Children of the Moon 04 - Dragon's Moon

knees went weak and she would have fallen, but Eirik was there, holding her up, kissing her gently while his arms were granite hard around her. Giving safety, security and certainty that she was not alone and never would be again.
    She took several deep breaths before taking a step forward, and then another. Her traverse across the cavern was tortuously slow, but her legs were more wobbly than they’d ever been.
    They reached the pedestal together, Eirik’s strength still supporting her.
    “What will happen when I touch it?” she asked, frightened and exhilarated all at once.
    The call of the stone was so strong her hands were lifting toward it even now of their own accord.
    “I do not know.”
    Her hands curved around it and the oddest feeling surged through her, her entire body buzzing like a hive of bees. Then the image of wolves slinking through the forest flashed before her eyes. She did not know how she was so certain of it, but she knew these were MacLeod soldiers and they were close.
    “We need to go; they’re coming.”
    Eirik didn’t ask who or why, he simply dropped the torch and then picked her up securely in his arms. She clutched the Faolchú Chridhe to her chest as he rushed back across the underground stream and headed back up the tunnel.
    She didn’t protest him carrying her; the buzzing under her skin had not diminished and she did not know if she could stand on her own, much less run.
    They broke out of the dark into the huge cavern and found Lais already gone and all the standing torches extinguished. A single handheld torch gave off a dim glow from one of the tables.
    Eirik ran right past it.
    Ciara gasped, “We need the light.”
    “We do not. You are wolf, I am dragon.”
    She wanted to argue further, but his sense of urgency was her own. Whatever his Éan warriors had told him via the link he shared with them, and he would be explaining that one sometime very soon, Eirik was determined to get out of the hillside as soon as possible.
    Once they reached the narrower part of the passage, he set her on her feet. “Put the sacred stone in your purse.”
    It barely fit, but it wasn’t going anywhere from the snug enclosure, either. “It is done.”
    “Take hold of the back of my kilt.”
    She did, gripping tight in the near-suffocating darkness. Then he started to move. “Do not let go.”
    “I won’t.”
    It took far less time to reach the opening than it had coming in, but the sounds of Chrechte engaged in mortal combat spurred them both to faster movement.
    Once they broke out into the moonlit dell, the smell of blood hit Ciara. The air was redolent with it and she could not help the skip in her heart that it might be from their brethren.
    Lais and Vegar fought the MacLeod wolves in their human forms, their prowess testament to how well the Éan trained for battle. Even the healers.
    The Faol had all shifted for the fight, but even with their three wolves, they were seriously outnumbered by MacLeods.
    Eirik spun to face her and then lifted her with strength even beyond a Chrechte so she could sit high on a stone jutting out from the side of the brae. Her perch was precarious, but no wolf was going to reach her, not even a Chrechte.
    “Stay.”
    “Fight,” she countered.
    He nodded and turned, already drawing both swords. He killed two wolves with a single powerful downward arc.
    The fighting grew too close for him to use his swords and he sheathed them, his hands shifting to dragon’s claws.
    The Sinclair and Balmoral soldiers fought hard, but there were three well-trained Chrechte warriors from the MacLeod clan for every one of theirs. One of the wolves came toward her, taking a running leap at the hillside. His claws clicked as they hit the stone; he almost caught purchase but slid back down the brae.
    Not wanting to draw attention from the men fighting for their lives and hers, she did not make a sound. But she drew her dirk and held it as Talorc had taught her. The wolf tried to reach her again, this time making it a little bit closer.
    Another joined him, a huge brown cur that was too heavy to get any kind of purchase on the stone with his claws at all. Then he shifted. With a face lined in cruelty, a body honed by war and only a couple of inches shorter than her mate, he sent waves of dread through Ciara.
    “Come down, little Sinclair spy, and we might let you live.”
    She tucked her feet closer to her body and made sure none of her skirt hung over the side for him