Daughter of Winter (Daughter of Winter, Book 1)

Genre
Award Type
Manuscript Type
Daughter of Winter (Daughter of Winter, Book 1)
An unforeseen inheritance causes an innocent woman to become prey to a horrifying adversary who seeks vengeance for the curse laid upon him thousands of years before, throwing her into a world of Celtic mythology, powerful Druids, dark magic, and fated mates.

1. Talorgan - 3rd Century BC, Ancient Scotland

The air reeked of iron.

Fresh blood, still warm from the corpse, had been lathed over his body so thick that his skin was no longer white but a rich, tacky red.

The freshly skinned hide of the bull was laid out on the earth beside him, its yellow pelt drawing in the warmth of the sun. The carcass that had once been encased now lay mutilated and steaming a few feet away.

Talorgan hadn’t reckoned on how difficult it would be to eat the organs. But he’d forced himself to eat the heart, kidneys, and liver, mulishly chewing and swallowing. He’d gagged as the flesh clogged in his throat, especially the tough muscles in the heart. The warm, fresh blood should have aided his progress, but the more he ate, the more cloying it became.

As Talorgan swallowed the last morsel of the bull’s heart, he paused for a moment, breathing in deeply. His body ached from butchering the bull, and he felt gorged, his belly tight and protruding. His stomach rebelled, churning furiously at the intrusion. But Talorgan strengthened his mind against the onslaught. Gritting his teeth, he fought the urge to vomit, and eventually, strength of will prevailed, and his stomach settled into an uneasy murmur.

Phase one had been completed.

Talorgan needed to remain focused on the task at hand, on achieving the end goal—for the power of the mind was volatile. It could sway his actions, deny him the privilege of what he sought. Every nuance had to be perfect for his journey into bull sleep to be successful. So, pushing his physical aches aside, Talorgan focused on the next phase.

Spreading his arms and legs, he tipped his head back in a pagan welcome to the afternoon sun, asking its warm rays to dry the blood on his skin. For a while, time was of no consequence. It didn’t take long for his skin to itch, and he smiled when he raised his arms to confirm the taut pull of dried blood. The second phase was complete—the bull and his body were now one.

It was now time for phase three.

Talorgan moved to the hide and carefully lowered his body on top of it. The bull’s wiry hair was coarse against his naked skin. Closing his eyes against the sun’s glare, Talorgan said a final prayer to the gods before silencing his mind. There must be no distractions for his final journey. This included the call of the lone hawk in the sky, the insects scurrying in the grass beyond his head, and even the sound of the wind sighing in the trees. With single-minded tenacity, Talorgan focused on the present moment until eventually, everything faded and silence reigned complete.

In response, Talorgan’s heart rate slowed down, and the breath eased out of his mouth on a soft sigh as he drifted just below consciousness.

* * *

Talorgan’s inner eye snapped open to find he was running furiously. His chest felt tight, his throat burning as he gasped for breath. It was dark, and all around him were shadows upon shadows. As he ran relentlessly forward, brambles scratched at his face and tore at his robe.

Questions probed. Why am I running?

That was when he felt it behind him. Something dark and powerful.

The realization was abrupt—he wasn’t chasing something; he was running from something. A chill raced down his spine for Talorgan understood that fleeing was the only valid path he had available.

Don’t turn around. Don’t look! Just keep running!

But of his own accord, Talorgan turned his head, seeking that which was behind him. He frantically searched the darkness, but there were only shadows. Not daring to pause any longer, he whipped his head back around and continued to careen blindly forward.

It was then that he felt the air collapse in on itself as if something were drawing all the oxygen away. It felt cold and toxic. He choked, gasping as his breath wheezed painfully in and out of his throat. Something painful hit his back, feeling like a shaft of cold, dark ice. It traveled unmercifully through his body, and his teeth began to chatter.

Talorgan knew it was coming from behind him. But what was it? Where was it?

He couldn’t help turning again; eyes narrowed at the darkness. And something within those dark layers shifted and evolved. It was a large shadow, breaking away from the mass. As he focused on it, he understood that this was more than a shadow. It felt dangerous, evil. He blinked, wondering at what this was, and in that moment, the dark mass twisted wildly into a vortex of speed. Talorgan’s heart froze as he realized it was moving forward. Toward him.

Without hesitating further, he whipped back around and urged his body to run, faster than before, away from this entity. He frantically looked for an escape, but there was nothing and no one in the forest, save for what was behind him.

As his legs desperately pumped up and down, he knew deep inside that this was his own doing. His own retribution. For he’d fallen too far and too fast. There would be no salvation for the deeds he’d done, no turning back from the path he’d begun. The darkness seemed to be screaming at him that this was his future; this was his path.

It was inevitable that Talorgan stumbled on a tree root, pitching forward in a panicked heap. He threw his hands out just in time, breaking his fall by grabbing hold of the trunk of a tree. He used it to push himself upright and stagger on. But as his fingers slipped off the rough bark, there came a stabbing pain in his right shoulder, this one colder, darker, and more agonizing than before. By his next wheezing breath, the pain had traveled from his shoulder and down into his chest; grabbing hold of his heart in a tight vice.

He cried out, his steps faltering as his hands reached up to clutch at his heart. The action pulled him off balance, and he stumbled again, reeling sideways. His forehead sharply connected with a fallen log, and he rolled with the momentum of his fall, ending up on his back. Talorgan blinked dazedly at the inky sky above, unaware of the warm blood that now oozed down the side of his face.

The stars peered down at him; silent, cold observers.

His body burned inside and out. As if whatever had pierced his shoulder had traveled throughout his body, a toxic poison intent on assimilation.

Talorgan’s head whirled in a dizzying rush, and darkness crowded at the edges of his mind. He embraced its escape, desperately hoping for the veil of unconsciousness to fall. But it didn’t happen. And he knew then that it wouldn’t.

For it was coming.

Talorgan closed his eyes, squeezing them tightly against the assault that would inevitably come.

It didn’t delay.

With his next wheezy breath, there came an icy burn at his feet. He cried out, biting his tongue viciously and thrashing his legs, intent on escaping the pain. But that cold burn was ruthless; it traveled relentlessly up his legs, over his torso and chest, and finally, to the tip of his head. He groaned, his mind lost to the torment as he writhed on the ground, lost in its burning intensity.

“Look at me!”

Even though the words were soft, the tone was a dark, captivating melody, devastatingly discordant, and of an otherworldly complexity. It wasn’t a tone for human ears, and it wasn’t a tone that could be denied. In response, blood ran, warm and wet, out of Talorgan’s ears and down his neck.

He knew it was pointless to hide from it any longer. He opened his eyes.

Two red, burning orbs stared back at him from within a face that was utterly flawless. Black pupils moved restlessly, swirling and reforming within startling carmine irises. The vision before him could have passed for human if not for those eyes and the two black horns that protruded from raven curls.

“Do you know who I am, Druid?”

The words ripped through Talorgan’s body in a streak of agony. “Yes,” he gasped, unable to deny the demand in that voice. After all, he had awoken him.

I’ve gone too far.

The confession was a heavy weight in his stomach. But Talorgan knew there was no turning back. There would be no escape, not now, not ever.

“Say my name, Druid.”

Talorgan swallowed hard before giving voice to the vision before him. “Arawn, the Dark God.”

Red eyes gleamed with triumph. “And you are the Druid who freed me from captivity; my first disciple.”

Without warning, the Dark God threw his head back, face uplifted to the stars. “I smell freedom!” he roared exultantly.

The cry of stark triumph caused unforgiving spasms of pain to lance Talorgan’s skull, and his ears bled anew. Blinking against the melodious onslaught, he panted furiously as he struggled to maintain consciousness.

Arawn’s lip curled as he observed his prey. “I’d forgotten how weak your race is, unable to take our presence.”

In the next breath, Arawn reared back, flowing to his feet in a fluid movement no human could ever replicate.

The sudden removal of his presence from above Talorgan’s body had an instantaneous effect. As if a crushing weight had been lifted, Talorgan took his first breath of clean, untainted air. But he remained conscious of how vulnerable he was as he lay on the ground, the Dark God above him. Closing his mind against the protest of his muscles, he maneuvered into a sitting position and leaned back against the trunk of a tree.

The Dark God cocked his head to the side. “Why did you run?”

“I—I don’t know.” Even to his own ears, Talorgan’s voice sounded weak.

Those red eyes burned. “You humans are so fickle! You killed for me, worshipped me, even called for me, and now that I am here—you fear me!” Arawn’s tone became dangerously soft as he leaned closer. “I have come, Druid. I answered your call. The least you can do is show me respect worthy of my attention.”

Talorgan instantly lowered his head. “I apologize, Dark Master.”

Arawn’s frame infinitesimally relaxed at the show of deference. “What is it you desire, Druid?”

An image flared in Talorgan’s mind. An image of someone he wanted with a vengeance. He swallowed, pushing past the hard lump in his throat, and reminded himself that Arawn had the means to get him what he most desired. “You know what I want,” he said firmly, drawing forth courage he didn’t know he possessed. “And in exchange for your release from the Underworld, I seek your assistance.”

Arawn inclined his head. “What you want is stained upon your soul. But for me to grant this boon, you must own it. Say it! I will accept no less.”

Talorgan voiced his innermost yearning. “I desire the Goddess of Winter.”

The Dark God smiled, his lips peeling back to expose viciously pointed teeth. Talorgan went still, cognizant of the stark reminder that this gorgeous, beautiful man was not human.

“Ah, yes, Cailleach, my sister,” drawled Arawn. “The clandestine little whore.”

Talorgan blinked at the description.

Arawn noticed his expression. He cocked his head to the side. “Were you not aware she is with child?”

Talorgan flinched.

Arawn laughed freely, dark amusement dancing across his face. “I can read your mind. The idea of your cherished Cailleach taking another lover is unbearable. It is obvious you had not considered this consequence.”

“It matters not!” spat Talorgan, his position of servitude forgotten as his emotions rode a wave of burning anger. “Her lover can be eliminated!” His frame tensed, and fury radiated through his tone. “I granted you your freedom. I have given you a chance to reign over this world once again. For that—I am owed retribution!”

The Dark God merely raised a brow at Talorgan’s show of defiance. “Fear not,” he drawled. “I always pay my debts. I will give you what you desire—the means to kill her lover and child.”

Talorgan froze. “You will not do this deed yourself?”

Arawn blinked. “She is my sister. Father would execute me if he found out. No, the final act must come from your hand alone.”

“How?”

Arawn’s lips lifted in a show of a smile that held no warmth. “I will provide you with the tools you require to complete this task.”

“But her lover—he will be a god! More powerful than I!”

The Dark God’s face hardened into a cold mask. “Her lover is human.”

“Human?”

“Yes!” spat Arawn. “My sister has disgraced us, choosing a human lover and creating an abomination! We are gods! We do not taint our blood with subservient beings! Father has erred in allowing this transgression, for her act has shamed us all.”

Talorgan’s heart raced. “You know who he is—tell me!”

A cruel smile flitted over Arawn’s lips, and his words were soft, full of cunning. “Someone you know well. Someone you already despise.”

The vice around Talorgan’s heart gripped painfully. There was only one person who he despised with everything he had. The name slipped from his tongue in a menacing growl. “Tritus.”

Arawn closed his eyes, inhaling hungrily. “I can smell your despair! It has many layers.”

The Dark God’s face was euphoric, but Talorgan’s focus had narrowed until only one thought consumed his mind. “I will kill him.”

Arawn’s eyes snapped open. “Of course, revenge is owed. However, you understand that if you want my help to take two lives instead of one, a tithe will be due.” His carmine eyes locked on Talorgan’s as he added in a low, hungry voice, “You know what I’m asking.”

Talorgan’s throat closed at the dark promise in Arawn’s voice, and he hesitated on the precipice of his next move into darkness. But he couldn’t retreat, not now. He’d come too far and lost too much already. His path was inevitable, and now destiny would play her role. “Yes,” he whispered. “You desire my soul.”

Arawn’s face contorted into a devastating grin that sent a cold, chill racing across Talorgan’s skin. “Then let us seal our pact with blood.”

The Dark God produced a wickedly sharp, curved dagger as if from thin air. Talorgan’s gaze shifted to the blade. He watched as Arawn raised his other hand, palm up, and whipped it across his skin in a swift motion. Blood immediately welled; a red so dark it appeared almost black. The god’s lifeblood dropped onto the soft earth below, hissing on impact. Talorgan stared at it, his resolve wavering, but Arawn held out the blade, thrusting it against his chest.

He had no choice but to reach out and accept it, noting the runes carved into its wooden hilt. The symbols looked foreign, not part of the Druidic script that his brethren used. Clenching it in his fist, Talorgan sought the courage to execute this final move.

A sense of foreboding hovered between his shoulder blades. He was well aware that this was one of those moments where his life stood on a cusp, on the very wisp of a knife’s edge. Talorgan knew his next action would irrevocably change his path forevermore.

But then a thought arose, clamoring for his attention. If you are to have her at all, this is the only path.

It broke the barrier of indecision. Without further hesitation, Talorgan sliced the dagger swiftly across the palm of his right hand. He bit his lip as the blade cut deeper than anticipated, watching his blood well up before flowing fierce and hot.

Arawn reached out and grasped his hand, squeezing it tightly. Talorgan felt their blood commingle, then flow as one.

The Dark God’s lips peeled back into a feral smile. “Your soul is tied to mine. It is done.”

2. Brydie - Modern Day, New Zealand

The gemstone twinkled brightly under the overhead lamps.

“It looks beautiful on you.”

The woman remained impassive in the face of the dazzling brilliance on her finger. “I prefer the other one.”

“That ring is a larger cut,” I agreed. “But this one has a classic setting that won’t fade over time.”

One thin eyebrow rose above her designer glasses as her eyes traveled the length of my body, taking in my worn green dress and untamed blonde hair. She sniffed. “I’ll take the other one.”

I smiled coolly. “Certainly.”

Curbing the tiny flame of anger in my chest, I nestled the diamond solitaire in a cushioned jewelry box. A sticker advertising the store’s name and address signified that this was an original hand-crafted ring made by Edmund Judd, the most prestigious jeweler in Hamilton. Then I ran the purchase through the till and handed the box to the woman. She didn’t even look at me as she stuffed it in her designer handbag, turned, and left the store.

As the door shut behind her, I released a sigh. The woman had been tedious and downright rude! She’d also been my only paying customer since I’d opened the doors, as the wet spring weather was discouraging clientele. On days like this, I wished I was in the workroom with Edmund, assisting him in the creation of gorgeous pieces of jewelry.

I crouched down to replace the tray of diamond rings in the cabinet, and the doorbell chimed as I turned the lock. I stood up, smoothing my dress down, and pasted a determined smile on my face, hoping this customer wasn’t as trying as the last.

“Good morning…” The smile froze on my lips.

He was tall and lithe with thick midnight hair that curled against his neck. Stubble lined his jaw, and intense blue eyes blazed from within a chiseled face. He was dressed all in black, with

Comments