Page 11 of Storm Dragon
When he looked up, the determination and unwavering faith he had in the words he read were living and breathing within and all around him as he continued, “Lads, you must never forget that nothing worthwhile is ever easy. You are among a group of Elite Warriors who have been blessed with the soul of an Ancient Dragon King. You will be heroes, and your Mates will fight right alongside you with every fiber of their beings, and only together will you have your happily ever after.”
As the Elder paused, the true gravity of what he’d said settled within Ruairí’s heart and soul. So, when Zachary’s eyes met his, the Guardsman earnestly nodded because he knew that his future held, and he was ready. Willing and able.
“At least, I thought I was,” Ruairí whispered into the darkness. Instantly snapping back to the present, he added with more conviction, “I have to reach Tamsyn. Nothing else matters.” Tugging at the shackles holding him hostage, he growled through gritted teeth, “The skin can fall from every inch of my body. I do not care. I will reach her.”
Jerking his wrists and trying to pull his feet away from the floor of his silver coffin, Ruairí continued. “It will… grow… back.” Gritting his teeth so furiously that his jawbones cracked and his teeth made a horrible grinding sound, he grunted, “I… will… get… out of here. I… will… walk in the sun. I… I-I… will… see… my Mate… my Tamsyn.”
She was all he could think about… All he saw every time he closed his eyes… Hell, everything he saw with his eyes open was what he imagined her to be. She was everywhere and nowhere, and the only person he ever wanted to see. Being locked up, unable to reach her, to even speak to her through the bond they shared as Mates, made being stuck deep in the earth and chained and shackled so much worse than it had ever been.
“I will speak to her. I will reach her.” Exhaling every last breath from his body, forcing himself to relax, he finally whispered aloud, “It simply has to happen.”
Squeezing his eyes shut as tight as they would go, he counted the pops of light and the dark spots floating in every direction. It was something he’d been doing since childhood. Something his mother taught him to do to calm his mind, slow his racing heart, and help him find his center and enter a state of restorative meditation.
“Follow the lights, mo ghille bhòidheach,” his mother’s sweet voice echoed through his mind. “Count the dark spots. Breathe into the darkness. Listen to your heart. Make it beat in time with the flashes.” Laying a gentle kiss upon his forehead, she whispered, “As they slow, so will your racing heart.”
The bed shifted as she sat upright, and he heard the smile in her next words. “Let yourself fall into the absence of light. Float on the waves of nothingness. Search yourself, Mo chroí. There is where you will find your center, your peace, your special place of meditation.”
“There can be no peace, Màthair,” he countered the memory, the hollowness of his rage echoing within the small confines of his silver casket. “There can be nothing but single-minded focus until I have Tamsyn in my arms and know that she is safe from my enemies.”
Shutting out all thoughts of the Elven bitch who’d locked him away, the others he’d been sold to, the ones who’d tortured him, starved him, and ultimately left him to an eternal, unending agony, he poured everything he was into a single imaginary dot in the darkness. He siphoned all the good and the bad- the light and the dark, the love and the hate, the rage and the joy- into that imaginary dot, and that was when it happened. That was when he finally found the focus he needed.
Inhaling to the count of five, he held the breath for the same time, then slowly exhaled. Staring into that deep, dank darkness, he silently prayed, “Please, Great Goddess and King Sláine, the First and Greatest Dragon, grant me the strength I need.”
It was the first time in all his years of captivity that he’d called them by name. It was the only time he’d asked for anything for himself, for he knew how the gods, both Great and small, detested weakness and selfishness, but he had to reach his Mate.
“Do or die.” He spoke the words with a clarity and decisiveness he hadn’t felt in centuries- one he’d learned for the Elder, Zachary.
Inhaling once again, Ruairí quickly exhaled and left his heart and soul open to those on High, those who could lend aid and strength. One more breath and he was ready.
Everything had to be perfect. He’d tried so many times to reach out to his Mate, only to be denied and rebuffed at every turn. The Black Magic, the Sorcery, his prison had simply grown so strong over the decades and centuries that it was almost impenetrable.
But Ruairí refused to be beaten. Yes, he’d been complacent, almost given up and given in to what he believed The Powers That Be had planned for him–an endless and unceasing agony for all eternity. Then he felt the call of his one True Fated Mate and realized how very wrong he’d been. The Powers That Be hadn’t given up on him. They hadn’t forgotten him. They were simply waiting for him to be ready for the next chapter in his life. Ever since that moment, that tiny glimmer of hope, he’d done nothing else but try to contact the woman made for him by the Universe.
Forcing his eyes open when they wanted to close, wanting to escape the impenetrable darkness, he felt the last vestiges of doubt and fear flee from his mind. Everything was finally and blessedly clear.
Gathering the fleeting images of the woman who’d been made for him by the Universe- the ones he’d seen in his mind’s eye, those he’d gathered every time she was within reach-he put them together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Carefully and gently, he constructed the image of his beautiful Bobcat Queen.
Smiling despite the constant pain and sheer agony he was in, he imagined how her eyes sparkled when she smiled and nearly outshone the stars when she laughed. He held on tight to the lyrical tone of her voice and the true thoughtfulness and caring she’d exhibited, and he felt every time she was near.
Pulled into a memory so vivid, so alive that the sweet, delicate scent, almost like honey, of the Virginia Bluebells filled his senses. Their sky blue petals, arranged to perfectly form tiny bells, covered the meadow in a gorgeous Azur velvet. The playful buzz of bumblebees, the gentle fluttering of the hummingbirds’ wings, and the soft whoosh of the Monarch butterflies as they flitted from flower to flower was the soundtrack playing as Ruairí let it all unfold in the forefront of his mind. With every passing second, every beat of his heart, he felt stronger, energized, more alive than he had in centuries.
Then it started, like those strange moving pictures he’d seen the Hunters in the dungeon where they’d kept him before depositing him in the ground watching– only on this occasion he was in it…
Sitting atop the hill, he opened his senses wide and took in all that she was. He could see the red and blonde highlights amidst the long chestnut tresses of her hair and knew without a single doubt that the Goddess of the Sun had painted them there for him to admire.
The tips of his fingers tingled with the desire, the need to run through her hair, to feel the silky softness and have those bouncy curls wind around them. Her smile was brighter than the noonday sun and warmed him in places its rays could never reach.
He longed for her to look up. He wanted more than anything to see her eyes. He didn’t know why, but he was sure they were a deep brown- as rich and warm as the chocolate his mother used to give Ruairí and his brother as a treat. If he could see his Mate’s eyes, then he would know what he was seeing was real- and if it was real, he could go to her.
“It’s a memory, or better yet, a figment of my imagination- but the day will come when it is real. It will come, and I will be ready.”
Pulled back into his dream while the last word still reverberated within his prison, Ruairí imagined kissing each little freckle that dotted the bridge of Tamsyn’s nose and the apples of her cheeks. His hands, shaking with so much need that his shackles and chains rattled, ached to touch her peaches-and-cream complexion, which looked as soft as a newborn duckling's down.
She was tall and curvy, just like a woman should be. As his mind touched her for the briefest instant, he saw her insecurities and prayed for the day he could assure his beautiful Tamsyn that she was perfect in every way. His heart nearly shattered as their connection broke, and he was left wanting her more with every passing second.
“That bitch, that wretched Elven bitch,” he cursed. “Her Spell, her evil Magic, it refuses to give up.”
Pushing himself to the brink of insanity, he slid back into the fantasy. Back on the hill, with the feel of the grass under his fingers and the breeze bringing the scent of his Mate ever closer, he became impatient. The hairs at the nape of his neck stood on end as the straps of the leather cord holding back his long, thick braid in place danced along his shoulder blades.
