Cal was never very good at resisting temptaion. SWEEP BOOKS FAN-FIC!R&R!
|Title: Black Rose
Part: The Wicked
Fandom: Sweep Books series
On Going series: Roses of Binding series
Classification(s): Song-fic based chapters (All chptrs)
Warnings: Warnings?!....Warnings?! We don't need no stinkin warnings!!!!! Ur.....yeah....
EXTREME AU!!!!! I mean, of course this fan-fic will remain SOMEWHAT (lookie see, a big emphasis on the somewhat!:)) truthful to the series written by that goddess of an author, Cate Tiernan, but.....it just wouldn't be me to not screw with it in someway....SO.......Be prepare for a lotta angst, a lotta romance, and just all around weirdness, but in a good way....Why should I let YOU have it in a good way?
Pairing(s): Cal/OC, Cal/Every character (with obvious exceptions ppl :p) Cal/Ciaran (Yes! I am a sick and twisted soul!!!!!!!!!
A/N: As you can see in the above information that I have provided (it's all Noire Sensus' fault! Now I can't write anything without that info!) this is going be a slash pairing between two of Sweep's characters. What is slash? If you don't know, my little innocent buttercup, how delightful. It's a male/male relationship (Evil cackle accompanied free of charge). I couldn't help it, so flamers screw off! It's haunted my every waking hour, and it doesn't help that my best friend whispers in my ear nearly all the time: Man Sex! So, I have rewarded her pleas and my muses' constant batterings. ^_^This is a master piece....I think, and if Cate Tiernan reads this she just might condemn me for it. Woo-HA! >_<
Another Note: It was partially inspired by this online quiz I took at http://www.quizilla.com , so poof-poof to the chick who'd made it up. I'm borrowing yo stuff. I think the quiz is called: What rose is your soul bound to?
(~ )this tells you it's a song
(//) tells you it's a flash back(of thoughts of actions, don't worry just go with the story's flow)
ON WITH THE SHOW!
~It's down to this
I've got to make this life make sense
Can anyone tell what I've done~
//"I've got to go."//
//"Why? There's no reason for you to." A hard look, desperation running through his veins, flashing like blazing fires in his brown eyes, deep and dark, almost black in the shadows.//
//"She needs me."A calm exterior, but there is a light of sadness, so deep, so profound. This decision was killing him too.//
//"I need you." Desperation fills his voice. "You can't-"//
~I missed the life
I missed the colours of the world
Can anyone tell where I am~
There was a slight warmth on a patch of skin just beneath his collar. Just a slight twinge, but his gaze was fixed firmly on the dancing flames across from him, burning in the hearth of the fire place. He sat, the bulk of a shadow, in a hard backed chair dragged out from of his study a while ago. How long ago he couldn't remember, enough that it almost seemed as if chair and man were one. And he dare not move from it now. He concentrated on the flames as a glass filled with wine the color of bloody rubies hung precariously from the loose grasp of his fingers of his right hand, drapped over the chair's arm.
~'Cause now again I've found myself
So far down, away from the sun
That shines into the darkest place
I'm so far down, away from the sun again
Away from the sun again~
//"She needs me."//
But he needed him, and how in the equation of their fucked up lives did that messsage get lost? Since when-when their goal had been so close to being completed, when their dreams finally would have come true-since when did someone else figure into their lives? Since when was someone else allowed to destroy what little they had been holding onto? His hand clenched convulsively around his wine glass for a moment, as the warmth on his chest flared for a moment, burning like the single concentration of a candle's flame on his breast.
It was the suthainn ceangal. The eternal binding. A small metalwork of twisting coils of pure gold and silver in the shape of a celtic knot. The one thing that was keeping him sane at this moment. Another rush of heat and warmth from that tiny twisting of metal. Something was happening. Miles and miles away....In a little town called Widow's Vale something was happening.
~I'm over this
I'm tired of living in the dark
Can anyone see me down here
The feeling's gone
There's nothing left to lift me up
Back into the world I've known~
It hadn't been pleasant when he left. Not after he'd allowed those three dangerous words to slip from his mouth-//"She needs me."//-and hang in the air as if that were all the justification there needed to be. As if those words would placate the raging beast inside of him. Desperation had filled him, and anger. And as all beings know, the two emotions never mix well. His brown eyes had blazed with passion, with light, with life. With anger, with murderous, bloody red rage.
//"I need you." Desperation fills his voice. "You can't-"//
//"She's not strong enough against Selene. You know that."//
//"You're not strong enough." The murderous beast was rising.//
//"But I can stop her."Still bloody calm, bloody fucking calm.//
He had rushed at him then, full of hot possessiveness and wrath. How could he throw away something that they'd worked hard for? Something that they wept about? Thought would never be? The goal was at hand, all they had to do was reach out for it...together....And he was willing to cast that all away? For some girl? For some bloody girl who could obviously handle her own? She had a bloody Seeker for a boyfriend for crying out loud.
His eyes had gone wide when he'd rushed at him, the color of tiger's eye and deep amber depths, two liquid drops of eternity. The wide mouth that could give fantastic smiles when he wanted it to had parted then, not in a smile or in lust or pleasure, but in surprise and anger and hurt. And that body, that body of olive skin and perfect, divine curvatures, that body that was so pliable underneath skillful hands when they were making love, that body that owned the beautiful mouth and amber-like eyes, summoned its magick in defiance and equal anger.
~It's down to this
I've got to make this life make sense
And now I can't do what I've done~
His hands convulsed around his glass again. The red wine sloshed about its edges, spilling onto his hardwood floors, much like the blood that had been spilled those weeks ago, when he and his tiger-eyed lover last saw each other, when he and his olive skinned *leannan* had spoken of the girl so faraway in Widow's Vale, right now facing off with Selene Belltower.
//"You won't go!" Harsh words and one well placed whiplash of witches' fire, blue, electric, potent and alive, cutting across his lover's cheek.//
//"A flash of anger from deep within the depths of those amber eyes. "I HAVE TO!!!!" A retaliation of witches' fire, cutting across his chest. His brown eyes had widened in response.//
So long ago.
It felt as if the ages of man had passed away.
The suthainn ceangal blazed.
~And now again I've found myself
So far down, away from the sun
That shines the life away from me~
It blazed, hot like the fires of hell, and he had to hiss when the heat became too much. Became more than just heat, became pain. His eyes grew wide and tore away from the flames. He pulled the little amulet from underneath his shirt, fire light glistening over its surface.
There was a flash of something in the silver, and a movement of something in the gold. For a second he thought he was imagining things, that perhaps the wine had muddled his thoughts. But no--one learns in magick that nothing is coincidence, and he watched in dawning horror as a picture, a scene of life was slowly taking shape in the silver and gold surfaces of his suthainn ceangal
~'Cause now again I've found myself
So far down, away from the sun
That shines into the darkest place
I'm so far down, away from the sun~
He saw Cal in the glistening surface--Cal. Beautiful, bright, blazing Cal, a Greek Adonis-- in the darkness of a room, somewhere in far away Widow's Vale, stepping from the shadows of a door way. His mouth parted, and he said something. He saw Selene, saw a brown haired girl and a blonde haired Seeker. He saw Selene release a dark spell, a powerful spell. Aimed at the girl.
Saw Cal. Beautiful Cal. He cried out in turmoil. Saw Cal jump in front of the dark spell.
It was as if the wind had been knocked from his body, as suddenly the suthainn ceangal lit up like a thousand suns caught up in the final flare before their death. All shadow fled in its wake and even the fire burning in the fireplace could not match its light.
It felt as if his soul had suddenly been torn from his body, as if his heart had murmured one last resounding thump before stilling all together. His body shuddered convulsively, his vision went dark and his mind flashed with so many memories--he and Cal in Scotland, he and Cal at Yule, he and Cal in the garden, he and Cal making love.
And then the feeling was gone. And the suthainn ceangal went dark and lifeless in his hand.
Cal was dead. He knew with a certainty.
Cal was dead.
~That shines the life away from me
To find my way back into the arms
That care about the ones like me
I'm so far down, away from the sun again~
Ciaran McEwain threw his wine glass across the room and watched it shatter into a thousand pieces.
************************************Author's note: Blah...blah....blah...lynch me later, I don't care. This is me story....WOO-HA! Okay, so here's chapter one. I'll admit only one fault of mine, Ciaran maybe alittle off curz I haven't gotten the books he's in curz everytime I get cash enough to go to the bookstore they're sold out. So, I've had to do some personality profile hunting and some webpage searching. So if I'm not doing him right, then tell me....Please?!! (*gives you puppy dog eyes*)
Another A/n: Okay, maybe not every chapter has a song in it. Feeling kinda hard pressed to make the first part of this chapter with a song. Maybe the chapter'll have a song...I don't know.
Chapter One: Book of Shadows
"We have to what?!!!"
Sunlight was streaming in slanting beams from windows that sat above the musty room, reminiscent of an oldish library from some Arthurian legend of Merlin's keep. There were book shelves lining the walls filled with all kinds of books on archaic lore, miniature resurrections of small animal skeletons were beside them, white polished teeth like marble, grinning with death's mockery. The room itself was large by far, the size of one third of a football field by comparison. Its floors were hard wood and polished, what little of the wall that could be seen was painted an off white and the ceiling had a very beautiful chandelier hanging from it. Sunlight shone through it brightly, casting all kinds of rainbows around the room.
Hunter was seated at the large, wooden table, able to seat nearly a hundred, arms crossed stiffly in his high backed chair. Consequently, he had been the one to make the loud out burst. Morgan sat next to him, staring at his former teacher, Kennet, in shock. And Danial Niall, though his face was stubbornly emotionless, more blantant and matter-of-fact, he was gripping the armrests of his chair in a viser-like hold that was turning his knuckles deathly white.
"You heard me," Kennet replied in a flat, accented tone. "By order of the council. And you know that you cannot refuse the council's orders, Hunter."
"Like bloody hell I won't!" Hunter shouted in an ungainly show of emotion. His normally cool exterior was shattered with the sudden rush of anger and adrenaline that was flowing through his veins. "D'you know what you're asking?!"
"Hunter." His father's voice was like the blinding arc of a lighthouse cutting through the fog of a stormy sea. The younger Niall's green eyes snapped to his father's in desperation, a silent plea raging within their liquid depths. Danial didn't look at him, only focused a hard gaze at Kennet. He spoke slowly,"You do realize what you're ordering--what the council's ordering?"
Kennet gave a slow nod as if it were costing him something very vital in that one slow movement. Danial nodded in turn.
"Can you at least tell us why you're asking us to do this?"Morgan asked, speaking up for the first time, in a low voice.
"For the good of all,"Kennet replied. Hunter snorted.
"Bloody likely!" He exclaimed. "Is that the bleeding excuse the council told you to tell us?"
Kennet fixed him with a heated glare. "Don't think that I'm not taking this with equal anger or consternation. I'm just not as vocal." He sighed. "Imagine, if you can, me being summoned by the council elders, very wary and suspicious of their want with me. I do not know what is to come when I am ordered to be seated and hear what they have to say. I sit, and they present to me a book. A battered, worn Book of Shadows. But not just any Book, no this looks quite familiar, for I have seen it in all of my investigations of its previous owner. Imagine my consternation, when the elders tell me that this Book, this one Book, may contain all the answers within its pages that just might save the world. That in its owner's mind there had been a key to unlocking the one thing that could save us. D'you understand what I'm saying?"
"What do we need saving from?" Morgan asked tentively. Kennet met her trepid gaze grimly.
"Another dark wave."
The silence in the room had gone from a pin drop's notice to that of a mile-long chasm. There was no hiding the shock of Kennet's words. Not even Danial could muster up a stoical expression. He sat frozen in his seat as years of running, years of hiding and losing and sleepless nights and death and pain came floating back to him from across the mental barrier he had erected against such memeories. It was the present, the here-and-now, he hadn't had need of those old sorrows, he had a future to look forward too. But now......
"D-dark wave?" His voice sounded small and faraway.
"You're wrong," came Hunter's voice sounding alien to his ears. "We'd gotten rid of it. Alisa Soto...Selene Belltower....Ciaran McEwan--"
"Which is exactly why we must preform the *tath meanma gradh*," He said quietly. "There's no other way. The spell will essentially work like a tath meanma, but only on objects. The objects essentially display the person's emotions at the time they were held or used. Those emotions become pictures, almost like a a replay of that scene in the individual's life."
"But why," Morgan began, pulled out of her momentary stupor,"why do you need us?"
"The ties the object's owner had with specific individuals, the ties that Sgath had with you,"Kennet explained. "With Hunter and Danial, there is blood. With you there was a form of l--"
"Don't," Hunter hissed. Kennet gave him a long look and nodded before continuing.
"There are two more individuals that must be called in," he said. "And the council has deemed that it will also be your job to bring them in."
There was a sinking feeling of foreboding in everyone's stomachs. Danial asked,"Who?"
"Ciaran McEwan and his youngest son, Killian," Kennet replied.
"Are they out of their bloody minds?!!!" Hunter raged, his anger abruptly returning. "Ciaran summoned the bloody wave in the first place!! And Killian! He's almost as bad!"
"Nevertheless,"Kennet began. "They are also part of the ties that bind. They must be summoned in as well."
"We don't even know where to look," Hunter replied vehemently.
"I do,"Morgan said in a quiet whisper. "I can get in contact with Killian and he can-he can show us where Ciaran is."
"Indeed,"Kennet spoke quietly. "Indeed."
"And when shall this ritual be preformed?" Danial asked in a professional tone that cut through the sudden silence.
"Three days,"Kennet replied. "On the new moon."
"Alright." Danial abruptly stood and walked swiftly from the room, letting the door close behind him with a gentle thud. They heard his retreating footsteps echo outside the meeting room's doors, until they finally disappeared.
"I can't believe they would do this,"Hunter said angrily and stood. Morgan stood with him, and he, grabbing her hand, left in the same fashion as his father.
(*_* ^_^ >_< o.0 '_' x-)
"Are they out of their minds?!"
Morgan sat numbly as Hunter raged in the car as he drove down the widing streets away from the council building and back into the small town where they were staying. Mr. Niall sat in the back seat, quietly looking out the window and observing the countryside. The sky was grey overhead with a few stray patches of blue that were slowly being covered over. The landscape below looked as dismal as the sky, the grren of the grass fading with the golden beams of the sun that had shone so brightly only a few moments ago in the meeting room. It seemed fitting.
"They can't possibly expect us to do this," he said angrily rounding a corner in the dirt and gravel road."They can't possibly make you do this." That statement was directed at Morgan. She said nothing and focused on the road.
They were in Europe on holiday. Morgan had finally turned eighteen and her parents consented to her visiting Hunter's home country on the condition that she called every night at 9 pm, American time. Her holiday had been going great....until this morning.
She sighed and sat back in her seat as Hunter made another turn in the road and they entered the first tale-tell signs that they were coming back to the town. It was a charming little place with clapboard houses and cottages dotting the countryside, warm, welcoming town square with the schools, the businesses and a wonderful little Pub that played all kinds of music that fit everyone's tastes. Morgan was enamored with the town and its antiquity. It had been up and going for nearly a century.
"There's no excusing this," Hunter growled bringing Morgan back from her momentary lapse of concentration.
"Can you get in contact with Killian here? In Enlgand?" Mr. Niall asked from the back seat. Morgan jumped at his voice, all stoic and emotionless. She looked back saw his face. Much the same as his voice: placid and unyielding of its secrets.
"Yeah,"Morgan replied wondering how he could be so placid at a time like this. He should hve been livid, but it seemed this situation had only driven him into himself where Goddess only knew how many emotions were raging inside: the loss of his wife, the fear that the dark wave had caused, all the death and destruction it had unleashed, and countless many other things.
She turned away from Mr. Niall as Hunter drove into the town square and down a familiar street leading to their hotel: a cozy, three-story cottage with a small eating parlor, a garden that guests could stroll in and a steam house.
"You shouldn't have to call them at all," Hunter said in an angry hiss. "I bet it's bleeding Ciaran. Somehow, in some way, he can't just stay the hell out of anyone's lives. He still manages to be an overall nuisance."
Mr. Niall didn't say anything, and Morgan felt the silence drop around her like a hammer. She had to break it.
"But Killian's not all that bad," she replied quietly. "He's--"
"He bloody well would've sent you down the road of dark magick too," Hunter hissed again. "He's a bleeding prat."
Morgan sighed. "Regardless, I hve to call him. And I'll have to do it when we get to hotel."
Hunter fell quiet at that, and remained that way until they pulled up to the hotel parking. He parked and shut off the car Mr. Niall was the first to get out and head off to the gardens, the placid look slowly evaporating from his face. But before Hunter got out, he turned to Morgan and said,"You do what you have to do." He took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissed each one of her knuckles. "I don't like this....And I'm not too fond of the council right now, but...Goddess, Morgan, I love you....And-And I'll protect you from whatever Cal's Book has to show us."
She gave him a small grin and cupped his cheek with her free hand.
"I know," she said and drew him close until their noses were only inches apart. "I know." He kissed her gently on the lips, finally deepening it, savoring the thrills running through their bodies, the hot and cold, the fire in their blood and the ice in their bones. Finally, they broke apart and went up to their hotel room. The minute they were inside, Morgan went to the phone and picked it up, dialling the number Killian gave her to reach him. She knew it by heart.
When the other end was picked up, she barely gave her half-brother a chance to speak.
"Killian...We need to talk..."
Author's Note: Y'know what I realized? I made Hunter abit....I don't know... Emotional in the last chapter ( >:) ....Ah well. I never liked him much anyway >_<..... Okay so...here's chapter three....Woo-HA! Gawd, isn't this oh-so exciting?!!!! No... Well, for me it is.....I'm probably making you crazy cats dance on your toes wonderin if this is going to be the slashy part or not, you dig? Well, worry not, it's hip! It's cool! I ain't jivin you yet.....Like my lingo? (o.0 ) ...yeah okay....on with the show! ^_^
Chapter Two: The Meeting
He wasn't necessarily panicking.
Killian took a swig of his whiskey and felt it burn the insides of his throat on its purposeful path to his stomach.
Okay...so he *was* panicking....But just a little. He heard a little nagging voice at the back of his head snort. He glared irritatedly at his silver whiskey flask. Definately needed to lay off the booze. If not to get rid of snorting voices in the back of his head then to be able to deal with his Da when the man showed up.
He put the flask away.
Then took it right back out again for another swig. Shows where his resolution went. Killian began to thump the surface of the table he was sitting at with nervous fingers as passerbys walked down the street laughing and carrying on. He couldn't fathom how they were acting as if nothing were amiss when impending doom was due here shortly.
He was seated outside of a neat, little cafe, the menu written in Scottish just outside of the door with a nice looking waitress standing beside it and giving him the once over. And if this had been normal circumstances, he would've saddled up next to the cute burnette and flirted the pants off her. Literally. But as it stood, this was *not* a normal situation. Heavy emphasis on the Not.
Killian waited a bit longer. Ciaran was still not here. Maybe he hadn't gotten Killain's message. Maybe the Goddess was finally shining down upon him. And maybe, just maybe, pigs were flying somewhere on some farmer's field and friggin' Peter Pan really *was* fighting off Hook in Never-Never Land.
Yep, he really needed to lay off the booze.
Morgan's call had come as a bit of a shock. He'd actually been sober and not planning on doing much of anything that day except lounging in his apartment and spending some off time away from the world.
// He was lying in the bed, flipping through the channels of his television set, when his cell phone rang. Flipping off the set and running to get the phone, he thought maybe it was that nice looking red head he'd met at the Pub the night before--Melissa...Miranda....Something like that.
"Killian...We need to talk."
"Morgan?" he asked incredulously. And prayed that it wasn't any kind of bad news. His father being stripped of his magick had been bad enough. He hoped she hadn't discovered zombies or vampyrs infesting her brain in the shape of parasites or something....*That* would've just been beyond weird. "What're you--"
"Killian, be quiet. For a second. Please?"
And he shut up because the desperation in her voice sounded just that bad.
"I need you to do something for me," she said quietly.
"Like what?" he asked with some trepidation. There was a sigh on the other end.
'Oh, now *that* can't be good,' he thought with dread.
"I need you to get in contact with Ciaran and bring him here to England,"she said in a rush. He almost didn't hear her correctly, then her words hit him like a blow to the chest.
"Morgan," he began,"You know how he feels about you...."
"It's council business, Killian," she replied quickly.
"Oh now that just bloody changes the whole situation now, doesn't it?" he demanded. "Oh yeah, I call him right now and tell him, "Da, dear, the council'll like to see you for some bloody good reason or other. Would you be willing to come?" I don't bloody well think so!"
"Please, Killian," she begged.
"And why, pray tell, should I do a stupid thing like that?"he aske vehemently.
"Because there's trouble coming and they need his help as well your's," she replied. "It's about Calhoun Blaire, Selene's son. They have his--"
He cut her off right there. That name. That Goddess-bedamned name. He never wanted to hear it uttered again. There was too much emotion that came with it. Too many memories. He didn't need to be reminded of past history.
"Alright," he said hasitly. "Alright."//
And that was why he was sitting there, on that chair, next to that cafe, waiting for his Da. If the bleeding prat of a man would show up. It was moving on twenty minutes, and Killian was losing his temper.
"Am I fashionably late?" came the smooth, deeply accented voice that drove absolutely every women wild, and some men too. Killian turned at his father's approach. The man was dressed impleccably, dressed to kill, and he walked the walk of a tiger who knew who and exactly what was in his territory. The wind swept his brown hair and a bit of sunlight caught in his dark brown eyes.
The waitress was now checking out Ciaran.
He sat opposite Killian looking with mild interest at the cafe, its passerby and its menu. He gave the waitress a good once over too. Killian cleared his throat and Ciaran's gaze snapped to his, a predatory look coming into his eye.
"Exactly, why did you call this little meeting?" he asked, waving the waitress over. "It can't be about money. Your mother has loads, and I told you to never ask me again." He ordered a dark coffee and a danish (author's note: even evil guys gotta enjoy a good danish every once in a while ^_^).
Killian took one last swig of his whiskey before putting it away. Ciaran eyed it with a mix of interest and distaste.
"Thought you were quitting," he said mildly. Killian gave a sheepish half smile as the waitress brought over Ciaran's order. But the older McEwan didn't touch the food or the drink. He pinned Killian to his seat with an intense gaze.
"Uh,"Killian faltered. "Uh..yeah...why I called you? Um...well--"he rubbed the back of his neck nervously--"y'see...Morgan called...And--" he gave a momentary pause of fear as Ciaran's gaze intensified with anger. He blundered on--"Andshetoldmethecouncilhassummonedusforsomeofficialbusiness."
If he hadn't already been afraid, he would've been reduced to a whiny, mewling school girl by now. His father clutched the armrests of his chair in some form of restraint as his jaw clenched tightly in a way that suggested he trying very hard to get control of the emotions that were waging war inside of him. Killian quickly took advantage of that, using the only trump card he knew.
"It deals with Cal," he said quickly. Oops! Bad decision.
The silence that settled about Ciaran McEwan was one that could rival the void in space. He sat like the megalith rocks of Stonehenge, staring down at his plate coldly, unmoving, not even as another breeze came whispering across his cheek and stirring his hair. When finally he spoke, it was not in that calculated tone he'd used before, it was the tone of silk, the calm before the violence of a storm erupted from the sky. He looked up and met Killian's fearful gaze, speaking slowly,"If you think for one minute, that I'm going to step foot on council grounds again--"
"DON'T YOU CALL ME THAT!!" Ciaran roared losing his cool. He shot up from his chair, ignoring the strange looks people were giving him. "I told you never to say his name. Never. Not ever again. And you throw it in my face, and that it pertains to council business no less--"
"SHUT UP!" he said viciously, very nearly jumping over the table. He restrained himself enough to fix his shirt and glare a seething gaze at everyone around them. The people quickly got back to minding their own business. He returned his gaze to Killian, who felt that now would be a good time to find that fabled rock to crawl under. "You tell that goddamned daughter of mine, you tell that bloody Seeker and his good-for-nothing father, because I know they put her up to this, that whatever they're bloody playing at they won't get any cooperation from me."
He turned on his heel, leaving Killian to stare after him stunned.
"Well, that went well," he said as the waitress came up to him timidly with Ciaran's bill.
(^_^ 8.8 *-/ :8 <_<)
"I told you it wasn't going to work," Killian said matter-of-factly over the phone line. Morgan gave a frustrated sigh. "He kindly told me--well, not kindly , he was quite rude in fact--that no he would not be helping. Basically, in any shape or form."
"Thanks for trying," she replied. It was his turn to sigh.
"Trying? Trying? I could've bloody well been sent to an early grave, thank you very much," he said sarcastically. "Next time, you call him."
Morgan rolled her eyes. "Nevertheless, you still can come."
"Don't think I have much of a choice. While I don't actively like the council, I still follow something close enough to orders....I think. I'll get back to you when I'm sure." She heard him chuckle. "Now, my dear baby sister, I must get off the phone and get royally pissed. Pity you're not here, sounds like you'd do well getting pissed with me."
She chuckled herself. "No, I'm not an alcoholic."
"Alcoholic? I think I've just been insulted," Killian retorted with mock offense.
"Good bye," Morgan said with a grin. Killian beyed(sp?) her good bye and the two hung up. Morgan sat by the phone for a while before standing and going into the tiny sitting room where Hunter and Mr. Niall sat drinking tea and talking in low voices. When she emerged into the room, the talking stopped and both men looked at her expectantly.
"He said no," she replied.
"Son-of-a-bitch!" Mr. Niall exclaimed suddenly shooting from his chair and nearly spilling his tea. He put the hot cup down and went to the sitting room's lone window opening out to a view of the garden.
Morgan looked at him in surprise. Hunter sighed and her gaze quickly went to him as he quickly put down his cup and rubbed his temples slowly.
"Figured on him being a prat," he said in a tired voice. "A stupid, mangy prat. I'll have to call Kennet. See what must be done about this."
"Now?" Morgan asked slightly incredulous. Hunter nodded.
"We've only got three days before the spell has to be preformed," he explained. "If Kennet says we need those two, then we've got to figure out how to obtain them."
"Killian's complying," Morgan replied defensively. Hunter shrugged.
"At least one of them has sense," Niall said from the window, glaring out at the garden. "I'm going to my room." And took his leave quickly.
Hunter waved the question away. "He's taking this pretty hard. " He laughed bitterly. "But he's trying to be the strong one." He stood and went to the door. "I'll be right back." And went out to make his phone call. Morgan took his seat and sipped his tea, loving the soothing warmth that filled her body, pooling in her stomach and easing away the stress of the past few hours. She could feel the power of the herbs inside of the cup, but didn't necessarily want to take the time to use her magick to discern each and every plant used. They were doing fine without her knowing who they were.
The phone call must have not taken very long because Hunter came back with a scowl etched deeply in his pale face. He looked up when stepped into the threshold of the doorway, new anger brimming his green eyes.
"What is it?" she asked standing and going to him. She took his face in her hands. "What--"
"We go to Scotland," he said simply, and turned away from her, leaving their room and going in the direction of his father's.
Well, so much for a soothing tea.
Well, look, the chapter's ended...........................
Okay, so, how'd I do on Ciaran....Did I make him mean enough....I mean, emotional outbursts aside was he good enough to be a Ciaran McEwan most people could call their own....Okay, okay, so maybe HE would object to being someone's pet ( most of all mine....can we say strawberries and cream anyone? Oh Gawd!! Bad mental images! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!) But really....how'd I do?
(*gives you the puppy dog eyes again*) R&R's are most definately welcome.