Stone Guardian par Maeve Greyson
Stone Guardian
Description
Be careful what you wish for… All he wanted was to change his fate. All she wanted was a new beginning. They both got just what they asked just not like they planned. When the gods realize the beast they unleashed should never have been unshackled, they throw together modern-day Emma and ancient Torin to set the world aright. Now the mismatched pair must fully embrace their powers, meld them and send the demon back to his hell. But what Emma and Torin don't realize is there's a troubling side-effect to melding magic. Hearts tend to get tangled too even when the two souls aren't comfortable in each other's worlds.
Chapitre 1
Apr 9, 2022
Chapter One
Callanish Stones
Isle of Lewis—940 BC
Torin traced a calloused thumb along the edge of the blade. Cold. Sharp. Final. A shuddering breath shook through him as metal sliced skin. He would do this. It was only right. The familiar haft spun easily in his palm. The old friend who had served him so well in countless battles would serve him one last time. He turned the knife and settled the glinting point against the scarred indentation just below his breastbone. It was time. With a sharp upward thrust, he shoved the steel into his flesh. The excruciating burn chased the air from his lungs. Torin closed his eyes. He deserved this. Sucking in a shallow, agonizing breath, he forced the knife deeper until the twisted knot of the worn hilt jammed to an abrupt stop.
Justice served. He deserved to suffer, deserved the agony of a slow, bitter end for all he had cost his wife. The palpating sear ripped through him, shoving him forward into a stumbling shuffle. With a tensed jerk of shaking hands, Torin clutched at the leather-bound handle of the dagger wedged beneath his rib cage. A guttural roar ripped from his throat as he guided the blade across his torso forcing it through his gut.
A steady flow of warm crimson wetness streamed across his knuckles. So much blood. The end should come soon. Torin shook his head, blinked hard against the darkening fog of dizziness, and lunged forward until he landed hard on his knees.
A different pain stung across his shins. Scattered remnants of gray shale bit into his bare legs. The razor sharp slivers of Lewisian gneiss littered the ground all around him waiting to chew into his flesh. As he wavered from side to side, the recriminating stones slashed open his legs, clawed into the sides of his calves. Good. He deserved the judgment. The rubble from the ancient spires knew the truth.
Memories of Eilean’s panic-stricken face shoved aside the excruciating pain gnawing through his gut. The pallor of her dying body flashed before his eyes. Gooseflesh rippled across his tattooed forearms at the memory of her touch. The iciness of her weak grasp still chilled him to the bone.
Torin’s heart pounded harder against the raw painful memories. The frantic drumming drowned all other sound, roared a hollow keening in his ears. A raven’s gurgling caw broke through, echoed from atop the nearest monolith. Torin blinked slowly against the dim surroundings and lifted his face to the sky. The bird sounded so far away. Did the feathered demon call from the next reality?
A slow-spreading stain soaked through his plaid, dripping with a sickly plop from the fold clinging wet against his thigh. Torin stared at the widening darkness of the flowing blood. Eilean had clutched that very crease when she’d pulled him down to her pallet. Her hand had trembled as she gasped out the words and writhed in pain upon the soiled mat. She’d begged him to save her. Her last moments sliced through him, causing more pain than the dagger buried in his body. Torin growled against the tormenting visions, shaking his head with a violent jerk. Why did the end tarry so? How much longer must he endure the cruel reminders of how miserably he had failed the most important person in this life?
How many times had Eilean told him she feared the prospect of motherhood? The mere mention of bearing a child had struck terror in her soft gray eyes. ’Twas so unfair. How could one unforgettable moment of passion cost him his very reason for living? Damn the gods and damn their ways of finding amusement. They had most certainly turned their faces from him just to plague him with endless pain.
The stark hillside spun around him. The gray of the sky faded in and out of the blackened outline of the nearest spire. The uneven horizon of the rolling landscape taunted Torin’s senses. He lurched sideways, his knees pushed deeper into the shale. He staggered across the cold unforgiving earth.
The coppery tang of blood flooded his mouth. A warm wet trickle of the choking liquid spilled from the corner of his lips and coursed down his jaw. A breath-stealing spasm ripped through his chest, sparking brilliant bursts of light through his darkening vision. Collapsing forward, he sank his hand wrist deep into the ravenous shards before he rolled to his side. The stones. He must see the sacred stones one last time before the blessed darkness came. At least he’d be found beside his sentinels, the precious gateway he’d guarded all his life.
“Ye will not die, Torin. I will no’ allow it. I will no’ waste ye on a vain, selfish woman unfit to perpetuate your bloodline.” Jagged streaks of glowing-white lightning shattered the midnight sky. An irritated voice laced through the resounding thunder, rumbling across the vacant hillside like boulders spilling from a wagon.
Torin groaned and sucked in a hissing breath between gritted teeth. “Leave me die in peace, Cailleach na Mointeach. My wife’s blood stains my hands and calls out for justice.” Torin attempted to swallow. Instead, the flow of blood choked him. He coughed and spat against the bitter taste of the briny flow streaming into his mouth. “She begged me to bring old Graena to her. The wise woman wouldha helped her save the bairn. The witch wouldha saved my poor wife from death’s cruel clutches.”
Torin coughed again, fighting to wheeze in a gasping breath as he twisted blindly across the ground. A fresh burst of pain inflamed his lungs, cutting off his words as it pumped precious air from his body. Suffocating fluid filled his chest. Surely his soul was about to free itself of this torturous shell. A buzzing pressure hummed louder in his ears. He flinched into a tighter curl in the warm pool of sticky blood inching its way across the ground.
Mayhap the Cailleach would grant him passage to the other side if he could just make her understand Eilean’s fears. A violent shudder racked Torin’s body. Sight left him, plunging him into a roaring darkness. Icy stiffness tightened bands around his arms and legs, twisting them into jerking numbness. Hell’s fire. Hopefully, ’twould be warmer on the other side. Well—mayhap not too much warmer.
“The woman died because she took an herbal to rid her body of the babe and poisoned herself instead. The only reason the wench feared having a child was because she feared losing your warriors’ attentions.” A blinding streak of lightning spilled from the clouds and exploded into the ground. Angry thunder shook the earth. “Damnation, Torin. The child in her belly didna even hold a trace of your blood. Did ye no’ believe the rumors? How many times did she leave ye alone in your bed? How many times did ye witness her whorish glances toward every man in your keep? Yer a fool, Torin. Ye always were when it came to your fickle Eilean.” Blue-white lightning repeated across the sky in an assortment of frenzied bursts. Bone-shaking booms of rolling thunder rattled the stone obelisks dotted along the barren hillside until the blocks swayed in the wind.
Torin flexed his stiffening limbs. Tingling numbness plagued his fingers. He struggled to close his bloodied fists tighter around the haft of the knife and closed his mind to the Cailleach’s words. No. She couldna be right. Eilean died out of fear from a terrible mistake. She died while trying to set things right. She had told him many times she never wanted children. But once Torin found she carried his child, he knew she could never rid herself of his bairn. He knew they had finally found the closeness so many in his clan shared.
Turning his face to the ground, Torin pressed his forehead against hard-packed earth, concentrating on the pointed stones biting into his skin. He had heard the rumors. Vicious lies stirred due to Eilean’s beauty compared to his badly scarred face. His Eilean would never stray. If he had just fetched old Graena when Eilean had called out, perhaps the wise woman couldha saved his precious wife from the results of the deadly herbs.
The burn in his chest eased a bit as welcome numbness chased away any remaining sensations from his thrumming flesh. The end must be near. He strained against the darkness closing in on his mind. He must convince the Cailleach of his wife’s virtue before he finally escaped this miserable world and the Cailleach’s controlling clutches. “Yer wrong, Cailleach. Once she found she carried my child, she took the herbs to strengthen the babe. She told me so herself. I shouldha left her side and ordered the woman fetched but I stood too paralyzed by fear. ’Twas my fault she died in my arms.”
“I refuse to argue with a lovesick idiot incapable of seeing the truth.” The wind picked up and stirred loose dirt into angry whirlwinds stinging across his body. “Nor will I allow the chieftain of my stone guardians to pass from this existence because of the stupidity of a selfish whore. I deny ye the right to move on from this world, Torin. I shall place ye in stasis instead. Ye have a great deal of unfinished business upon this plane. Yer entire clan has evolved into a great disappointment that’s forced my hand to set it right.” Thunder sounded like the clapping of a thousand pairs of hands. “The lot of ye has chosen this vicious cleansing. Ye’ve chosen what yer about to endure.”
Velvety darkness filled his mind and splintered into blinding white explosions of light. Torin exhaled. Breathing came easier as his cramping muscles relaxed. The pain left him. As a soothing fog washed over his body, he focused on the familiar haft of the knife still clenched in his icy grasp. So weary. He mustn’t give himself over to the seduction of the Cailleach’s spell. What did she mean by a vicious cleansing? His arms felt so heavy—so cumbersome, as though they weighed as much as his blessed standing stones. He relaxed his grip, allowed his hand to drop to the ground and sank into the fog’s embrace.
Stone Guardian
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