Moonshadow (Moonshadow #1)(11)

For decades now, they had been searching and fighting, and dying, and despair might be the worst, deadliest killer of all. Ferociously he shoved that thought out of his head. Despair had no place here. It had been a long, dark battle, in the darkest of wars, but they would hold. They would all hold.

“Come on,” he said to Gawain as he handed over the canvas bag. “Distribute this so we can do what we came to do.”

They strode to the fire ring, where the others made room for them. Gareth shoved a rough sandwich into Nikolas’s hand, made of grilled sausage wrapped in bread. After rummaging in a Tesco bag, Ashe pulled out a pint of Guinness, popped the tab of the can, and offered it.

As Nikolas took the can, Ashe said, “What took you so long?”

“I got sidetracked.” He took a long swallow.

The other man frowned. “I thought you said you were going to take the M6 north.”

“Not that kind of sidetracked,” he said drily, looking around the group. “But I’m here now.”

Even though he had already eaten, he gladly tucked into the simple food, more to soak in the companionship than for need of the sustenance itself. As he ate, Gawain dug into the canvas bag Nikolas had brought and handed out thick packets of cash to everyone.

The passing of time pressed down on them, but it was good to take a few minutes to just be together. The food was hot and filling, useful since the group would be expending a great deal of energy in tonight’s work, and there would be no time to linger when they had finished.

Nikolas listened to the other men talk, their quiet, tired voices filling the clearing. For all too brief a time, the arid wasteland that had taken over his soul eased into something that felt suspiciously like warmth and comfort.

Something that felt like home.

While the men talked of their adventures over the recent months, Nikolas remained silent, watching their faces. Living isolated and constantly on the run had marked them. Once quick to laugh and joke, Cael’s profile had turned severe and closed to scrutiny. Ashe’s demeanor had turned hard and sardonic, like a sword perpetually half-pulled. And just as he had when Nikolas had hugged him, Rhys held himself back, standing slightly apart from the rest, unable to relax and join in the camaraderie.

They were worn to the bone, like lean, starved wolves caught in an endless winter, caught perpetually in a long, savage fight for survival.

I need to find a safe haven for all of us before it’s too late, Nikolas thought. Somewhere we can defend and claim as our own, at least for now, until we can find a way to break through to home. They need a place to rest and recuperate.

His thoughts were nothing new. He had been preoccupied with them for some time. It was challenging to try to find a safe, defensible haven that couldn’t be detected or breached by their enemy. Right now the longer the group remained together, the greater the danger became. That danger cut away at the most fundamental aspect of the ties of friendship and common purpose that bound them all together.

When he finished the sandwich and swallowed down the last of the Guinness, the wasteland took over his soul again, and he was filled with nothing again but purpose and strength of will.

Nikolas said, “Time’s up. Let’s go.”

Chewing the last of their food and gulping down their drinks, the others stood and strode across the clearing.

The stranded Daoine Sidhe knights of the Dark Court gathered at the ring of ancient standing stones under the pale light of the harvest moon.

Whenever the Daoine Sidhe gathered, they raised the natural energies of the world around them. It occurred involuntarily as each knight’s Power came in contact with another’s. A few knights working actively together could knock out the power grid in a large town or small city.

As a group, they couldn’t remain together for long before the Light Fae Queen Isabeau and her deadly Hounds fixed on their location and launched an attack. They were too few and the Hounds too many. No matter how many Hounds they killed, Isabeau and Morgan could create more, whereas every time one of their group died, they suffered an irreplaceable loss.

Blocked from sanctuary in their own land, they had no recourse but to live on the run and occasionally stand and fight. And, eventually, no matter how well they fought, they died.

For that reason, Nikolas had chosen the night’s gathering place at a stone circle located outside a remote village in Northumberland, more than two hundred kilometers away from any of their true concerns. Even so, they would only be able to take a precious few hours together at most before they would have to go their separate ways again. Isolation might be eating away at their souls, but it was also their most important means of survival.

From where Nikolas stood at the center of the stone circle, he watched the other knights step into their positions. Wherever the moon’s shadow touched them, something of their true nature appeared. Moonshadow always revealed truth to those who knew how to see it.

Gawain walked through the shadow of one tall standing stone, and briefly, Nikolas saw a vision of his real nature.

Gargoyle blood ran in Gawain’s veins. While he stood in the moonshadow, Gawain’s face came straight from a nightmare, and gigantic wings flared behind him. He wore chain mail armor, and a sheathed sword marked with magic runes was strapped to his back.

The next moment, the other man stepped away from the standing stone and out of the shadow. The vision faded, and his physical form appeared once again, a large, somewhat rough-looking man with strong, human features, wearing biking leathers.