Page 27 of Fletcher

Perhaps that served justice on her for all of the mortals she’d ended.

Violet and gold lights appeared in the cloud of red around her, and something enveloped her like a cool, soft breeze from the top of a mountain. The last of her air burst from her lips as molten fire washed over her body, erasing the lesser pain of her wounds as it wrenched and pulled at her limbs and torso. Her skull swelled and then collapsed, and something speared through the flesh of her back. Her flesh turned hard and slick and cold, and the shark seemed to disappear into her side. A final burst of white-hot pain came over her, so fierce and inescapable she expected to see the very sea boil around her.

Fiacail opened her lips, gulping in the salt water, which moved through the sides of her neck. She did not drown or choke, but breathed as if she were now the shark.

A creature that looked like a mortal with slits on his neck and a dark gray garment molded to his body appeared in front of her, and used a web-fingered hand to seize her by her neck.

She hung suspended from his grip, but when she lifted her hand to touch him she saw her fingers and arm now looked dark gray on the outside, and white on the underside. She touched her head, and found all of her hair had disappeared, and the shape of her skull had become wedged. Even more shocking, she could hear the slit-necked creature inside her mind, speaking in a hard male voice.

I’ve saved your worthless life, halfling, and made you both shark and shifter. Now you shall serve me.

Fiacail stared at him. She could sense the shark that had attacked her now writhing inside her, terrified to be trapped in this unfamiliar body. She reached out to the beast with her thoughts as she might have done with one of her sisters, and soothed it with reassurance that she would protect them both.

You shall address me as Lord Duxor, the man-creature said as he released her, and made a gesture that brought another being who looked like a man and a shark to hover in front of her. Name yourself, fool.

The second creature ducked his wedge-shaped head. I’m Erskin, my lady. Same as you, only mortal, no’ half-Fae.

The water around them lightened, and Fiacail looked up to see the hull of the vessel carrying her sisters and the enchantress sailing away. They thought her dead, and perhaps in a sense she had died. Just as she had assumed, this monstrous change was her punishment for the terrible life she had lived as a Cait Sith. Yet she still breathed, and her transformed body seemed more powerful than any of the mortals she’d killed and copied. If she wished, she could seek vengeance against Dearg, and perhaps even Derdrui in time.

I’m your master now, Duxor told her. Your life, ’tis mine.

She regarded him. He possessed enough power, it seemed, to change her from an air-breathing shifter to this thing she had become. Not even the enchantress could work such magic. Without his intervention she would have died a very ugly death as well.

Fiacail dipped her head. My thanks for saving my life, my lord. How may I serve?

Chapter Nine

As they rounded the western side of Caladh, Shaw signaled that he wanted to go ashore, but Nyall remained in the water with Jamaran. As soon as the chieftain waded into the shallows he abruptly sat down and began cursing as he pulled dark spines from the bottom of his foot. The Finfolk commander made a gesture to him to submerge, and once they sank below the surface looked around as if expecting to spy the shark.

’Tis no sign of the white-mouth, Nyall told him, using the unique connection they shared to project his thoughts. What happened to Shaw?

Jamaran gave him a grim look. He stood on that urchin in the shallows purposely, so he might spill his blood in the water. He wishes act as bait.

Eejit. Of all the things he didn’t understand about the laird’s enigmatic brother, his penchant for recklessness topped the account. Shall I send him back?

His friend shook his head. ’Twillnae attract the other predators in the area. Merrick assured they wouldnae approach our settlement or the island. He glanced back in the direction of the bay, as he had done constantly since they’d begun the sweep.

Nyall had done the same, but saw nothing. You reckon the man-killer, ’twill ambush us from behind?

I expected Freja might follow us. She’s become besotted with me. Jamaran grimaced. I dinnae ken why. I cannae sire a bairn on her; she’s birthed one son. Facking, ’tis all she may expect.

The king had ordered his commander to comfort Freja after her elderly mate had ended his long life, as was the custom among the Finfolk. Unfortunately the widow had been middle-aged when she had first been transformed, and immortality was not kind to mortal females who joined the settlement. Although their ageing continued at a much slower pace than it had during their mortal lives, they did not remain forever young and virile as their husbands did. Freja had been transformed some five centuries past, and beside Jamaran now appeared like his great-grandmother.

Mayhap you should speak with Merrick about the matter, Nyall suggested, knowing his friend probably hated the bizarre duty. Surely ’tis an older male without a mate who might wed her.

No’ when all ken she’s barren. Still, the king lately wearies of her constant tag-tailing after me. Mayhap I shall ask him assign another to her. The commander nodded toward the shore. Shaw comes.

The chieftain pointed up, and when the three of them surfaced he said, “’Twill be nightfall soon, and there’s a dark moon. We should end the search and begin anew in the morn.”

“Need you aid returning?” Nyall asked, but Shaw shook his head and without another word swam off in the direction of the stronghold.

Jamaran nudged him. “We should go to the bathing spring ahead, and warn the wenches who go there from the village. ’Tis fed by sea water.”

“You mean, we should go and watch them undress and cavort, and then warn them.” As his friend shrugged he grinned. “You’re shameless, Francian.”

“I’m a man, MacMar.” Jamaran dove into the next wave that rolled toward them.

As he swam after his friend Nyall left behind the onerous part of himself he wore like armor in the presence of the clan. His position required him to act with authority, and command his brothers to follow his orders. Among the MacMar only Shaw and Fletcher outranked him, and neither tended to wield the authority they possessed. In some ways that put more pressure on Nyall to hold sway over their garrison and vassals.