Redeemed (Heroes of the Highlands) - By Kerrigan Byrne Page 0,3

still waters, and it captivated her. This was the first time she’d seen herself since she’d died. The features in the water belonged to her, but were unrecognizable. The same heavy-lashed green eyes responded to her blink, but remained dull and vacant.

Kylah brought trembling fingers to her face, almost stunned that her reflection did the same. Despite the unflattering pale green glow, and the sunken pallor she’d adopted in death, she was still beautiful. Stunningly so. She’d once considered herself fortunate to have possessed such prominent cheek bones and a delicate chin.

She reached out a hand and slapped at the pool. Of course, nothing happened. No ripples interrupted her perfect nose. She did it again. Deeper this time, harder, a sound frustration escaping her throat when, again, her hand passed through the water without creating the slightest ripple.

A bleak yet passionate rage oozed from walls she could not see, snaking toward her like an unseen predator. This. This was the emotion she needed to conjure. This strange antithesis of unfulfilled pain bordering on hysteric madness. This manic loneliness. It surged through her with a sensation she’d thought lost within the husk of her flesh now turned to ashes.

Her hands curled to fists as she flailed at the water. The face that remained unharmed still crumpled into an accusatory snarl as it hurled raw grunts that echoed about the cavern.

Never in her life had she raised her voice. Not in anger, nor silliness, nor competition. People stopped when she spoke in her silky tones to listen to her. They watched her lips move and hung on every word.

The night of her death, they’d silenced her with their hands, smothering her frightened pleas. She’d tried to scream once the flames had begun to devour her, but peals of smoke had mercifully stopped her breath and filled her throat.

She’d never screamed.

They did. Not. Let. Her. Scream.

In the water, her pupils disappeared, swallowed by a frighteningly powerful illumination. Her glow coalesced into tentacles of light that lashed into the darkened corners of the grotto. Her grunts became cries, and her cries became a wail. Then her scream fractured into many. Until one was a roar and another a screech, and yet another a keen that reached such a pitch that it shook the stones and vibrated through the water. Now ripples distorted her reflection and drowned out the sounds of the ocean. To her it was a lovely symphonic melody, crafted of hatred and vengeance. She drew on whatever sinister emotion she could grasp as it was flung at her from somewhere in the darkness and intensified it. As she endlessly screamed, she also reveled. She grieved. She cursed.

It felt marvelous.

A loud crack reverberated off the stone walls and sliced through her keen. Kylah could feel its percussion carve through the vibrations her pitch created, and the sensation stunned her to stillness.

“Haud yer Wheesht, woman!” The deep command issued from everywhere and nowhere. It could have come from the Gods, if she hadn’t known better.

But she did. She recognized the voice immediately and knew who lurked in the darkness behind her without turning to look.

The Druid, Daroch McLeod.

Kylah squeezed her eyes shut. What was he doing in here? This cave was nigh impossible to get to. She’d thought she was alone.

“Ye shouldna be here.” His growl lashed at her from the walls like a cornered predator, accusing her of trespassing in a succession of echoes. “Leave.”

“Why?” she breathed, watching her glow crawl back toward her, the intensity of terrible emotions smothered by a simple, pervasive curiosity.

“Because ye doona belong here.” His voice favored the cavern in which they stood. Cold. Dark. A mysterious, unfathomable chasm hidden among wild peril.

“But I was… called here.” She’d meant to insist, but her chest suddenly felt too small to call forth much volume.

“Nay. Ye werena. Now go away,” he clipped

Kylah scowled. Who was he to tell her where to go? And so rudely! Anguish nigh forgotten, she whirled to face him, but was met with only darkness.

“Why?” she demanded. “Why do you want me to go away?” Not the most brilliant of questions, but valid nonetheless.

The blackness was silent for so long, she wondered if he’d been the one to retreat. “Because I—doona want to look at ye.”

Kylah gasped. She’d expected him to reference her Banshee keen, or her glow disturbing the darkness he so obviously desired. But his answer shocked and incensed her so completely she would have been struck dumb if she’d still been alive. What