A/N: I haven't done this in a while, so here we go *drum roll* I own nothing! -whew that takes alot outta a person- Anyways to all my readers this is the part some of you have been waiting for, plus some more info on her. Plus Mark gets nosey. Enjoy!
She paced the small clearing a mile or so from her home. In the dead middle was an old stump that she used for an alter during her rituals that she performed outside. She had let Mark get under her skin, something she had never done. She sat down on the stump and dropped her head in her hands, asking the Goddesses for patience. She didn't hear the steps that headed towards her, nor did she jump when a hand rested lightly on her shoulder.
"Brielle." The voice was soft and meldoious and seemed to fill the clearing.
"Mother." She didn't turn around, but she did bring her head up. "He's the one isn't he? The one the runes said would come and put an end to our line's suffering."
"I can't answer that my daughter. The dead have their secrets too you know."
"I know, you have told me numerous times before." She said with a laugh.
"He's not what's bothering you is he?"
"No....not completely. Mother I have never regretted a lie before. Yet when I told him that I was expecting by his friend I...I felt as if I was letting him down. Yet I had to say it, he must not know that he will be the father."
"Daughter you did the right thing, I know it hurts. But you're not the first one to have to make that choice. I had to with your father and my mother before me. You know that it's for the best."
"I know that mother, but it's not making it any easier. Why us?" Brielle cried out suddenly, thumping her hands against her thighs. "Why was our family slated to live this life of solitude?"
"You know the family history as well I. This curse was placed upon us by Corianne McMahon."
"I know mother, I know. But why punish us when it was Lachlan McMahon that strayed."
"To a woman's crushed heart my dear it is always the other woman that was in the wrong."
"So us women have to deal with her heartache? It's not fair." She crossed her arms and pouted.
"There, there baby. One day it will come to an end, and then our family can finally go it's separate way. We just have to wait for the one to break the curse."
"I know mother. I miss you."
"I know baby, I know. But one day we'll be together and it'll be you counseling your daughter and hearing the same things you have said this day."
"That's not much to look forward to. Give me strength mother, help me through this and lengthen my patience."
"My daughter you will be fine. You have my paitence even if you have your fathers temper."
A wind kicked up and Brielle felt warmth flow over and around her. She closed her eyes and tilted her head up, letting her hair whip around her face. When it died down she stood back up and looked behind her where her mother would have been standing. On the spot just behind the stump was a lone rose, her mother's flower of choice. She picked the rose up and inhaled deeply as she sat back down on the stump, loosing herself to the memories of her past as small tears slipped down her cheeks.
Minutes turned to hours as Mark waited for her to return. He had tried every thing he could think of to alleviate his boredom. He even tried to make friends with the cat. An endeavor that left him with fresh claw marks across the back of his hand. He glared at the beast that had taken up residence in the chair across from him. It growled as it locked gazes with Mark and he to fight the urge to shudder. There was something unnerving about the cat, it seemed almost human. Something that troubled Mark more than it should.
He broke the impromptu staring contest and his eyes roamed restlessly around the room as he tried to find something to keep him busy. Next to the fireplace stood a book case and at first glance mark dismissed it, he wasn't that big of a reader and doubted that she had anything that would keep his interest for long. But as his eyes ran over it again and again a book on the second shelf seemed to call out to him. Slowly he got out of the chair and made his way over, ignoring the hissing that was coming from the cat.
His eyes never left the large leather bound book and as he got closer it seemed that it was beckoning to him, begging him to pick it up. He reached out and ran a finger down the spine of the book, startled when it felt warm to the touch. He pulled his hand back and shook his head. There was no way that a book that was sitting on shelve could feel warm, especially if it was leather bound. He grasped the book in his hand and pulled it free from the shelf, dislodging spider webs that were connected to it.
The top of the book was layered with dust and he blew on it, choking on the dust as it danced in the air. There was no labeling on the book and he turned it over a couple of times trying to find somthing that would indicate what it was about. The longer he held it the warmer the book became until it almost seemed to burn his hands. He flipped the cover open and stared at the symbols that arched gracefully across the heavy paper. His brows knitted together as he stared, at first it looked like chicken scratch but the more he stared the more it looked like actual words.
He turned the next page and looked at the diagram that stretched from the top of the page to the bottom and on for the next couple of pages. At the top of the diagram were the names Lachlan McMahon and Neala Laoghaire. Attached by a line to Lachlan was the name Corianne McMahon. His eyes flicked over the diagram and he realized that he was looking a family tree, no two family trees. He scanned the next couple of pages and he was surprised to see that she had been telling the truth. As the McMahon family grew so to did hers.
But one thing stood out in his mind, her family only begot females and every once and a while they relinked with a son from the McMahons. To keep it from totally being incest the hookups were few and far between, the last one being a little over sixty years ago. As he got closer to the present day he seen more and more names he recognized, most of them were wrestlers. It was amazing to see how much talent was flowing through these women's veins and Mark wondered if Vince even knew the link between the families.
He licked his finger to turn the page but before he could the cat launched itself at him, knocking the book from his hands. The heavy tome hit the ground with a loud 'thud' and immediately the cat took a place on the cover, growling and spitting when Mark reached for the book. The last name had on the page he had been looking at had to have been her grandmother and he had been itching to see her name. He glared at the cat and once again tried to reach for the book, but again the cat took a swipe at him and once again opened his flesh on the back of his hand.
Mark hissed and pulled his hand back, looking at the six long, ragged marks that stretched across his hand. The cat growled again and readied itself for another attack. Mark retreated to his chair and sucked on the newest wounds, his eyes narrowing as the cat stretched leisurely before curling up on the book. It seemed to lay so that it could keep an eye on Mark and once again he shivered at the pure, naked malice that seemed to emanate from it's eyes.
"I hate cats." He mumbled as he once again settled down to stare out the window, hoping now more than ever that she would be back soon. He didn't trust that cat any further than he could throw it and he smiled as he imagined the cat flying through the air.
