Time Masters Book One; The Call (An Urban Fantasy, Time Travel Romance) (20 page)

She responded, looking at him, then to her own feet, and moved them experimentally.
One foot forward, followed by the other.

“That’s it, lass. Come to me,” Dallan breathed, his elation mounting, not able to believe that one of them was actually able to move now.

She took a few more steps, and his whole body tensed with fear that the immobility wou
ld return, but
at least
she would
be closer to him.

For Dallan, it was agony. He strained against th
e longing, the emptiness, fulfi
llment just feet away, getting closer with each s
mall step. Now she stood not fi
ve feet from him. Dallan frowned; why did she not come closer? He gave her a reassuring look, noticed the caution in her eyes, and frowned deeper.

By the Saints, was she afraid of him?

She swallowed hard, confi
rming his suspicions. He softened his look as much as he could. “Dinna be afraid,” he whispered, “I wilna hurt ye,
M’eudain.”
The Gaelic endearment ‘my little one’ came naturally to him, as if meant for her.

She trembled in response, and took another step closer, never taking her eyes off him. She reached a hand cautiously forward as if to touch him, but quickly withdrew it, tucking it close to her chest, looking as though deciding whether or not to try again.

Dallan motioned her to come forward with one hand. Just another step, perhaps two and he could take her and be gone from this horrible place. Just one more step…

She took one… two?

Dallan reached out… and…
got her!

She shuddered involuntarily as he pulled her close and clutched her to his chest as if she might disappear. He groaned as his body shook w
ith relief,
then
suddenly wondered if he might be holding her too tightly and cautioned a look at her. She was frightened, but also thrilled, as if she’d just remembered who he was.

This encouraged Dallan, and he swept her into his arms, hungry to have full possession of her. “Dinna be afraid,
M’eudain
. Yer safe now.” He felt her relax, whether from his words or his voice he had no idea. At the moment, he didn’t care. Holding her was all that mattered now, that and getting out of wherever they were. But all he could do for the moment was hold her, reveling in the wondrou
s feeling of being suddenly, fi
nally
,
complete.

By the Saints, he held one o’ the Faerie folk
in his arms! He wondered briefl
y if she had used som
e sort of magic on him but suddenly didn't care.
She could wrap him up in as many of her spells as she wanted. He would go willingly, now understanding the stories told to him of people having disappeared into enchanted woods, never to return. Nay, he didn’t care, not so long as the wholeness was there, the feeling of completion, the emptiness banished, hopefully forever.

He held her as
tightly to himself as he could and murmured to her
softly in Gaelic. He scanned their ravaged surroundings, looking for a safe route to take her away from the horror they were in, but found none. Each street appeared as badly battle-worn as the next, many buildings looking like they could collapse at any time.

Dallan decided it best to start moving, to do anything other than stand there, especially now that the lass in his arms showed signs of apprehension. “Let us leave this place,
m’F
l
ur
.”
His voice was gentle, calling her “my Flower,” ceasing the tremors running through her. She reminded
him of a beautiful and rare fl
ower he’d seen once in a garden in France.

He held her tighter
, made
to move and discovered he was still immobile. He cursed to himself in Gaelic, allowing the lass to see his warrior’s side, scanning the area, forcing
himself
to ignore the need to comfort her. He needed all his senses alert for other things, most importantly to protect her.

The hairs on the back of Dallan’s neck suddenly
rose
, a sure sign trouble approached.
He knew something
,
someone was out there
. Watching them.

The lass heard i
t before he did, her body stiff
ening as she looked to the nearest street, eyes wide. He followed her gaze as she drew closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and s
houlders, her breaths coming in short, panicked gasps.

Dallan read her sudden change and began to speak soothingly in Gaelic again, never taking his eyes off the smoke hazed street in front of them.

Waiting.

Times I remember, images the same,
I have been here before.

My heart yearns at the mention of your name,

Th
e faintest whisper of your voice.

This smell is like the fl
esh of a rotting corpse

Yet has an irresistible sweetness, one
which
cannot be ignored.

Firm is my
stance however my heart will fl
ee,

For I stand on the banks of fi
ery confusion

Shadows of a great cataclysm…

David Gingrich

CHAPTER TEN

Dallan heard the thing moments before it rounded the side of the building in front of them. The metal carriage stopped more than a hundred yards away and faced them. Th
e strange noises it emitted
echoed off the buildings that lined the wide str
eet, sounding like a challenge. 
As if
daring him to set the lass down.

The Weapons Master swallowed hard, knowing he would hav
e to let her go if he was to fi
ght the thing, whatever it was.

The carriage began to slowly move toward them. He quickly put the lass on her feet but did not relinquish his tight hold, his fear of losing her still at the forefront. The steel box-like carriage let go a loud roaring sound, and the lass jumped against him with a gasp of panic. He narrow
ed his eyes on the monster, off
ering his own challenge as he clutched her tighter and murmured in Gaelic to quiet her.

The metal monster drew closer.

Dallan tried to make his legs move, Nothing. “Ye may ha
’ to run, lass,” he told her fi
rmly as he looked
into her frightened eyes. Fear had control of her now, making her grip his arms as if they were her only
lifeline
.

The steel mons
ter stopped
now fifty yards from them and
again off
ered
up its vibrating roar of challenge.

Dallan quickly pushed the lass, grabbing her wrists in one hand, still unwilling to let her go completely, but prepared to get her out of harm’s
way.
“Get ready to run, run as fast as ye can,
M’eudain,
to yon building there beside ye! ‘
Tis not burning.
Dinna stop no matter what happens. Just get yerself away from that…
thing
!”

She gave him a pleading look and shook her head in desperation as she tried to struggle closer, not wanting to leave him. She knew he could not yet move, and if he couldn’t move and the monster charged…

“Be still, lass!” He commanded, and she froze, unable to resist the natural instinct to obey him. He crouched slightly, preparing himself though still unable to move his feet.

The metal monster charged.

“Run!” Dallan commanded as he shoved the lass toward the nearest bit of safety, a ragged building across the street. She ran toward it, faster than he thought anyone could run.

But it wasn’t fast enough.

The monster—carriage
?—
let out a horrible screech as it turned suddenly, skidding across the black street, screaming after the lass like a banshee, bearing down for the kill.

“NO!” Dallan screamed, his feet frozen in place, helpless to do anything but watch as the monster carriage rea
ched the building’s entrance fi
rst, blocking her path. Unable to stop in time, she slammed into its side as it screeched to a stop, bounced off the metal fr
ame and landed hard on her back.  The
breath
knocked from her lungs, she lay there
motionless.

“Get up, lass!” Dallan shouted.
“Get up!”
R
elief fl
ooded him when he
saw her head
move slightly and one hand rise
up confusedly in
the air.  B
ut his face fell as her h
and dropped back to the ground, her body still now.

The monster-carriage remained motionless.

“Get up,
M’eudain…
” Dallan heard th
e desperation in his voice before he
noted another sound, an odd grating noise.

A strangely dressed woman was getting out of the carriage! She was tall, blonde and beautiful, her clothes obviously well made, but leaving more skin b
ared
than
covered; her tight fi
tting red skirt barely reached her knees. Right now her dress mattered not; what did matter was that his lass lay helpless against this new arrival.

The woman b
ent over the limp form, studied
her, then stood and looked at Dallan, a triumphant grin on her face as two men, also strangely dressed, emerged from the… carriage. She motioned to the lass with one hand.

Dallan’s muscles tensed as he realiz
ed what was about to happen. Th
ey were going to take her. She would
once again be gone from him. Th
e
empt
iness struck him like a huge fi
st, knocking him to the ground in pain. “No… ye canna take her! I wilna let you!
Stay away from her!”

The woman’s grin widened and she laughed at him, an evil laugh. Its echo ricocheted off the surrounding buildings with eerie precision, and sliced through him to chill him to the bone.

“No… ye canna take her!” he croaked, the pain from the growing emptiness
now too powerful for him to fi
ght, his strength once again yanked from his body.

One of the men bent to the lass, picked her up and turned to Dallan, displaying her helpless form and laughing the same sadistic laugh as the woman. The sound burned its way into Dallan’s mind, lodging itself in his memory as if to be able to torment him later. To remind him that he had failed again to protect one he loved. Just like Alasdair…

The once powerful Weapons Master, now overwhelmed by despair, watched helplessly as the man holding his lass carried her to the carriage and put her inside. “No, dinna take her from me.”

The strange woman held her chin up in triumph and let her ice-blue eyes bore into him a moment before she turned and got into the carriage. Dallan’s face fell in utter defeat. “
No… no…
”

He raised his head sli
ghtly as he heard
footsteps approaching. One of the men was making his way toward him, a pleased look on his face. He stopped directly in front of Dallan, just out of arms reach.

“Well, well, well,” the man spoke bemusedly. Dallan’s eyes narrowed to slits at the sound of the clipped English accent. “So this is the all-powerful Weapons Master of Muirara I’ve heard so much about? Not so powerful now, are you?” He circled Dallan laughing lightheartedly.

Dallan stared coldly at the stranger, memorizing his face, marking it for death. His blonde hair was collar-length, and he sported a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. His build was similar to Dallan’s, though easily several inches shorter.
He dressed a bit fi
ner than the other man placing him in a higher class. In short
well-dressed
, well-groomed, probably well-educated and seemingly well-informed. “Give the lass back to me,” Dallan demanded as threateningly as he could, his strength nearly gone.

The man chuckled. “Sorry, old boy, but that just isn’t possible.”

The stranger’s manner, Dallan noted, was that of nobility. His calm controlled stance meant he was extremely dangerous, unpredictable. “Who are you?”

The man raised a brow in amusement. “Ah, you can speak properly. I guessed as much. Julia thought you’d be more a savage.” He looked to the carriage as the woman motioned him to join her and the other man inside.

“Well, I must be going. I do look forward to our next meeting. Pity it will be the last. I rather enjoy seeing you like this, on your knees before me.” The man chuckled low in his throat, his brown eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Bringing the Maiden to
her
knees will be a much more
pleasurable experience, I’m sure. So if you will excuse me?” He gave Dallan a formal bow.