In the darkness, Nia felt her cheeks grow warm. «It has been a while.»

Air in the cave shifted once again as Cyric silently moved about. How could he see? She held a hand up, a mere breath from her own nose, and wiggled her fingers. She saw nothing but blackness.

«Give me your hand,» Cyric instructed.

Nia stilled. «Why?» What was this strange man about? Did he plan to rape her, mayhap kill her?

«I could do both, but will do neither.»

Anger rushed through Nia’s veins. She’d endured a lot in her twenty-two years, and threats from a stranger weren’t going to rankle her. Small in stature, she would indeed be easy prey — but she’d put up a fight for sure. «Your attempts to frighten me are useless,» Nia said, wondering how she’d managed to say her thoughts aloud.

Silence, then, «Give me your hand. I have food.»

«Oh.» Nia held out her hand.

«Dried meat. ’Tis all I have.»

Well, now she felt like a fool. «Thank you. Again.»

With a sigh, she lowered to the ground and sat. The coolness seeped through the woollen trousers she’d stolen from the guardsmen and now wore, but she couldn’t just continue to stand in the darkness. She ate in silence, grateful to have something in her belly. She only prayed it wasn’t smoked rat. It was well cooked, and salty, so she wouldna complain.

«You were running away.» Cyric’s deep, steady voice reverberated within the cave’s walls.

«I was, aye,» Nia replied. She finished her meat and pulled her cloak tightly about her. «I willna go back, no matter what you do or say. I’d rather die in this cave.»

«That may verra well happen,» Cyric said in a low voice.

Nia ignored the threat. «Why did you jump on me?»

«To keep you from falling into this pit.» His voice was closer now. «Who are you running from?»

Somehow, it caused a shiver to course through her. She wasna sure if ’twas the closeness of his voice, or the fact that she was trapped in a pit. «I’m no sure if my personal matters need be discussed. I dunna know you.»

«You may no’ ever leave this dark place alive, Nia of Clare. But suit yourself.»

«There is no way out?» Nia asked.

A sigh escaped Cyric. «Aye, but ’twill take time.»

The thought of dying didn’t exactly appeal to Nia, but somehow, she wasna fearful. And she wondered briefly why he referred to her dying, yet no’ himself. «Who are you, Cyric? Do you live close by?»

Silence filled the cave for several moments — so verra long that Nia thought the man wouldna answer. Then, he did.

«I’ve lived in Killarney Wood the whole of my life.»

Nia pondered that. Certainly he didna mean in the wood. «Then you must have heard of the legend, then? Of the Beast?»

A low laugh — more like a growl — escaped Cyric. «Aye. I have.»

«Have you e’er seen him?»

All at once, the warmth from Cyric’s body grew intimately close, crowding Nia in the already small enclosure. His breath grazed her neck as he whispered in her ear. «I am him.»

Another shiver coursed through her. «I am no’ amused, sir, nor scared.»

Cyric gave another low laugh. «You should be, girl. And I dunna mean to amuse. But we are trapped here for now. I am confessing a secret to you, Nia of Clare, and you are the only soul I’ve e’er told.» Silence, then, «I am what they call the Beast of Killarney Wood. And wi’ good reason, I suppose.»

Nia’s heart quickened. «The Beast I’ve heard tales of skinned men alive and ate their innards. It craves human flesh and fights with a fierce rage,» she said softly.

Cyric laughed. «Aye, and the Beast rips the heart out of a man wi’ its bare clawed hand as well.»

«Aye,» muttered Nia. «That too.»

Silence filled the darkened cave, only their joined breathing made any sound at all. What if his claim was true? She’d never believed in such childish lore before, even when it was used to frighten her as a small girl.

«Nia,» Cyric said, his voice low, even, «do you think me a beast?»

«Give me your hand,» Nia said. The air moved beside her, and she reached out. Her fingers grazed Cyric’s arm, and she slid her hand down until she grasped his hand in hers; she inspected it with her fingertips. Large, strong, with long fingers, she gently searched. «No claws,» she said as she touched his blunt nails, and ran her fingers over his palm. «Calluses I see,» she said, and examined the back of his hand. With her middle finger she found a plump vein, pressed it and noted its spring, and then traced it up his arm. «You seem rather strong like a beast,» she confided. «But I am no’ easily convinced of fairytale creatures.» She let his hand drop. «Or of brave knights who would die for the woman they loved, for that silly matter. Neither exists to my notion. Nay, methinks you are merely a man o’ the wood.»

Only then did Nia notice how Cyric’s breathing had quickened, and how verra close he sat to her. She was aware of his body and, somehow, she wanted more than anything to feel his touch. It surprised her to know she was fiercely attracted to him, without even laying eyes on him. Heat flamed her cheeks at the thought of it, and she smothered a smile.

«Why do you wish my touch?»

Nia’s mouth slacked open. Had she said the like aloud? Again? «If we weren’t in a life or death state o’ affairs, Cyric the Beast of Killarney Wood, I would die right here of mortification. Why must you sit so close that you hear my whispered words?»

Again, Cyric gave a light laugh. «I heard no’ a whisper — ’twas in your head that I heard your confession. What else might you wish to tell me?»

Nia blinked in the darkness, speechless. Slowly, she placed her fingers over her lips and pinched them shut — just to make sure she didna speak aloud. Then, she thought, If you can hear me, Beast of Killarney, then tap the top o’ my head.

A chuckle, then a single, solitary tap to the top of her head.

Nia jumped where she sat. «Oh! How did you do that?» He could hear her thoughts? He’d certainly just given her proof ’twas true. She’d have to be much more careful now.

«I dunna crave the innards of men,» said Cyric, his tone grave, «but I am no’ an average man. I do have a beast within me.»

Nia found she wasna fearful of this. She instead fancied his voice. It sounded young, vibrant — and ancient at the same time. Odd. «That much I can see. What are you, then? And cease entering my thoughts. ’Tis rude.»

«Why do you accept such witchery so fast?» he asked. «Most would either run away screaming, or no’ believe me at all.»

Nia sighed. «I see no reason no’ to believe. You’ve already proven you can read my thoughts. Besides, what grown man would make up such nonsense to a complete stranger if it weren’t true? Now, tell me your story.»

Cyric grunted. «Aye, ’tis so.» Silence, then, he said softly, «I am the last of my kind. And cursed to the wood for eternity.»

Nia kept quiet, waiting breathlessly to hear the rest.

«The English called us ‘berserkers’. Your ancestors called our blood-frenzy ríastrad. Our bloodlust becomes as such that we recognize neither friend nor foe. We just fight. Fight to kill.»

Well. That certainly was something. Hardly believable, but something indeed. She couldna imagine this gentle man, who’d cautiously popped her shoulder into place turning into a bloodthirsty beast. «So with all that, you canna get us out of the cave?»

Cyric laughed. «Nay. I’ve ne’er been able to control my strength. It seems only to become useful whilst I am in battle.» He seemed to think for a moment. «We were from the painted warriors. The Picts. And wi’ all that strength and fury, nay, I canna get us out of the cave.»

Nia pondered that. ’Twas nigh unto inconceivable, the thought o’ it. She’d heard of the Picts. An ancient Celtic race of fierce males. «I remember stories of the Beast of Killarney from childhood,» she said. She leaned back against the cave wall and rested her head. «Do you have markings of indigo upon your skin?»

«Nay,» Cyric said. «Black.»

«I see. Have you been here long?» She rubbed her arms vigorously. ’Twas getting colder in the cave and she began to shiver.

The sound of earth and pebbles grinding met her ears as Cyric moved next to her. Immediately, his warmth comforted her. «Centuries.» He moved closer still, and his hand found hers and stilled it. «Your skin is like ice.»

Nia ceased rubbing her arms. «Centuries? How is that possible?» She couldna fathom it. «You’ve. no one?»

«Nay.»

That admission saddened Nia to the bone. Didna matter that she, too, had been alone most o’ her life. Especially since her mother died.

Nia began shivering again, and this time her body shook uncontrollably. Then Cyric slid behind her, pulling her body against his, and he wrapped his arms about her. She let him.

«I will keep you warm,» he said, his deep voice against her ear. «Rest, Nia o’ Clare.»

Never had Nia been so intimately close with a man the whole of her life, and yet with ease she settled against Cyric’s chest, soaking in his warmth. She could tell he was quite powerful, as hardened muscles pushed against her own softness. Steel arms wrapped about her, and powerful thighs held her in place. If he was centuries old, he must look like an old man indeed; yet he felt very strong, vibrant, and she cared not about his looks. He was kind to her, and now sat trying to keep her warm. But would they truly just sit in the dark until death claimed them? Rather, claimed her?

She wondered briefly if he’d continue, should he know the truth of her own face.