Forged in Dreams and Magick (Highland Legends #1)(40)
With a deep breath, I lowered my hand. “Hello, beloved friend.”
A charge arced from the metal to my fingertip before I made contact, but the realization came slower than my momentum. The cool metal electrified me, shooting an erotic pulse into me that cascaded into an uncontrollable orgasm. I gasped, unable to remove my hand. I heard my empty coffee mug clunk onto the hard earthen floor.
Then everything went dark.
*
My lungs sucked in oxygen from air suddenly colder by a good twenty degrees. Prone on the floor, the beats of my heart raced the thoughts flying through my mind over what I’d done. A sudden adrenaline rush heightened into an acute awareness of my surroundings.
Vast darkness spanned above where the thatched ceiling had just been. A frosty, damp surface beneath me permeated my clothes, chilling the back side of my body. I slowly pushed myself off the floor into a seated position as uneasiness burned in the pit of my stomach.
Jagged gray stone formed the walls of a cave, shadows moving along its rough surface as if cast from a flame. I turned, searching out the source. Shock stuttered my heart, seizing my lungs.
Three naked men—all wearing bronze torques around their neck, their bodies armored in elaborate blue-inked tattoos—stared at me with wide eyes and open mouths. Picts? I scrambled up off the floor. One looked to be a prisoner; the other two held his arms. He looked at the box.
The box.
That damn box hadn’t finished with me yet. I should’ve knocked on the wood of the table that had held it before daring its power with my mere mortal ego.
A growl through the captive’s peeled-back lips pierced the cave, bouncing off the walls. The men released their hold of him. When they retreated, I realized they hadn’t been holding him hostage; they had supported him, preventing his fall to the ground. He’d been touching the artifact on his end—holding taut the common thread between our times.
The angered man advanced, and I backed up step-for-step. Without warning, he lunged. I spun on my heel, dashing out of the opening in the rock wall. A woman’s intuition had nothing on primal instinct—we tended to run in the opposite direction of hostile, naked men.
The night embraced me in a dark, bitter hold, an engraved invitation to the forest’s frightful festivities. Cloud cover prevented any possible moonlight from lighting a path. The absolute madness of running from one threatening situation with unknown men into another that had carnivores of the four-legged variety made me pause to think.
I turned around, reassessing what awaited me if I stayed. The trio rushed out of the cave looking enraged. As my limited options flashed through my brain, a flicker of movement caught my eye. They’d left a torch outside, lying on a rock. I’d have to close our distance by half to reach it. A deep breath prepared me for a kamikaze attempt to grab my only chance of escape.
Their bodies remained tense, springs poised to release. I advanced in slow steps, never looking away from them, but keeping the shining prize in peripheral sight. Not trusting my speed and agility against their level of fitness, I sprang the weapon of surprise at the last possible second. My heart hammered like a rabbit’s as I snatched the torch, pivoted, and bolted off, my mind processing their nonexistent reactions as I fled. The one in command had lifted his chin and crossed his arms, but not one attempted to stop me. They let me run off into the wilderness.
A clearer head would have wondered why.
The reason they didn’t give immediate chase dawned on me sometime after the second exhausting hour of forcing my way through unwelcoming brush; the uncharted journey led me nowhere quicker than it got me anywhere useful. When the growth thinned enough to ease my travel, sure footing was made almost impossible by slick, rocky surfaces.
Another helpful factoid revealed itself around that same time: torches only burn for so long. An errant burst of wind snuffed out the dying torch, casting me into total blackness. I stopped, uncertain of where to go, clueless about what place in time or space I’d been thrown. A wolf howled in the distance, chilling my spine to an icicle from the top down, but the cold remained deep in my bones as the constant wind bit through my so-wrong-for-a-hiking-adventure dress.
One tentative step forward on solid ground led to another. Slow waving of my invisible arms guided a blind expedition toward safety from the slick, rocky outcropping I’d been traversing. After several shuffled steps, my foot slipped across a slanted surface and my boot caught in a crevice. The forward momentum twisted my ankle, and I fell straight down on the unforgiving rock.
Hands, a knee, and a hip took the brunt of the hard impact, pain lighting me up. I bit my lip to prevent an outcry while the outside of my ankle throbbed with fire. Seconds passed, and a choking lump in my throat threatened to break free; but I rejected my helplessness, refusing to give the sob its needed release. At least I couldn’t hurt myself any further, sitting here alone in the dark.
As if it had been decided I’d been tortured enough, the cloud cover thinned, letting the moon’s glow shine through. Shapes emerged from the dark abyss of nothingness, giving once-cloaked surroundings shaded dimensions of black and gray.
I shifted my weight slowly to the other hip, examining my injuries. The heels of both hands were scraped and bruised, my knee flexed well enough to operate, and my bruised hip would survive. The ankle concerned me, though. Burning pain within my boot told me it had begun to swell. Tight lipped, I whimpered, giving it a full rotation. Satisfied I’d suffered only a sprain, I methodically used every ounce of balance I had and stood with the least amount of weight possible on the damaged joint.