tears just unleash, slipping out and shaming me in public.

Never show weakness. Never! It only gives your enemies one more thing to persecute you for.

I watch as the room recedes, Adam and Alweada staring after us as Ewan absconds with me, both looking confused and concerned.

Ewan puts my feet on the ground when we're alone in a side tunnel, saying with fevered urgency in a half voice, “If I'd known, if I'd had any clue, I would have waged war to get you back. I don't know how to make this better...”

“You can't. It's done. At least I know what happened to my parents now. It's haunted me, wondering why no one wanted me, why I was abandoned. I entered the system when I was three, when my grandmother passed away. It's all I've ever known.”

He steps in, folding me in his embrace again and rocking me squashed against his chest. The solid thud of his heartbeat is loud, primal, comforting, like being in a womb of muscle.

He feels so genuine that I'm fucking crying again!

This is crap; he's ruining my walls. I need them to stop me from getting mortally wounded again in the one place left where I can keep
me
safe and unharmed by the cold bitterness of human nature.

“
We're not human, Deliah. There's no shame in experiencing your emotions and being vulnerable with your own clan. We'll take the piss but it's only because we care enough to tease a smile out of you.”

Shoving at him, wriggling to get away, rage is rising in me, “Stop it! I don't want to feel this! Fuck it Ewan, I've spent my life running away from this agony! Just stop!”

He releases me, blocking the passage, saying, “Because you've suppressed your true nature in order to survive. You have to fight it out. You have to release it physically.”

“
What?” I frown, wiping away tears, damming the emotion back inside its tiny box, angry with myself, with everyone who ever hurt me when I was young and vulnerable, when I made an easy target for their frustrations and failures.

He punts my shoulder, “Hit me.”

“No!” I move to go around him, back to my breakfast, but he blocks my escape again.

“
Punch me, Deliah. Get it out. It'll make me feel better if you do.” He shoves my shoulder again, hard enough to force me to step back.

Getting annoyed I shove him back, “Get out of my way!”

“Make me,” he taunts.

“
Don't fuck with me Ewan, you'll regret it.”

His mouth wrangles into a sordid smile, “That sounds damn tempting, Liah.”

Stop it! You're the only person to call me Liah and I fucking love it, and I can't stay angry if you're cutesy with me.

Staying silent I ram my knee up. I'm more supple than a dancer as I've trained my whole life knowing no one will protect me, I have to take care of myself. Connecting with the crown jewels I expect a result, but he just stands in my way like a bloody buttress on a castle.

“Punch me,” he goads, shunting my shoulder again.

He pushes and pushes and pushes, forcing me further down the passage, until the precarious hold on my pain snaps.

It's a bad flaw, I black out when I'm angry, I go fucking berserk and never remember what I did until the rage has run its course.

Standing in a dark passage my mind goes as black as the walls and I lay into the person preventing my escape. Like a mamba provoked and cornered, I attack without prejudice.

Chapter 11

He has given me the art
He, the Wolf's Opposer,
Accustomed to battle,
Of blemish blameless.

~ Skáldskaparmal

Ewan:

Little Liah Cotton, bless your heart.

She is true to her
Ulfhednar l
ineage because she no longer hears me, locked inside her head where the only peace can be found during conflict. She's cocooned in there as she literally goes berserk. I stand still in passive silence while she attempts to inflict punishment, my blood tickling my libido into a blue-balled ache with every whallop she delivers.

She's not bad for a novice, landing some excellent shots. Unfortunately for her she won't get the satisfaction of wounding me, I'm just too solid. It takes a man of Gunn's stature to get me to bruise.

Some of our elders make me look like a ten year old, yet I make men like Napoleon look just tall enough to suck the sergeant.

Catching the laugh before it escapes I refocus on my petite terror, lashing out, breathless with her singleminded desire to inflict damage.

This is the only therapy that works on our kind. We don't have meetings, we have punch-ups. We don't stew on issues until they fester, we blow up and then the issue blows over.

Her form is correct, punching with her bones aligned so she doesn't fracture or break them on impact. She withdraws quickly, and is nimble and efficient with her moves. It's promising, because it means she'll be an easy student to teach.

If only I could get more Læraðr apple juice so she can complete her growth. Without it I can't be sure if she's grown to her full height, not that I mind her just reaching the middle of my chest. Bloody perfect, in every way.

She's so angry and pumped with adrenaline that her headlights are straining against her t-shirt, highbeaming me, and while she's completely out of her mind I appreciate the full firm breasts with nice sized nipples. Pity she didn't offer to pop one out for me to suck off the remaining Læraðr juice.

While she elbows my sternum I take the opportunity to rearrange the boys, I'm so fucking horny now my jeans are feeling tight.

Keeping my eagle eye on her, I note the moment her pupils contract back to normal. She's half gasping half sobbing, coming down from the exhuming high of exorcising her issues in a safe and therapeutic manner. Her emotions are still raw, tears and frailty shimmering her eyes, her thoughts boring me a new aorta at the memories burning through her brain.

It pisses me off. If I didn't have the threat of war knocking on the front door I'd personally take the time to visit her foster parents. I don't exist in any public record, even if they found my DNA at the crime scene they could never apprehend me. I can vanish with the flick of two wings.

She looks up at me, her bottom lip trembling, “Oh god!”

Aw, little blossom. Smiling I hook her around her waist, pulling her in, “Shhh, it's all good sweetheart. No harm done.”

She latches to me with both hands hooked on my jeans, hiding her face in my chest while flames of shame fan her thoughts.

Deliah beats herself up for losing control.

Who poisoned you like this?

“Control is overrated, darling. You needed this,” I soothe, rubbing a hand up and down her spine.

“
But... I didn't want to... I mean... fuck Ewan! You ensured Dias could never come after me and this is how I repay you?”

Plus you're a fucking badass murderer, what if you chose to retaliate?

Gritting my teeth at her thoughts, I fold my arms around her shoulders and stoop my head to her ear, “I am your chief. I will never hurt you. Ever.” Giving the mite a little squeeze of reassurance, I murmur, “You are safe with me, Deliah. You can go ballistic as often as you want and we'll cheer you on, not berate or discipline you. We understand, because this is our way of getting rid of negativity and neutralizing drama. You can't hurt me no matter how hard you try.”

Not physically, my heart's another matter altogether.

Fuck, why the hell is everything so damn complicated.

Digging in my pocket I pull out the handkerchief I placed in it this morning, just in case this scenario arose.

I dab under each of her eyes and give her a little peck on the cheek, “There, don't you feel a little better?”

She nods, laughing in a mildly hysterical pitch.

I gesture for her to take the hankie, “Deliah Cotton you are one of us, welcome into the fold. Now, let me show you around this joint. It'll give you time to calm down before we go back and harass Lloyd for a fresh plate of scrambled egg.

She leans in again, drying her eyes, two beautifully hard nipples pressing into my waist with the soft bulge of a delicious woman. Surprising me she inhales deeply, her forehead leaning against the bottom of my pec, as if she's trying to burn me to memory.

Well look at that. Ha!

Keep that up little lady and I'll be kissing you up against that pillar to next Tuesday, and your shirt will be history in seconds.

Harnessing courage she pulls away, giving me a self-deprecating smile. “Thank you.”

“
Anytime. Let's walk,” I say with a smile, taking liberties and walking her with my arm around her waist. “I'm sure you are wondering why our home is so dark.”

She nods, clearing her throat of the emotional clog, “Yes akshly, I did. I thought I was in hell when I woke up here.”

“It's dead simple. Granite is the most common stone in Scotland, and for good reason because it's comprised of hardened magma. Where we are was the site of a massive prehistoric volcano. Now you must know how damn hot a volcano gets if it can melt granite at 1260ｺ centigrade.”

She looks up at me, her vulnerability enough to derail my good intentions. Clearing my own throat I put on the business voice, desperate to shut this attraction down before Gunn's even met her, saying, “The result of those temperatures made the silica in the rock as liquid as blood, and these catacombs are the result of melted rock which rapidly cooled. We're on the edge of an ancient glacier and during the ice age many air pockets were frozen inside the mountains of Caledonia, lined with this jet black obsidian. It's volcanic glass which we could re-melt if we had to because it comprises seventy percent silica.”

“It's glass?” she exhales, sounding shocked as she reaches out to touch it, her lithe graceful body bending in a distracting manner.

Leaving my side she examines it closely in the gloom, wiping her hand right down it, bending at the waist, and I turn away to prevent the urge to give her a hip jack.

Distracting myself I recite facts, anything to get my mind off where its headed, “Once this entire region was toxic because of the radioactive plutonium and thorium trapped in the granite crust, and the radon gas pockets which slowly escaped to the surface. Thorium remains radioactive for fourteen billion years, and this little shelf of the volcano is only 1.5 million years old. We're just fortunate that the last ice age which formed a glacial dam between here and Scandinavia put paid to the region's volcanic issues, being an antidote as it were, which left the bulk of the British isles and North sea a tundra; it was only 18000 years ago. It covered right to the Northern point of Scotland. This Doggerland basin was a rich hunting ground perfect for settlement as recently as 8000BCE.”

*

Deliah:

“
What happened to it?” I ask, amazed at the walking encyclopedia giving me the tourist spiel.

“
No jokes, but global warming melted the ice, raising sea levels, and covering the landmass with what is now ocean.”

“
You're pulling my leg! Global warming?”

His smile is charming, cute in a teenage boy kinda way, when he looks me over, examining my eyes as he says, “It's a natural cycle that's been progressing for thousands of years. Archeology tends to be swept under the carpet like the relative who can't stop farting at family lunch. No one talks about it and pretends if you ignore it the lingering evidence will conveniently go away, but even in Africa they've found what is now arid harsh land was once tropical, covered with foliage, and housed enormous warm weather bears and exotic animals. The climate has been in a constant state of change, ebbing back and forth in a slow cycle which outdates our records.”

“Holy fuck, who knew?” I mumble, wanting to give him a massive hug for being such a darling. He's not trying to talk through my breakdown, or get all psychiatric on my arse with platitudes and shit. He's doing just what I needed, changing the subject and leaving me with my pride intact while I compose myself.

He's a man I could so easily fall in love with. And why the hell can't I? He's perfect.

Shifting to face me squarely, he gets animated when he says, “See Deliah, this is the problem with humans. The stupid morons keep wiping out all previous records which conflict with their agenda or worldview. Anything that doesn't adhere to the thinking of the day is labeled heretic or outlawed, or just conveniently burned down the way Constantine did so well and Alexandra before him; what they are doing is destroying valuable records. Without those records humans have no ancient reference for what was once common knowledge and as factual as the sun rising every morning. Every time the new power of the day wipes out and burns the records of the past, mankind loses everything, thrown back into the dark ages of knowledge to start all over again. It's a fucking retarded way to maintain control, but there you have it. That's human logic for you. If they'd kept all records intact and protected from tyranny, humans might be prepared for the constant change of climate over the entire earth, which changes as regularly as the polar magnetism swapping around, but this is a natural cycle which spans such a vast period of time that quite frankly the only people with the record and proof of its existence now are the archeologists; and the men in power are keeping a tight lid on those findings being taught in schools. For fuck's sakes Buckland found elephant remains in the German highlands, and even in Yorkshire. That means once they could easily reach that land mass, as elephants can't climb well, and the region would have had the perfect conditions for these prehistoric creatures.”

He's passionate about historical facts. I think I've found his geek muscle and it's just as developed as the rest of them.

“Where are we?” I ask, unable to hide my grin.

“
If I had to try and pin it down precisely, I'd say right this second you're standing at the outer crust of Buachaille Etive Mor. We simply call this range the Beuckle.”

“
That sounds like you just cursed me in an ancient language.”

He laughs uproariously, “It's the name for the mountain we're dwelling within. That's its original name. Mor means great. If you want to split hairs we're currently approximately 1016 feet above sea level. It was adopted as a Fingalian source, but I would argue with that, just because the Irish sent their warriors here for training. At one time this place was so thoroughly cosmopolitan without any of the divisions taken for granted today. It's a common misconception. As usual history has the bull by the udder.”

“What the frig is Fingalian?” I ask, running an appreciative hand over the wall of volcanic glass again.

“
Simply translated it means
territory of foreigners
. But more precisely it's known as
territory of Vikings
. The word Fingal comes from Fionn gall, which translates as
fair haired foreigner
. That would be
us
because it's also a term for giant. There's even the legend of Fingal the giant from the Hebrides on Staffa Isle. The language Fingallian is a hybrid of Old Norse and Gaelic. And just because some of our kin lived in what is now modern day Dublin, history recorded it as an Irish settlement, but that's total pish.”

“
Norse?” I squeak, finding that hard to believe.

He gives me his signature scandalous smirk, pulling me close with an arm around my shoulders, forcing me to sit with him next to the glowing quartz. “Deliah, our history in these isles is legendary. The isle of Man, Orkney, Caithness, Cumbria, York, Dublin, Northcumbria, and Shetland, were all Norse territories. The king of the Picts and Scots, Kenneth mac Alpin was our ally, and we didn't leave this fair land until well into the 1200's. There was a horrific battle beyond what is now named Glasgow and it put us off to be honest. But we love it here, it's our home and we didn't stay away long.”

“What battle?” I pry in my quiet voice. He looks blistered from his lungs to his testes with the recollection. He looks in pain.

“
The Battle of Largs. We made up the bulk of King Hakon's army, not to mention our Norwegian brethren. Darling, it was Norse Scots who settled Iceland donchaknow? Just read their sagas, even our distinct horse saddles are written into them.”

I can't believe this. I'm sure he's just teasing me with his straight face on.

“I'm not falling for it,” I mutter, grinning at him conning me.