Haunting Embrace Read Free Page A

tide pool up against the guard stones that surrounded it. For a moment, he took it all in, comparing every detail to his memory of them—the rough walls, the uneven floor, the oily pool that glittered like a thousand mirrors reflecting and refracting the waning light from outside. But it was the runes on the walls—endless spiral symbols that had burned into the stone—that struck him to the core.
    Those symbols covered the Book of Fennore, had flowed over each of its cursed pages. Those symbols were embedded in his soul like scars upon scars.
    It was here, in this cavern, that Áedán had breathed life into the Book of Fennore. Here, that it became a sentient being. Here, that the first, greedy, grasping human had sought it out in hopes of wielding its terrible power.
    And here, that Áedán became its slave.. . .
    He took a deep breath, wary now as he surveyed the cavern without crossing from the passageway into the interior. Eons had passed since he’d last stood on this brink. Time so endless that he’d forgotten the reason he’d been so determined to stay away. Now, as if under the beam of a spotlight, Áedán faced the truth.
    This cavern wasn’t merely a place to him. It was a cage, a prison, where memories of the hell he’d survived for millennia still lived, still breathed . . . still sought to bring him back into the fold.
    What pierced him now was not a pervasive dread that might be shaken off by turning away. It was terror, bone deep and sharp as splintered glass.
    The shock of it held him hostage for a moment. Terror. From the mighty Brandubh.
    Sickened by the realization, he allowed his self-disgust to propel him forward when self-preservation fought to hold him back. Breathing deep of the wet salty spray, he advanced into the cavern.

Chapter Two
    O N guard, Áedán paused just inside and waited. A feeling like a soft breeze trembled around him, brushing his skin. For a moment, it seemed to leach the life from him. His legs wobbled, his vision blurred, and his head felt light and fuzzy. But just as quickly everything snapped back into focus, and he thought his imagination—his hated fear —had caused it.
    Uneasy, he turned and surveyed the dark cocoon. Nothing moved. No slicing pain or debilitating pressure bore down on him. No vulnerability weakened his limbs. Only the steady beat of the tide and the rage of the ferocious storm broke the cloying silence. Carefully he opened his senses, testing the air, tasting the dark, seeking the danger he felt sure he would find.
    Nothing . Only a vague sense of incompleteness that he couldn’t define.
    Relieved to the point of stupidity, he squared his shoulders and charged forward, wanting to laugh in the face of his enemy now that he had invaded its fortress. His triumphant laughter caught in his throat as he stumbled over something on the ground and nearly fell on top of it. On his knees, arms braced over the motionless form, Áedán stared in shock as recognition kicked him in his gut. A woman lay still as death on the cavern floor, her skin so pale it looked translucent, her arms and legs askew—as if she’d been dropped from above.
    Meaghan.
    She was so still that he thought she must be dead, and a startling sense of remorse tangled with his utter shock at seeing her again. But then she took a deep breath and her chest rose and fell.
    Alive .
    He did not like the relief that flooded him. He didn’t care for the woman. He cared for only himself and his need to regain his power and take control of the bizarre circumstances that had brought him here. But he could not keep his fingers from brushing the soft skin of her cheek.
    Meaghan.
    He’d met her only days ago in the night world that belonged solely to the Book of Fennore. They’d been prisoners and allies of sorts. The world of Fennore existed in a realm most humans could not even conceive. Like heaven and hell, it was more a state of being than an actual place. But everything that had happened there