The Dark-Hunters (98 page)

The next thing he knew, he had four bullet wounds in his side and a cop screaming at him to freeze.

At first, he’d intended to let them arrest him and then call Nick to bail him out, but when one of the cops had hit him across the back with his nightstick, all good intentions had gone straight to hell.

His days as a whipping boy were over.

No one was ever going to touch him again.

*   *   *

Sunshine sat outside Talon’s cabin, working on the paintings Cameron Scott had commissioned from her. While Talon slept inside, she’d been out here for hours, trying to figure out why she was still here with him in his swamp.

Why she had come out here with him last night when she should have just gone over to her brother’s.

Her revelation about their past life together had really freaked her out.

She had been his passive, June Cleaver wife …

Sunshine shivered. She didn’t want to be anyone’s wife.

Not any more.

Marriage was a losing venture for a woman. Her ex-husband had taught her well that guys didn’t want a wife so much as a maid who could provide them with sex on tap.

An artist like her, Jerry Gagne had seemed the perfect match. They had met in art school and she had fallen in love with the moody, mysterious goth chicness of him.

At that time in her life, she had loved him zealously and couldn’t imagine a day without him in it.

She thought they were two comfortable peas who could carve out a pod that would last them for the rest of their lives. She’d assumed Jerry would understand her need to create and that he would respect her and give her the room she needed to grow as an artist.

What Jerry had wanted was for her to take care of him while
he
grew as an artist. Her needs and desires had always taken a backseat to his.

Their marriage had lasted two years, four months, and twenty-two days.

Not all of it had been bad. Part of her still loved him. She’d enjoyed having company and someone to share her life with, but she didn’t want to go back to being the one who was responsible for where someone else put his socks—she could barely remember where she put her own socks. Dropping her projects and going to the store because someone forgot to get the eggs that he had to have for his homemade paints.

It was always her plans that changed. Her stuff that could wait.

Jerry had never made any kind of concession to her.

She didn’t want to lose herself to a man again. She wanted her own life. Her own career.

Talon was a great guy, but he struck her as a creature like herself. A loner who valued his privacy. They had had a great time so far, but she was sure they weren’t compatible.

She was someone who actually liked to get up and paint in the daylight. Talon stayed up all night long. She loved tofu and granola. He loved junk food and coffee.

She and Jerry had kept the same schedule, had all the same likes, and look what had happened. If they couldn’t make a go of it, then it certainly didn’t bode well for any kind of real relationship with Talon.

No, she needed to get back to her life.

As soon as he got up and they ate, she was going to tell him to take her home.

*   *   *

Talon sighed in his sleep. It had been a long time since he had last dreamt of his wife. He hadn’t dared. Thoughts of Nynia had always had the ability to tear his heart out.

But today, she was there with him. There in his dreams where they could be together.

His throat tight, he watched her sitting before his hearth, her belly distended with his child while she sewed clothes for the baby. Even after five years of marriage and a lifetime of friendship, she was able to stir his blood and make his heart swell with love.

Growing up under his uncle’s scornful eye and the disdain of the clan, he had only found her to give him comfort. She alone had made him feel loved.

He listened to her hum the same lullaby his mother had once sung to him when he was a very small child.

Gods, how he needed her. Now more than ever before. He was weary of fighting, weary of the demands his people had placed upon him since the death of his uncle.

Weary of hearing the whispers about his mother and father.

He was a young man, but tonight he felt ancient. And cold.

Until he looked at Nynia. She warmed him deep inside and made everything better.

How he loved her for it.

Moving forward, he sank down in front of her chair and placed his head in her lap. He wrapped his arms around her as he was wont to do and felt the baby kick his arm in protest.

“You’ve returned,” she said gently, brushing her hand through his hair.

He didn’t speak. He couldn’t. Normally he would have bathed the blood from his armor and body before he sought her out, but the grief of the day was still too raw in his heart.

He needed to feel her gentle, soothing touch on his body, needed to know that for the moment she was safe and still with him.

Only she could ease the aching pain inside his heart.

His aunt was dead. Mutilated. He’d found the body when he’d gone to look for her after she didn’t show up for the midday meal.

If he lived an eternity, he would never forget the grisly sight. It would live inside him along with the memory of his mother dying in his arms.

“It’s the gods’ curse,”
Parth had whispered earlier that evening, not knowing Talon was close enough to hear him speak to his brother.
“He is the whore’s son. She lay with a Druid to beget a cursed lineage and now we’ll all pay for it. The gods will punish us all.”

“Do you wish to challenge Speirr’s sword for leadership?”

“Only a fool would challenge one such as he. Not even Cuchulainn could equal him.”

“Then you’d best pray to the gods that he never hears you.”

Talon clenched his eyes shut, trying to dampen the whispers that had haunted him all the days of his life.

“Speirr?” Nynia stroked his face. “Are they all slain?”

He nodded. After he had brought his aunt home, he had gathered his men and ridden after the Northern Gaul tribe. He’d found one of their daggers near her body and had known instantly they were responsible.

“I really am cursed, Nyn.” The words stuck in his throat. After a lifetime of trying to prove to others that he wasn’t cursed for his parents’ actions, he was now cursed because of his own. “I should have listened to you when my uncle died. I should never have taken vengeance against the Northern clan. Now all I can do is fear what their gods will take from me next.”

But in his heart, he already knew. There was nothing on earth more precious than the woman he held.

She was going to die.

Because of him.

It was
all
his fault. All of it.

He alone had brought the wrath of the Northern clan’s gods down upon their heads.

There was no way to stop it. No way to keep her by his side.

The pain of it was more than he could bear. “I have offered up sacrifices to the Morrigán, but the Druids tell me it isn’t enough. What more can I do?”

“Maybe this is the last. Maybe it will end now.”

He hoped so. The alternative …

Nae,
he couldn’t lose his Nynia. Their gods could have anything but her …

Talon groaned as his dream shifted forward, into the future. He held his wife as she labored to bring their baby into the world.

They were both covered in sweat from the fire and hours of exertion. The midwife had opened a window and let in a cool breeze from the snow that was falling outside.

Nynia had always loved the snow, and the weather had given them both hope that maybe everything would work out. Maybe the baby would be a new chance for all of them.

“Push!” the woman ordered.

Nynia’s fingernails bit into his arms as she gripped him and screamed. Talon placed his cheek to hers, holding her close and whispering into her ear. “I’ve got you, my love. I’ll never let you go.”

She groaned deep and then relaxed as their son rushed out from inside her, into the hands of the midwife.

Nynia laughed as he kissed her cheek and hugged her tight.

But their joy was cut short as the child refused to respond to the old woman’s attempts to wake him.

“The babe is dead.” The woman’s words rang in his head.

“Nae!”
he snarled. “He sleeps. Rouse him.”

“Nae,
my
triath.
The child is stillborn. I’m truly sorry.”

Nynia wept in his arms. “I am so sorry, Speirr, that I couldn’t give you your son. I didn’t mean to fail you.”

“You didn’t fail me, Nyn. You could never fail me.”

Horrified and heartbroken, Talon held Nynia close as the midwife washed and dressed their son’s small body.

He couldn’t take his gaze from the babe.

His son had ten tiny fingers, ten perfect toes. A mop of thick, black hair. His face was beautiful and serene. Perfect.

Why did the child not live?

Why did he not breathe?

Grinding his teeth to stave off the pain, Talon willed the child to wake. Silently demanded his son to cry out and live.

How could something so perfect not breathe? Why couldn’t the baby move and squall?

He was their son.

Their precious babe.

There was no reason why the child should not be alive and well. No reason other than the fact that Talon was a fool.

He had killed his own son.

Tears welled in his eyes. How many times had he held his hand over Nynia’s stomach and felt the strength of his son’s movements? Felt the loving pride of a father?

They had marked the days to the baby’s birth. Had shared their hopes and dreams for him.

And now he would never know the boy who had already won his heart. Never see the child smile or grow.

“I am so sorry, Speirr,” Nynia murmured over and over again, weeping.

He tightened his arms around her and whispered words of comfort. He had to be strong for her. She needed him now.

Kissing her cheek, Talon forced his tears away and offered her solace. “It’s all right, my love. We’ll have more children.” But in his heart, he knew the truth. The god Camulus would never permit a child of his to live, and Talon would never again put Nynia through this. He loved her too much.

He was still holding her an hour later when all the color had faded from her face. When the last of his hopes had shattered and left him bereft of anything except resounding agony.

Nynia was dying from blood loss.

The midwife had done all she could, but in the end she had left them alone to say their goodbyes.

Nynia was leaving him.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t function.

She was dying.

Talon had picked Nynia up and cradled her against him. He was covered in her blood, but he didn’t even notice. All he could think of was keeping her with him, making her well.

Live for me!

He willed his own life force into her body, but it wasn’t enough.

Silently, he bargained with the gods to take anything else—his life, his lands, his people. Anything. Just leave him his heart. He needed it too much to lose it like this.

“I love you, Speirr,” she whispered softly.

He choked.

“You can’t leave me, Nyn,” he whispered as she shivered in his arms. “I don’t know what to do without you.”

“You will take care of Ceara as you promised your mother.” She swallowed as she traced his lips with her cold hand. “My brave Speirr. Always strong and giving. I shall wait for you on the other side until Bran brings us together again.”

He closed his eyes as tears seeped past his control. “I can’t live without you, Nyn. I can’t.”

“You must, Speirr. Our people need you. Ceara needs you.”

“And I need
you.”

She swallowed and looked up at him, her eyes full of fear. “I’m scared, Speirr. I don’t want to die. I feel so cold. I’ve never gone anywhere without you before.”

“I’ll keep you warm.” He pulled more furs over her and rubbed her arms. If he could just keep her warm, she would stay with him. He knew she would …

If he could just keep her warm.

“Why is it getting dark?” she asked, her voice trembling. “I don’t want it to be dark yet. I just want to hold you for a little while longer.”

“I’ll hold you, Nyn. Don’t worry, love. I have you.”

She placed her hand against his cheek as a single tear fell. “I wish I had been the wife you deserved, Speirr. I wish I could have given you all the children you wanted.”

Before he could speak, he felt it. The last expulsion of breath from her body before she went limp in his arms.

Enraged and heartsick, Talon threw his head back and gave his battle cry as pain tore through him. Tears fell down his face.

“Why!” he roared at the gods. “Damn you, Camulus. Why! Why couldn’t you just kill
me
and have left her in peace?”

As expected, no one answered. The Morrigán had abandoned him, left him alone to face this pain.

“Why would the gods ever help a whoreson like you, boy? You’re not fit for anything except licking the boots of your betters.”

“Look at him, Idiag, he’s pitiful and weak like his father before him. He’ll never be anything. You might as well let us kill him now and spare the food to nurture a better child.”

The voices of the past whipped through him, lacerating his aching heart.

“Are you a prince?”
He heard Nynia’s childhood voice from the day he had saved her from the rooster.

“I am nothing,”
he had answered.

“Nae,
my lord, you are a prince. Only one so noble would brave the fearsome rooster to save a peasant.”

She alone had ever made him feel noble or good.

She alone had made him want to live.

How could his precious Nynia be gone?

Sobbing, he held her and the baby for hours. Held them until the sun was shining bright outside on the snow and her family begged him to let them make preparations for the burials. But he didn’t want to prepare them.