Erin (The Athol Trilogy, Book 2): The Athol Trilogy, #2

Chapter One

Erin’s heart pounded as she flew around the trees, her hair swaying around her face. The woods surrounded her with their scent, the freshness of the leaves and the perfume of the flowers infusing in a delightful sweetness. A soft, cool air blew past her, kissing her bare skin. The same air rustled the trees, sending the leaves into a frenzy, the spirits of the trees whispering. The warm sunlight pierced the leafy canopy, sending golden shafts of light dancing along the ground. She wore a light green dress, but it was torn and shredded. She ran barefoot across the twigs and grass beneath her feet.

She didn’t feel as though she was running away from anything. Rather, she felt she was running towards something. But what? Erin sprinted so fast that the woods around her became a blur. She could feel the heartbeat of everything, of every animal, of the trees themselves. A deep drumming throb that ran through every footstep, every river, every breath of wind. It was as though she were a part of the forest around her. It was the most primal, raw, wonderful feeling she had ever felt.

She came to a clearing, surrounded by tall pines, slowing her pace. In the centre of the clearing, sat on a large rock, was Filtiarn. He was leaning forwards, looking down at the grassy floor, his hands linked together in front of him. As Erin appeared coyly at the edge of the clearing, he glanced up, his eyes dark. His amber eyes lit up as he saw her, a charming grin spreading across his face. He didn’t move, but held out his hand for Erin to go closer.

She sauntered forwards with a soft smile, holding out her hand to grasp his. As their fingers touched, he pulled her sharply towards him, settling her on his knee. She laughed with delight as he pulled her, throwing her arms around his neck. Her fingers trailed along the side of his strong jaw, bristling across the light stubble that framed his face. Reaching up, she pressed her lips into his, moaning against the firm response he gave her eagerly, growling behind their kiss. It was then that she remembered—they had been out running together in their wolfen forms, enjoying the early morning sunshine. She had managed to get lost, and run off by herself, not realising that Filtiarn had stopped. Once she changed back to her human form, she realised she had left him behind, and retraced her steps, back to the clearing where he waited for her.

He hugged her back, showing his fangs as he grinned seductively. A cloud sped across the sky above as though wound by clockwork, blotting out the sun and sending the clearing into darkness. Erin peered back at Filtiarn, her nerves twitching at the sudden change. He grinned back at her, but it now seemed fixed, and cold. His canines grew out to their full length, and he pinned Erin’s arms tightly to her sides.

Filtiarn? What are you doing? she asked, her voice ringing out like an echo.

I’m going to make you forget who you once were, and make you truly mine, he snarled, grasping her throat and hovering over it with his canines, saliva dripping onto her neck....

Erin shot upright, cold sweat dripping down her forehead. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the soothing black darkness in her room as she blinked. Her heart raced so fast it made her chest hurt, her limbs trembling from the memory of the dream. Taking a deep breath, Erin willed herself to down, wiping the sweat from her forehead and hugging her knees into her chest. She hurriedly glanced around herself, familiarising herself with her room to ground herself. It was just a nightmare, Erin, just a nightmare, she muttered to herself.

The nightmare was a recurring one. The whole month she had been back at Athol Castle, it had been her nightly fear. Erin rubbed at her temples, letting out a low breath. That’s a whole other thing. The castle was as beautiful as it had ever been, but she felt out of place. The last memory she had was of being at Forest Hall, with Filtiarn acting strangely and calling himself by another name. Then she was back in the ballroom, waking up in his arms. She couldn’t remember anything for years before being at the castle. When she asked Filtiarn about it, he simply replied, You were in a coma, you finally woke from it.

The nightmare was sometimes different, sometimes in a different place. Often it went further, with Filtiarn actually killing her. It’s just your imagination, Erin. But why does it come back, night after night? Is my mind trying to tell me something?

Erin pulled the covers back from her bed, glancing at the small alarm clock next to it. Five in the morning. Damn it. I never was a morning person. She could just see small, prying fingers of sunlight peeping through the cracks in the velvet curtains across the window. Erin stretched and slid out of the bed, her silky nightgown falling around her legs. She padded over to the window, the flagstones of her room cold on her feet, throwing the curtains open. Warm morning sunlight flooded the room, bathing it in a gentle golden glow.

Erin peered down at the courtyard below, her eyes travelling across the roses and statue with a cool gaze. No one down there. Doesn’t anyone bother with sword practice anymore? I need to get Sioctine out again and show them how it’s done. I’m sure I’m rusty with a blade after being in a coma for so long. She turned and smirked across at the gleaming sword, resting on a red velvet cloth near her bed. The blue jewel was on top, icy wisps floating away from it in crisp folds.

Rubbing sleep from her eyes, Erin strode across to the sword, lingering as she drank in the sight. Gently running the back of her hand against the gleaming metal of the blade, she picked it up, swinging it around. As she spun around in an imaginary parry, she caught her reflection in the full-length mirror that stood facing the bed. Erin straightened herself, narrowing her eyes as she looked into the mirror. Something was different about the reflection that copied her actions, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

Her footsteps were hesitant as she drew closer, trailing her fingers over the polished surface. Her reflection did the same, mimicking her movements perfectly. Erin took in the sight, finally settling on her face. She swore under her breath, rubbing again at her eyes, as though the sight might change after. One of her eyes was silver, but instead, two sparkling crystalline irises stared back at her.

It must be a trick of the light. Erin chewed on her lip for a moment, waving her hand in front of her face. The reflection copied suit, twisting as she did so and leaning in. Shaking her head, Erin straightened herself to walk away. The reflection stayed where it was. Her eyes widened, her heart fluttering wildly against her chest as a chill ran over her skin. Just as she was about to decide she was still asleep, her mirror image gave a smile, nodding at her.

Erin inhaled sharply, scrambling backwards and almost tripping over a rug. Righting herself quickly, she squeezed her eyelids shut, snapping them open and gazing across as the mirror. Enchantment. By the gods, what does it want with me? Her reflection gazed back at her with a concerned furrow of its eyebrows. The reflection lifted its hand and crooked a finger, indicating for Erin to come closer.

Erin’s face was taut as she did as instructed, her fangs sliding out menacingly as she demanded, Who—or what—are you? Is this a curse of some kind? Witches’ magic?

The reflection smiled back kindly, its features softening. I am you, Erin. I am your inner voice.

What? Erin hissed, shaking her head hard, as though to shake the image in the mirror away. She took a tentative step forwards, glaring into the reflection’s eyes, tightening her hold on Sioctine.

The reflection’s eyes gleamed as she saw Erin walking closer, and nodded. Yes. I am your inner voice—a part of your soul. I must warn you, Erin, you are in danger.

Erin swallowed anxiously, glancing down at her sword. It’s useless to consider using it. Even an enchanted sword can’t slice through a reflection. What do you mean? How am I in danger?

The reflection’s face paled as she spoke, her eyes darkening. You are in control of an enemy. An enemy of both your mate and yourself. This is not who you are, Erin.

My mate? Erin repeated, sounding out each syllable slowly as her brow furrowed. You mean Filtiarn?

Smiling sadly, her reflection shook its head, the dark hair cascading around its face. He may not be your mate, Erin. Just remember who you really are. Please.

A knock sounded at Erin’s oak door, insistent and commanding. Only one person would dare make such a racket at her door, and Erin knew it was Filtiarn instantly. He had been out hunting the previous night alone, leaving her to catch up on much-needed sleep. Giving a nervous sideways glance at the mirror, she twisted her head towards the sound.

Erin? I heard noise. Are you up?

She cleared her throat, wiping a sweating palm against her leg as she shouted back, Yes, my love. I’ll join you presently. He seemed to be content with her answer, giving a grunt in response, his heavy footsteps outside marching away down the corridor. Erin’s heart thudded against her chest as she turned her head back to the mirror, expecting to see the reflected image of her ‘inner voice’ still there. But it was gone. Her reflection copied her exactly once more, and her eyes had returned to their normal blue and silver.

Did I imagine it?

Erin strode into the throne room, her chin jutted proudly. It was brightly -lit, the long canopies that normally covered the windows now thrown back and cleaned. Banners fluttered in a draught from every wall, covered in the Athol coat of arms and colours, tapestries sprawling across every spare inch between them. Two werewolf stewards by the doors opened them wide with a low bow, but she didn’t glance towards them, keeping her cold eyes trained ahead. Filtiarn stood by the thrones at the far end of the grand hall in full battle regalia, deep in conversation with a lower member of the pack. His leather jacket clung tightly to his firm figure as he leaned one hand on the arm of his carved throne, the modern biker look—complete with heavy leather boots—completely at odds with the large steel sword that hung by his side.

As Erin’s commanding footsteps echoing across the flagstone floor, Filtiarn gazed up from his conversation with glowing amber eyes, a grin breaking over his features as they flashed over Erin’s form. He nodded smartly at the young man he had been talking to, motioning for him to stay where he was, before striding hurriedly over to her with the sword clanging against the metal of his boots.

As she drew near, he leaned in to press a tender but burning kiss against her forehead, his hand coming up to grip the nape of her neck possessively. When Erin looked up to meet his gaze, his eyes had burnt to a dark silver, the metallic sheen of them menacing in its intensity. Why were you not awake earlier this morning? I thought you would be outside with Sioctine. His eyebrows rose questioningly.

Erin kept her features calm, shrugging casually. I was going to, but...well, I slept in. She was about to tell him about the mirror, but then decided not to. I don’t want him to get worried about images in mirrors. I don’t even know if it was real...I wasn’t exactly fully awake.

Ah, very well. Filtiarn put his arm around Erin’s shoulders, pulling her towards him. She pressed herself into him, smiling as her hand snaked up to rest against his chest. He waved the waiting young man away as he walked Erin over towards the thrones, and the younger werewolf gave a respectful bow before marching away hurriedly.

That young man was Daithí. He pronounced the name ‘Dah-hee’. He’s quite handy with a few cameras and a broadcasting team. We have been discussing what the pack needs to do to get started with our plan. We have decided that modern means is the quickest way, of course.

Modern means?

Yes. Filtiarn bent his head, darkness falling over his gaze, which somehow made him look even more wolfish. We’re going to have a televised appearance, Erin.

Chapter Two

What? Erin snapped. We’re actually going to show our faces on world-wide television and say that we are werewolves? Do you have any idea how moronic that idea is? The best plan always has been, and always will be stealth. And I think—

Erin, darling, you worry too much, Filtiarn grinned, stroking his thumb over her lips. The movement made a tingle run up her spine, but she held her ground, resisting his charm as anger as his forwardness still rankled in her gut. I have a plan—don’t worry. They’ll believe in us, alright. And any army in the world will not stand up to us. Most of the world’s armies consist of several werewolves, as it is.

There was something odd about his tone, something cold and deadly that made even Erin shiver inwardly. The Filtiarn she remembered was as bloodthirsty as herself, but something about him screamed that he would burn the world apart to get what he wanted this time. It was something uncontrollable, and for all her murderous nature, Erin understood control was needed to rule. The words from her strange mirror vision came back to her. She pushed it aside, reprimanding herself for even courting the idea. Filtiarn would never hurt me.

Filtiarn continued. We can get it sorted for this afternoon. Broadcast across the world, on all stations.

Erin nodded solemnly, sauntering across to her silver throne. She sat down in it carefully, settling into the dark blue cushions. She ran her hands lovingly over the arms of the throne, soaking in the cool touch of the moon-coloured metal. The arms were shaped to look like two snarling wolves leaping forwards, the back of the throne carved further to depict the wolves running amongst villagers, tearing the village apart. The throne had been specially commissioned by Erin many years ago, when the throne had once been a simpler one, devoid of engravings.

Leaning her chin on one hand elegantly, she took in a deep breath, fixing the smirking male werewolf and querying, So what does one do at this ‘televised appearance’? Just sit there and say ‘Hey, everyone, we’re werewolves.’?

Filtiarn’s lips quirked, and he slid down to the floor, settling himself in a seating position at her feet. "Not exactly, my Queen. We shall address everyone watching a television at that time, world-wide. We are first to tell them that we will soon be taking over their entire world, then we will explain what we are." He finished this