Twilight Calling by Maeve Bandruid

Author:Maeve Bandruid [Bandruid, Maeve]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: eXtasy eBooks
Published: 2011-12-26T14:51:32+00:00

Chapter Ten

As silently as he'd followed them down the hall just a half hour before, he retraced his steps, stopping in the doorway of the living room, and noting that the gold-and-silver-threaded Persian rugs were covered with sprawling members of the Utameer; the chairs and couches already being full.

The living room was made of the same dark wood floors and shelves, with a rich cream on the walls and varying shades of cream, maroon, and gold furniture. It was warm and inviting, representing the softhearted side to his witch that she only showed to her friends.

He'd have to make sure he saw more of it...

The Uta of their pack and the one called Balder were still absent, but Aidan recognized their Na-meer right away with his amber eyes giving away nothing as he watched him from across the room, leaning against the mantle of the fireplace.

"I take it that it's agreed. She's to be given the knowledge of what we are and to choose who she will parley for once she's spoken to the Council?” The talking stopped when he first began, and his answer was greeted by pure silence. None of them moved, not a single breath, all heads turned toward a creature they had been taught to hate from the time Knowledge of what they were was given to them.

"Aye, Aidan, Che-awk of the Dagda's children. It is agreed."

Aidan scanned the sea of faces, feeling the waves of hate, fear, and distrust seeping through the pours of their shields.

That was the thing about shields. Strong emotions tended to get through whether you wished them to or not. Ask any Empath.

Nodding, he let the calm nothingness he felt for them roll across the room. He did not know them, had never spoken their names in anger or joy.

The bridge had to begin somewhere.

And when that universal truth, that all too simple thought crossed his mind, the silver mist that had so startled him in the street; the sense of the Other that had told him to protect the Sacred washed over his eyes once again. Running down his body in silver rivulets as it spread across the floor and through the ether.

Those of the pack that it neared scrambled out of its way, leaping over furniture and friends alike to stop it from touching them. No one trusting their senses when their gifts told them that a stream of the Other was flowing toward them ... from a Lang.

When it reached Jagur, still leaning against the mantle, he bent down on one knee and placed his hand before its path on the floor, as if seeing a silver string of Power swirl across the floor was something he saw every day ... and waited.

The silver stream crept toward his open hand, easing onto the fingertips, pooling like warm tears in his palm. When he still gave no protest, it wrapped around his arm to sway across his collarbone, stretching both directions, to touch each of his chakras in their turn, aligning them.

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