It was all Adara did.
It was all she ever knew.
Adara Kerslake has kept her identity a secret from the Cynn Cruors for as long as she can remember. When Cynn Cruor warrior, Luke Griffiths, comes hurtling into her life, she flounders. Afraid of dealing with the Cynn Cruors and the man who captured her heart, she leaves, burning bridges in the process. Until a loved one forces her to rebuild those links that brings her back into the world she fought so hard to escape from.
And to the warrior whose passion haunts her every sleeping and waking moment.
Luke goes into a spiral after Adara leaves and it is only by the strength and love of his Cynn Cruor brethren and their women that keeps him from tripping into insanity. To forget her, he prepares to leave for the Ancients’ Faesten in Anglesey on a mission that can lead to his death and the banishment of the Manchester Cynn Cruors if he isn’t careful. When Adara returns, the last thing Luke wants is to get involved again. But he can’t stay away. What’s more, someone in the Ancients’ Faesten in Anglesey knows who she is and is out to get her.
Two missions merge to one. A desire to know the truth becomes entangled with the desire that never waned between Adara and Luke.
Until a spectre from Adara’s past threatens them both…and brings in a new enemy for the Cynn Cruors.
He wiped his blades on his denims before slotting them back into the holster. His jeans were beginning to look like some macabre installation art along the lines of ‘Gory is the new black.’
God, he needed a shower soon.
“Arsehole.” Zac muttered as he straightened, sucking in the now ash-less cold air. The light misty rain showered through the lights from the buildings around them, wetting the pavement to resemble scattered black diamonds.
“And you look like Marvin the Martian, green and all.” Luke smirked. Turning around he took stock of their surroundings. He had transported them to an alley off Peter Street where a row of flats formed a quiet cul-de-sac in the middle of town. The street opened on cars cruising by and men grouped together, eyeing every sexy butt and shapely pins that walked on by.
“Scatha eliminated in our sector,” Finn filtered into their ear pieces. “Status?”
“Same here,” Luke replied. “McBain has been trying to keep his puke down.”
“What gives, Zac?” Graeme was amused. “Snorted some Scatha snow? I don’t blame you.”
“No, Luke shifted all of us through.”
“Ohh…” Graeme said. “Man that probably sucks.”
“You think?” Zac snapped.
“The sage is grumpy tonight, Temple. Ease up.” Blake spoke. “Hey Zac, ask Luke to shift you back to the Faesten.”
“Strachan, thank fuck you’re not here or I’d kick your arse all the way to Brexit!”
“Eh, they don’t even know whether we’re leaving or staying.”
“Cut it out, you three.” Roarke intervened, his voice the sound of cold reason. Though, Luke wouldn’t be surprised if his leader was secretly enjoying the banter.
“Dux, Scatha.” Finn’s harsh voice cut through. “A lot of them.”
“Where are you?” Luke asked before turning to Zac. “We good now?”
Zac expelled a breath, his head jerking. “We’re good. Location, Dux, we’ll follow.”
“Heading to the disused railway station. Just left Travis Street.”
“I know where that is,” Zac said at Luke’s blank face. “Not far from here.”
They left in a burst of speed, a gust of air in human eyes. Luke followed just a step behind Zac, their surroundings blurring. Suddenly, he grinned.
“Don’t even fucking try,” Zac snapped over his shoulder. “We might end up in the middle of a civil war in some country with eternal sunshine.”
Graeme and Blake chortled.
They laughed harder.
Luke and Zac stopped at Temperance Street where streetwalkers moved between light and shadow coming from the cars that whizzed through, looking through the windows of the parked vehicles for possible business.
Temperance my ass. Luke thought, reverting to his American background.
Graeme and Blake arrived moments later, looking down at the ground like chastised dogs at Zac’s glower. The rain had stopped, leaving the warriors’ heads damp and their leathers gleaming with droplets.
“Too intense, dude.” Graeme frowned. “Thank the Ancients there’s some Scatha butt for killing sport.”
Zac expelled a noisy breath. “Eyes on the prize, Cynn Cruors. I’ll kick both your arses later.”