Kat Bastion - Forged in Dreams and Magick

When I cast the not-so-minor indiscretion aside to focus on my bigger problem, I groaned. No amount of reasoning or justification for my actions in either century changed my state of affairs. I’d become entangled in a complex web of time, subject to the bidding of something larger than lowly little me. With no way to ascertain whether each experience had been a test for my reaction, or if all these events had been fated in the grander plan of things, I fell back on truths I knew for certain.

I’d become a survivor, using intrinsic strengths to my advantage in attaining goals. My forté happened to be archaeology and language. The natural optimist in me rose to the challenge, determined to learn everything possible about and from Velloc’s indigenous Highland tribe. Only through my ever-growing cache of knowledge, would I learn the secrets of that box.

My role as victim ceased to exist every time I stole back control of my world.

Highlands of Scotland—Ancient Reign of the Picts, Thirty-Two Days Later

The hard vibration of metal striking metal traveled deep into my arm as I deflected with the short blade in my right hand. I arced down a forceful blow with the ax in my left. Velloc blocked my attempt with his longer, broader sword. Piercing rings from each impact reverberated out into the meadow. Hot from the bright rays of the midday sun, a bead of sweat trickled between my breasts, and my ponytailed hair had plastered to the skin between my shoulder blades.

A gleam sparked in Velloc’s eye—pride. Under his powerful attack, he recognized an opponent he’d expertly trained for battle. Daily sessions in the art of hand-to-hand combat had been something I’d insisted upon from a leader that claimed me as his among their warrior race.

The well-balanced weapons had become as much a part of me as the callused hands that gripped them. Every muscle in my body had strengthened, toned into sleek definition. Reflexes had grown lightning fast. Agility refined into the nimble moves of a jungle cat. Natural intuitiveness . . . honed razor-sharp.

A smile spread across Velloc’s face. He lowered his sword and stepped back as he panted. “You fight like my best.”

I laughed, drawing my arms into my sides as I replied in free-flowing Pict gleaned from my language immersion, “You forget who trained me. I am your best.”

He sheathed his blade and closed the distance between us in a blur, crushing his lips to mine. Hot. Demanding. Passionate. The man never failed to take my breath away as he commanded my body and my heart.

Like a good warrior who never lets her guard down, my weapons remained in my hands. I yielded to his aggressive kiss for a fraction of a second before tangling my tongue with his, battling for what I wanted. I fought for my place everywhere and in everything. The proving of my existence had evolved into a fundamental need, refusing to go unheeded until satisfied.

An approving groan rumbled from his throat, and I moaned in a low purr. Primal possession. The instinct had ruled our relationship from its initial moments; my acceptance of it had enabled our bond to form and a deep connection to grow. Mine. I gripped his hips, pressing the handles of my blades into his body as I fervently staked my ownership in return.

Velloc tore his lips away as quickly as he’d descended, his fierce gaze locking onto mine. He growled as if the choicest part of the pack’s kill had been stolen from him. I smirked, and the corners of his mouth twitched.

Without uttering a word, Velloc completely disarmed me. He also carefully took the weapons from my hands, giving me a final quick kiss before he turned, heading toward the stables to retrieve our horses. I inhaled a deep, steadying breath, watching the lean muscles of his back flex as they glistened in the sunlight.

My thoughts drifted to the past weeks. I hadn’t abandoned my quest to reunite with the box. On the contrary, I’d used the time I’d been given wisely. A deep-cover spy planted in a foreign land, I’d garnered every fragment of intelligence I could from Velloc and his tribe.

Had I fallen for Velloc? Without a doubt. But my feelings about him didn’t change my circumstance. I belonged to two men, three time periods, and I had a burning premonition that whatever time demons toyed with my whereabouts, they weren’t done with me yet.

I’d needed every moment of the almost five weeks I’d been left in Velloc’s world to truly break through the barriers of communication and understanding. Trust, at first tiny tendrils seeking a solid foundation, had taken a deep hold, rooting firmly not only between Velloc and me, but also with his people. My people.

With confidence, I admitted I fit in well within his world—a simple, basic life, grounded in the need to survive. Did I see myself staying in his world? Sure, if the option were available. However, the isolated, romantic notion did nothing to shroud what I had to do, no matter how difficult the task. Even though every part of Velloc’s world had wrapped itself around me, accepting me as one of its own, I still had a strong tether to another.

I dreamed vividly of Iain. Not even the smallest detail of my short time with him had faded. My heart beat for two men, and I didn’t care about the ramifications of such insanity. Since no one asked my permission when tossing me about through some space–time continuum, I got to make up the rules of how I adjusted to the jet lag and culture shock.

Velloc led our horses across the grassy field. Mine, the dappled gray mare, I’d named Malibu for her cloud-covered hide. It evoked memories of a peaceful beach scene from my distant California home.

I admired my man as he approached. He represented the perfect specimen of how I’d always imagined a Pict warrior. Long, black hair flowed beyond his shoulders. Tribal symbols etched into his skin in the most battle-injury-prone areas shone bright cobalt against a tanned surface. Broad shoulders and a trim waist highlighted a lean, muscular body crafted from surviving in an unforgiving wilderness. His proud carriage displayed health and vitality. I smiled as my heart leapt at the sight of him.

The care and patience he’d shown me during my integration into his world had been rivaled only by the carnal passion he unleashed between us at night until we both collapsed from exhaustion. Fragile strands of love had developed between us, forcing me to accept that, in all probability, Iain had been correct: the box did bring two soul mates together. But Iain had no idea at the time there could be more than one, and neither had I.

Velloc strode up and dropped the sets of reins, embracing me as he lifted me off the ground in a crushing hug. He set me down as I kissed him, laughing.

I pushed him away and shook my head as I pressed my hands onto Malibu, swinging onto her back and settling astride her in one of the many pair of deerskin pants I’d insisted upon being made. She whuffled softly.

Velloc smacked the hindquarters of his stallion as he jumped onto his mount, the animal taking off to the south. I urged Malibu by squeezing my thighs, and we raced after them toward the afternoon’s hunting grounds.

We’d talked about the day’s plans late into last night. Although I’d accompanied him hunting a few times, I’d not actually participated in the capture or kill. Instead, I’d hung back, observing. Their success on the outings I’d attended relied on their innate ability to commune with animals. I wanted to learn the skill.

When I’d asked, he’d chuckled, kissing me.

“Isobel. It’s not mastered. Not taught. It comes from your heart.” He pointed at my chest.