“I expect so. So we should be mindful and grateful when we eat.”
“What if we didn’t catch and eat them?”
“We’d be hungry more often than not.”
“Do they talk under the water?”
“Well now, I’ve never had a conversation with a fish. Here now.” Sorcha pulled Teagan’s cloak more closely around her. “It’s getting cold.” She glanced up, saw the clouds rolling over the sun. “We may have a storm tonight. Best get home.”
As she straightened, came the fog. Gray and dirty, it slunk like a snake over the ground and smothered the sparkle of the day.
Not a storm coming, Sorcha realized. The threat was here already.
She pushed Teagan behind her as Cabhan rose out of the fog.
He wore black picked through with silver like stars against a midnight sky. His hair waved to his shoulders, an ebony frame for his hard and beautiful face. His eyes, dark as a gypsy’s heart, held both power and pleasure as he scraped them over Sorcha.
She felt them, like bold hands on her skin.
Around his neck he wore a large silver pendant shaped like a sun with a fat jewel—a glinting red eye—in its center. And this was new, she thought, and sensed its black power.
“My lady,” he said, and bowed to her.
“You have no welcome here.”
“I walk where I will. And what do I see but a woman and her small, pretty child alone. Treats for brigands and wolves. You have no man to see you safe, Sorcha the Dark. I will escort you.”
“I see myself safe. Begone, Cabhan. You waste your time and powers here. I will never submit to such as you.”
“But you will submit. Joining with me is your destiny. I’ve seen it in the glass.”
“You see lies and desires, not truth or destiny.”
He only smiled, and like his voice, his smile held seduction. “Together we’ll rule this land, and any others we wish. You will wear fine cloth in bright colors and drape your skin in jewels.”
He swirled his hands. Teagan gasped when she saw her mother wearing the rich red of royalty, the sparkle of jewels, and a gold crown studded with them.
Just as quickly, Sorcha flicked a wrist and was once again draped in her simple black wool. “I have no need, no wish for your colors and shine. Leave me and mine, or you will feel my wrath.”
But he laughed, the sound rolling from him in smooth and terrible delight. “Is it a wonder, my heart, that I want none but you? Your fire, your beauty, your power, all meant to be mine.”
“I am Daithi’s woman, and will ever be.”
With a grunt of disgust, Cabhan flicked his fingers. “Daithi cares more for his raids, his games, his petty little wars than for you or the whelps you bore him. How many times has the moon waxed and waned since he last shared your bed? You grow cold in the night, Sorcha. I feel it. I will show you pleasures you’ve never known. And I will make you more than you are. I will make you a goddess.”
Fear tried to crawl into her like the fog crawled over the ground. “I would die by my own hand before being bedded by you. You only crave more power.”
“And you’re a fool not to. Together we will crush all who stand against us, live as gods, be as gods. And for this I will give you what your heart most desires.”
“You don’t know my heart.”
“A babe in your belly to replace the loss. My son, born of you. More powerful than any has known before or will again.”
Grief for the loss struck, and fear, a terrible fear for the tiny seed of want in her for what he offered. A life growing in her, strong and real.
Sensing that fear, Cabhan stepped closer. “A son,” he murmured. “Bright in your womb. Thriving there, born strong and glorious, like no other. Give me your hand, Sorcha, and I will give you your heart’s desire.”
She trembled for a moment, a moment only, as oh, by all the gods, she craved that life.