Page 61 of Dorchad

They were only partly, vaguely humanoid, with bulging muscles all over their huge bodies, obscenely large genitals and the heads and claws of strange, gruesome beasts. They each stood by a large, long pale green stone that had bloodstains on them except one, on which a different version of Rebecca now lay naked. Her body looked almost ghostly, it was so white, and her hair had been caught up in a high froth of curls, only it was now the color of blood.

“That isn’t me,” she whispered, horrified.

’Tis what you shall become, my child.

The dark Fae queen appeared, her body half the size it had been in the meadow. She shed her liquid red and green gown as if she were molting out of it, revealing perfect breasts, curving hips and a thatch of glittering black hair over her sex. A large, thick penis suddenly grew out of her genitals as she mounted Rebecca, who tried to hold her off before one of the queen’s hideous guards grabbed her wrists and pulled them back, manacling them into shackles of ruby crystal.

The other guards moved to line up after the queen, as if they were queueing so they could take their turn with her.

She pressed her palms over her eyes, and still she could see the queen atop of that terrible version of herself. “Please, I don’t want to see it anymore.”

The images stopped, and when she cautiously lowered her shaking hands she stood once more in the dark gray void where the voice had first spoken to her.

She never denies herself the pleasure of a mortal bed slave. You cannae escape this fate, for no matter where or when you go, the queen shall hunt you, unless...

“Unless you save my life by fulfilling some man’s wish,” she guessed. It tore at her to think that she would never be together with Dorchad again, but the alternative was too terrifying to consider even for a second. “Can’t you just let me die?”

No, for I brought you to save one of the men needed to preserve and protect this realm. The one who wished for you.

After breaking up with Dorchad, Rebecca had grown numb, perhaps in some way mentally preparing herself for the hard, cold reality of trying to live without him. Whoever the cluet gave her to would never understand her the way the chieftain had, but he had to be better than the dark Fae queen.

“Save me,” she whispered, heartbroken, “and I’ll try to make his wish come true.”

The scene around them changed to that of Dorchad’s quarters, where he lay asleep in his bed. His lips were moving as if he were talking in his sleep.

“Can I go to him?” Rebecca asked, wishing for the chance to give him one final kiss goodbye.

You’ve but to listen.

“Why cannae I find you, sweet love? I need your light in my darkness, for I cannae bear to go on alone.” Although he was obviously still asleep, his hands fisted in the coverlet. “Come to me in my life as you do in my dreams. I must find you before I give up all hope.”

He couldnae give voice to his wish until he lost himself in the longing dreams of you. Without your love he cannae survive his loneliness. Shall you save his life?

“I’ll do whatever it takes so I can share his life and his love,” she said. “Please, let me go to him. Let me grant his wish.”

At your behest.

Rebecca fell into the dark gray void, but when she next opened her eyes she saw a very handsome man dressed in white and gold leaning over her. It seemed as if someone had poured sand down her throat, so much so that she tried to speak but couldn’t get a word out.

“Dinnae, lass,” the man said. “I cut the cloth used to hang you, but your throat, ’tis badly bruised. Rest, and breathe.”

She looked around her, and saw the scarf in two ragged pieces on the ground beside her. As soon as she reached for it, it turned black and evaporated into smoke. Then someone grabbed her off the ground, dragging her away from her rescuer, who was now staring down the length of Dorchad’s sword.

Chapter Seventeen

Seeing Fifer MacAlen crouched over Rebecca sent a terror through Dorchad that he had never thought possible he could experience. The dark blood roared in his veins as he closed the gap between them, gesturing to his twin to get the healer out of the way. He then had his sword tip poised at the laird’s throat before he even realized he’d drawn the weapon.

“Does she yet live?” he called to his brother.

“Aye,” Sgathan said, moving away with Rebecca safely in his arms.

Dorchad turned his full attention to the laird, smiling as he anticipated how many limbs he could slice off his torso before the fack would bleed out.

“’Tis the only reason you yet breathe,” he told Fifer, his chilling voice making the very air crackle as if filling with ice. “You enjoy attacking helpless females, you milk-faced bastart? Draw your blade. I shall enjoy providing your final bout.”

“I didnae harm the lady,” Fifer said, wincing as the tip of Dorchad’s blade pierced his skin. “Nor do I carry a sword.”

Seeing the blood trickling down the laird’s throat suddenly calmed him like nothing else. In the next moment this thing would be done, and he would take Rebecca back to the island and prepare for a clan war.