by Lisa Kessler
“As would I…” He kissed her deeper, his tongue slipping past her lips to caress hers. When he drew back, he cupped her cheek. “We should go below and rest. We can face tomorrow when it comes.”
He lifted her into his arms to carry her to his private bedchamber below. Marguerite kissed his neck and mumbled, “We is a wonderful word.”
While daylight faded into dusk and the sun dipped below the horizon, Kane’s heart picked up a steady rhythm. His chest rose and fell, and his eyes blinked open. He reached for Rita.
His bed was empty.
He sat up; the scent of blood filled the room, mixed with a stench. He got up from the bed and found her on the floor, with dried blood around her eyes, nose, and ears and her body covered in waste.
“No.” He rushed to her side and lifted her into his arms.
No breathing. No heartbeat. “No, no, no!”
Kane raced up into his bedchamber with preternatural speed and laid her body in the porcelain tub. He poured the warm water Gerard left each afternoon into the bath, but Rita remained motionless. Blood-tinged tears slipped down his cheeks and into the water. He’d done this. She was gone because of him. His fault. He never should have been so selfish to attempt to change her.
A rag floated in the water. Grabbing it, he washed her limbs tenderly. “Please, Rita. Please do not leave me.”
But she was already gone, her skin cold, her heart silent.
“Forgive me.” Kane clutched her hand. He shook his head, torment blossoming into righteous anger. He stood, throwing the wet rag across the room. Kane smashed his fist into the wall, cracking the stone. Pain throbbed in his knuckles, and he welcomed the physical ache. He struck the wall again with enough force to break bones in his hand.
“She was my heart, my soul.” Resting his head against the cool, stone wall, he whispered, “In tial.”
In tial.
Kane rushed to kneel at her side. With a hesitant hand, he stroked her hair back from her forehead. Had he imagined her voice in his mind?
“Rita?”
A beautiful sound caught his ear. Her heart pulsed once more, and she pulled a deep breath into her lungs. Her lashes fluttered and finally, he gazed into her light blue eyes.
His vision blurred. Blinking back tears, he cupped her face and bent to kiss her lips. “Welcome back.”
Rita stared up at him as if seeing him for the first time.
Gradually her lips curved into a smile. “I can hear your heart beating.” She pulled herself up to a sitting position. “I do not remember changing, but now I see…everything.”
Grateful that she didn’t seem to remember her mortal death, Kane rested his forehead to hers. “You are not in pain?”
She shook her head and laughter bubbled from her lips.
“I think I am changed.”
He lifted her from the tub and carried her to bed. Lying beside her, he pulled her into his arms. “I thought I lost you.”
Her lips caressed the scar over his heart. “Never, mi amour.”
He smiled and bent to kiss her lips. “I should be so lucky.”
Epilogue
Through the square panes of glass in the doors, he could see Rita on the balcony overlooking the stable. She tended her roses in the moonlight. Tonight, they planned an evening at the lake.
He’d purchased the property as a refuge for them to share. He could shift into his jaguar spirit animal, and Rita kept the beast from straying too far. In turn, she’d mastered allowing the animal in her spirit to merge with her until she soared above him as a gorgeous white hawk.
A year had passed since they wed together under the stars. He still marveled at the magic in her laughter, and the joy in her smile.
He went out the door and approached her from behind, wrapping his arms around her slim waist. Rita turned in his embrace, and gave him a playful kiss, sliding her fingers into his hair.
He ran his hands up her back. “I have something for you.”
She smiled up at him. “Oh?”
He nodded and slipped one hand into his pocket. He pulled his gold watch free, dangling it in front of her. Rita rolled her eyes and laughed. He couldn’t resist tasting her lips.
Kane’s gaze locked on hers. “You are still my Le Voleur D’or.”
Rita grinned up at him with a sparkle in her eyes. “I did not steal your watch.”
“No.” He closed the distance between them, his lips caressing hers. “You stole my heart.”
Acknowledgments
I had so much fun writing this novella. Thanks to Liz Pelletier and Heather Howland for giving me the opportunity to bring Night Walkers into the world. And I also need to thank the entire team at Entangled Publishing. I’m so proud to be a part of the family.
Special thanks to KL Grady for the guidance with this story.
I loved working with you. And I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Theresa Cole for helping me polish this one on such a tight deadline. You are the bomb! I’m so lucky to work with you!
Thanks to my son, Reno, for giving me a reason to visit Paris and tour Notre Dame. Hearing you sing in that cathedral was one of the coolest moments of my life.
Thanks to Panda, Ken, Sarah, and Kinley who all read this one for me, sometimes more than once. You rock!
And to Mary Leo, I just want to say, “Wow. That was a powerful fist bump!”
Night Angel
The Night series
LISA KESSLER
Night Angel – Copyright © 2014 by Lisa Kessler.
Kindle Edition
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Visit Lisa’s website at http://Lisa-Kessler.com
Sign up for her newsletter here: https://goo.gl/qaIIiS
Edited by Double Vision Editorial, Danielle Poiesz
Cover design by Fiona Jayde Media
Interior Design by – BB eBooks
Manufactured in the United States of America First Edition March 2014
For my Night Angel Legion…
You are the best readers any author could ask for.
Thanks for all your support and for encouraging me to write this one.
Chapter One
Juliana lifted the water-filled bucket of sunflowers and placed it inside the refrigerated case for the night. Hopefully, she’d be able to use them in a bouquet tomorrow before they started withering. Seeing a sunflower go to waste pained her. The big, bright flowers emanated pure joy, like a smile from Mother Nature herself.
She slid the glass door closed with a sigh. Finally. Time to go home for the day. As she tucked a stray hair behind her ear, she caught the reflection of a man in the glass. He was standing directly behind her. Her breath hitched, and she slipped her hand into the utility pocket of her apron, gripping her canister of pepper spray before she turned.
He put his hands up in mock surrender and grinned. “Don’t shoot, lass.”
Her heart didn’t stop racing but her expression softened into a smile at the sight of him. She couldn’t hear Benedict’s voice, but she imagined it was deep and dark like his eyes, mysterious and cultured. And reading his lips was a pleasure. He had a generous mouth of stunningly white teeth, and he moved his sensual lips slowly, as though he was slowing his speech just for her. Heat blossomed in her cheeks and she tamped it down quickly.
He was a new customer in her flower shop. He’d first come in just a couple of weeks ago, but it wasn’t the first time she’d seen him. His face had haunted her dreams before he’d ever set foot in her store.
For the past few weeks, the faces of two men came to her while she slept, leading her to believe they would both wander into her life
soon enough. But recently a Banshee’s wail had also invaded the dream. Her grandmother had instilled a respect for the old Irish legends in her, and she recognized the shriek, waking her from the dream. The Banshee symbolized a coming death, but for who?
Since the bombing that stole her hearing and nearly took her life, she’d grown accustomed to glimpses of the future invading her sleep, but usually they were vague, brief events, and rarely did a clear face appear. And never a Banshee’s cry. Until now.
The other man in her dream was the stark opposite of Benedict, with dark-red hair like liquid fire and eyes as green as Belvoir Forest. Their paths hadn’t crossed.
Yet.
She knew their lives were meant to collide—otherwise they wouldn’t have appeared to her at night—but for now she wasn’t sure how or why.
Still smiling, she withdrew her pen and tattered notepad from her pocket. Good to see you. I was nearly closed up.
He grinned, placing his large well-manicured hands on the counter. “I am in need of a few long-stemmed red roses.”
She nodded, dropping her pad and pen back into her apron. The roses were already tucked into the cooler, but she made her way over to retrieve five stems. Most customers requested an even number of buds, but Benedict’s usual request was for five.
She clipped off the ends and pulled a length of cellophane from the roll. She held up a branch of baby’s breath, but he dismissed it with a shake of his head. Only roses. Easy enough. She began to wrap the flowers and couldn’t help but wonder about the lucky lady who’d captured his fancy. A wife? A girlfriend, maybe? Before Juliana’s father had died, he’d made it a habit on Fridays to bring her mother fresh bouquets of wild flowers from their property. Back then, she’d imagined her husband would do the same. But life had changed quite a bit since she was a girl.
She shook off the thought, stapling the cellophane around the roses, and returned to the counter. After ringing up his purchase, Benedict handed her an extra bill and smiled. “Thank you, Juliana.”
He tilted his head slightly, and she nodded in reply, closing the door behind him. She glanced at the clock and tucked her notepad and pen into her purse before untying her apron. If she hurried, she could get to the pub before the regulars.
Giving the shop a final once-over, she set the alarm and locked up.
Colin stretched and stepped out of Belfast International Airport, breathing the mist of Ireland into his lungs. He’d flown back on a bloody airplane. How far the once-mighty God of the South had fallen.
He’d never fly on his own again, never experience the freedom he found in his spirit animal form.
He yanked up the collar on his wool coat and wove through the bustle of travelers waiting on the curb for transport. It would’ve been even worse during the day, coming in on the red eye wasn’t all bad. At least he still had his preternatural speed. He remained a Night Walker. The demon could not take that from him.
Once he was free from the mortals, he broke into a run. They’d never even seen him pass by.
He slowed as he approached his estate and walked up the cobbled drive. The chill in the air sent a shudder down his spine. After spending a few weeks back in the jungles of the Yucatan, his true homeland, he’d already adjusted to the heat and humidity. While Ireland also boasted rain and moisture, with it came the bite of frigid wind off the churning sea.
“Colin? That you?” His groundskeeper held up a lantern, illuminating his young face. He had dark eyes and hair to match, but his smile, exposing the dimples in his cheeks, was infectious.
Even in Colin’s current state, a halfhearted grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Aye. It’s me Bartley.” He shook the man’s rough hand.
“Ye came in on foot?” He tugged the brim of his hat. “Was expectin’ the giant red-tailed hawk to soar through the window one night and scare the crap out of Claire.”
Bartley’s younger sister, Claire ran the household for Colin. Acting as human resources, literally, she made it possible for the farm to run without requiring him to have contact with the staff. Claire handled hiring and firing, paid the bills, and ordered supplies. She kept Sea Haven running smoothly and his secret from being discovered.
Colin rotated his mangled left arm under his jacket, ignoring the mental pull of his spirit animal. The hawk didn’t understand his reluctance to shift forms. “Looks like I’ll be on foot a lot more now.”
Bartley frowned. “What happened? Anything I can do?”
“Nope.” He draped his right arm over Bartley’s shoulder. “That’s the bloody hell of it. There’s nothing any of us can do.”
“Did someone bespell ye?”
Colin shook his head. Although Bartley and the previous generations of his family had tended Colin’s property and knew his immortal secret, he had no desire to share the details of his recent battle with the Night Demon. “Catch me up. What have I missed?”
Bartley walked with him toward the house. Colin tried not to focus on the sound of his pounding heartbeat. Inside his mouth, he teased the tip of his fang with his tongue.
“That bastard Benedict is back in town. Claire caught sight of him walking the paths in Belvoir Forest.”
“Dammit.” Colin clenched his fists. If Benedict discovered his new handicap, the aughisky would be a thorn in his side, and potentially deadly to the women in his care. Damn water spirits were like that. “I’ll find the bastard and remind him of the boundaries of my territory. In the meantime, be sure Claire warns the rest of the staff. Benedict can be charming.”
“He’s a brick shy of a load if he thinks he can measure up to you.”
Colin wished that were still true. It used to be. Now… He bent and straightened his left arm. He wasn’t so sure.
Bartley tugged his gloves from his pocket. “I better finish up in the barn. Those sheep aren’t gonna feed themselves.”
Colin nodded and watched Bartley walk over the rise. Benedict dared to stalk Belvoir Forest in his absence. He’d only been away for a few weeks. Cocky bastard.
He’d first met the aughisky shortly after landing on the shores of Ireland centuries ago. Water horses were more common back in those days when magic and myths still walked among the Irish people. The aughisky were shape-shifters who lived on land as handsome gentleman and lured ladies and children to the lochs and the oceans where they transformed into red-eyed horses, racing their prey into the cold waters to drown them and feed on their flesh.
Not the type of man he wanted anywhere near the people in his care.
Shortly after Colin had landed on the green isle, he’d rescued a maid from Benedict’s clutches, and the damned creature had never forgiven the slight. Later, when Colin had fought alongside Brian Boru, the first High King of Ireland, Benedict had allied himself with the Norsemen, and the rivalry had continued as the aughisky race faded into legend.
If other water horses still lingered, Colin hadn’t found any of them in the past century. Only Benedict raised his wicked head occasionally, but he never dared trespass into Colin’s territory.
Until now.
He dropped his bag inside the entry to his estate, but he didn’t remove his coat. He wouldn’t be able to keep his new deformity a secret forever, but he wasn’t ready to explain it, either. Besides, he needed to feed before the sun came up. Jamming his hands in his pockets, he escaped into the shadows and mist to hunt. Pubs were usually a good place to start. Alcohol lured criminal minds with the promise of numbness. Colin hoped there would be more than one out tonight.
There wasn’t enough fresh blood on the island to fill the void growing inside of him.
Two black points surfaced in the dark turbulent waves. Below, powerful legs churned, propelling the large animal toward the shore. The moment his hooves made contact with the rocky seafloor, the mighty horse stood, water sliding off his smooth coat. He walked up the beach with slow, steady strides.
From a distance, the humans often mistook him for a Frisian stallion, but those who came c
lose enough to discover his true identity, to witness the hellfire burning in his eyes and the living seaweed threaded through his mane and tail, didn’t survive to warn the others.
He stopped in the sand and shook the excess saltwater from his body. Letting out a snort, he pranced down the shore, invigorated with new life, his belly full of the flesh of the young woman he’d found walking in the park. The black beast reared up on his hind legs, thrusting his front hooves to the sky. Gradually, his form shifted back into a dark-haired human. He stretched his arms and stared up at the stars, some as old as he. Most of his kind had died out as the mortal world around them left its legends behind, but Benedict refused to walk away. Not yet. Not as long as that intruder from the Yucatan still walked among them.
He’d been reclaiming his power with the Night Walker out of his way. This side of the island wasn’t hostile as long as the enemy was gone. And it offered more beaches and lakes for Benedict to feed than the territory where he’d been banished. No more struggling to build trust with women so they would accompany him on a long journey to the water. And now that he had fed three times in the past two weeks, his strength was replenished.
Benedict walked to the outcropping of rocks where he’d left his clothes, dressing quickly and slicking his hair back. His lips curved into a twisted smile as he turned toward the city. When the Night Walker returned, he would be ready.
Time for the mighty Mayan god to get the hell off Benedict’s island. He’d been a part of the waters of Ireland before man first sank a foot into the bogs. This was his land, his people, and he was through being told where and when he could feed.
He zipped his pants and started buttoning his shirt. The five roses were still strewn across the rocks. He smirked, kicking one into the tide.