He felt the same surge of strength that had always protected him in battle, and he used it to shield himself from their blows. And when Ana arrived, another gush of blue light destroyed his attackers.

With apparent ease, Ana used her magic to lift Cailleach’s cocoon from the ground. Again, she used the impossible bands of blue lightning to gather and imprison the hoards of monsters that Cailleach had brought forth. Rohrke guessed she was herding them away from the lake. He watched as she lifted both her arms and, in one quick movement of her hands, sent them all away, to some invisible realm far away.

Ana turned to him then. «They can do no more harm.»

Nine

Rohrke was Druzai. Untrained and undeveloped, but Druzai. The knowledge of it warmed Ana’s heart.

She might have sensed it earlier, but it had been so far beyond any expectation, she’d ignored the tingling recognition of his connection to her race.

«Will Teague relent now?» he asked, so tall and handsome, her heart clenched in her chest. Was this the way a virgin Druzai Oracle should react to a man — any man?

She nodded, her awareness of him so intense, she could barely find her voice. «The aggression of his clan will disperse within hours. He will feel naught but puzzlement at his actions of late.»

He touched her face and she closed her eyes, swimming in sensation. She remembered his every caress from her vision, and wanted to experience it in reality. She hoped to feel his hands and mouth on her. She wanted to touch him and feel his shudder of pleasure. She wished to meld with her mate and experience sòlas as other Druzai couples did.

And Ana knew she could not be the virgin Oracle.

He kissed her then, and she relaxed as he slid his arms around her, pulling her against his body. Ana reached up to his shoulders and then slipped her fingers into the hair at his nape. She had not realized how incomplete she’d felt before. Or why she’d delayed taking her vows so many times.

«There is much to do in Ballygur,» she said when he broke their kiss.

«Aye. I have a wedding to cancel. I’ll have no bride but you, Ana Mac Lochlainn. I love you, lass.»

Ana felt her heart swell in her chest. She’d never planned to wed, and yet her Druzai mate had found her in a way that she’d never expected. A very poor, but happy, Oracle she was, indeed.

Cat Adams

The Trials of Bryan Murphy

One

The 9th of October was drawing to a close, the last rays of sunset tinting the sky with shades of red and purple as the first stars twinkled. The temperature had dropped enough that the air was crisp, with just enough of a breeze to send the fallen leaves skittering across the ground. The security lights at the construction site flared to life, basking the parking lot in a flat, orange glow. There’ll be frost tonight.

Bryan zipped up his leather motorcycle jacket. He bent down and picked up a pair of stray nails. They were old, very old, not at all what they were using on this project. The heavy rust that encrusted them and their square heads told him they must have been dug up when laying the foundations. He tucked them into his jacket pocket. It wouldn’t do to leave them on the ground in the parking area. Someone would be sure to be getting a puncture.

Pulling on his helmet, he sent a thought to his wife. «I’m headed home. Get ready. Remember the party is tonight, we’re due at the pub.»

He heard her mental snort like a caress of air across his mind. «As if I’d forget. Just get you home in one piece. I’ll be ready when you arrive.»

Smiling, he climbed on to his old bike and kicked the starter. There was a time he didn’t believe in magic — couldn’t imagine he could share his innermost thoughts with one person. But then he’d met Bridget and everything changed. With a twist of his wrist the engine roared and he was headed home.

It wasn’t a long drive, only a few minutes if he obeyed the speed limits. But when he was halfway home he felt something. wrong. His heart lurched, and he fed more gasoline to the engine. «Bridget. Bridey?» He called to her in his head, but her voice, the voice that had always been so clear, was the barest echo.

«NO! I won’t! I don’t want to go! NO! BRYAN!!!»

Panic raced through him as coarse hands grabbed his wife and tugged her out of their cottage. Their home. «I’m COMING!» He opened the throttle full out, and the bike leaped forwards. The powerful engine roared, in defiance he drove with blurring speed, avoiding every pothole in the road from memory, his body crouched over the bulk of the bike to cut wind resistance. The scenery blurred, and still he tried to make it go faster.

Their house was ahead, and in the distance he saw the faint outline of tall, pale, horsemen, seemingly in ancient armour of light and shadow. There were humans thrown across each saddle like so much luggage, men and women, seemingly oblivious to their undignified position. Only one fought, struggled against her captor, her red hair seeming to blaze with her fury under the yellow light from the lamps.

Bridget!

She heard his thought, and her head turned. Her captor followed her abrupt gaze. Eyes flashing ruby red beneath his helm. His long white hair seeming to flare and float in response to his agitation. Bryan could see his lips move. In response, the raid of the fae, for that had to be what it was, leaped into the air. Their horses’ manes flickered and sizzled with energy as they flew home towards their sithen mound.

The motorcycle was a street bike. It had never been designed for trails, but it didn’t matter to Bryan. He had to catch up to them. If they got to the mound, took Bridget inside, she’d be lost to him for ever. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, let that happen. Sheer desperation made him reckless. If the ride killed him, so be it. He’d rather be dead than live without her.

Branches slapped at him, tore at his jacket, the bike bucking and jarring beneath him as he wove through the underbrush. It would be trashed after this, he knew it. But whatever. Just let it get him there, and in time. He didn’t dare look up, couldn’t take his eyes off the path he was weaving through the darkening woods, but he could feel her, still fighting — and her struggle was slowing the horse, so that her captor’s fellows rode faster, passing him by until he was the last in the line.

Up ahead there was a clearing. Through the leaves he saw pale figures and horses descend, moving down and through the seemingly solid wall of the mound in single file.

Bridey’s rider was last in line to enter the sithen, but as Bryan’s bike broke through the brush near the mound her captor finally passed through.

«NO!» Bryan roared his defiance, opening the throttle full out, forcing the damaged machine into one last charge, aiming for the narrowing crack that had served as the sithen entrance. He didn’t even hesitate, hitting it hard and fast. He’d either catch the last of the magic or be killed trying.

Pain, and more than pain, a lurching wrongness as if space and time itself shifted, and he was through, and on to pavement as smooth as glass.

He didn’t correct quickly enough from rough to smooth and the bike skittered then slid out from beneath him as he lost control. He let go as he went down, not even noticing as his body slammed hard against unforgiving stone. His jacket took the brunt of the damage, but he still saw stars. The screaming shriek of metal scraping over stone filled his senses as a shower of sparks erupted. The motorcycle crashed into the mound with a sickening crunch of metal that made the roaring engine sputter and die.

Bryan staggered to his feet, bloodied but unbowed he turned to face the crowd of armed Fae and their captives. Bridget broke loose with a fierce yank that forced her captor to his knees. She threw her arms around Bryan — weeping, but proud. So proud. He could feel it in his mind, in his very veins. «Oh, Bryan. Love, you’re hurt. And you shouldn’t have. But oh-thank-God you did!»

«Nay, you shouldna. She’s right in that.» A tall man, otherworldly in gleaming armour formed of light itself, stepped forward. He drew a sword from its scabbard, and if his armour was light, then the blade was darkness itself. «And you shall pay for the insult.»

A harsh laugh bubbled out of Bryan before he could stop it. «You speak of insult? A common thief, ye are — stealing a wife as you might fruit from a tree. You’ve no honour to be damaged.» Bryan shoved his wife behind him. He had no weapon, but he’d protect her with his body to his last breath.

The eyes of the swordsman began to glow with red-hot anger, so bright it tinted his hair. The fae advanced, blade forwards in a thrust position. There was nowhere to run that wouldn’t endanger Bridget, so Bryan held his ground stubbornly. Perhaps being run through with a sword in the fairy world wouldn’t hurt as bad.

The fae raider’s arm moved back to strike, the finely honed bicep readying for the blow. A light trembling took over in Bryan’s muscles, a product of his flight instinct being overwhelmed by his need to protect his wife.

He thought back to just a week before, when he’d found her crying quietly at the stove, dripping salty tears into the cabbage stew. He touched her face, wiping away tears in those beautiful polished-copper eyes and smiled. «Aye, and what’s troubling you, lass?»

Her voice was so sad when she spoke that it nearly broke his heart to hear the sound. «Promise you won’t forget me when I’m gone.»