In The Dark (The Guardianship Trilogy Book 1)

by Sarah K. Jensen

  Laif’s fists balled as he forced himself to focus on Memphis and ignore everything else. “Take us to the hospital! NOW!”

  The cabbie hesitated for a second, studying his fare in the review mirror, then gunned it, weaving in and out of the lanes. The hospital was only a couple of miles away, but Laif knew with traffic and lights it could take close to ten minutes.

  “Don’t die,” Laif mumbled through lips touching the side of her head. “Just hold on.”

  Beads of sweat trickled down his face. His stomach pitched, but the nausea was nothing compared to the contraction of his heart. He hadn’t even said he was sorry yet. And who would’ve shot her? He dug his phone out of his jeans to call the one person who could help in this situation.

  “Hey, honey. What’s up?” his mom answered her cell after two rings.

  “I’m on my way in with Memphis. She’s been shot.”

  “Oh, baby. I’ll meet you in the ambulance bay, and I’ll call Tiegan and have him meet us.”

  He disconnected and swallowed back the sudden fear he had of losing her before he even got to know her and inspected the damage more closely. The short, grey shorts were covered with blood. Her dark grey tank-top had a small hole where the bullet had entered, but he felt no exit wound.

  As soon as he pushed her shirt up under her breasts, his hand stilled. A large red and black griffin with green eyes stared back at him. He smoothed his hand over her side and knew this wasn’t an ordinary tattoo. It was the Mark of the Guardian. Memphis McLoughlin was a Guardian of the Night. And from the looks of the griffin, a powerful one. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, that ticked him off.

  As his palm flattened against her skin, she shuddered and exhaled one word. “Callan.”

  “I’m— It’s Laif, Memphis,” he stuttered.

  What was taking so long? And who was Callan? He glanced out the window and his fury flared as the cab came to a stop. “Run the light!”

  “Can’t. I’m doing my best here,” the cabby drawled.

  Tempted to carry her the remainder of the way to the hospital, Laif glared at the back of the cabbie’s head. “Can’t you turn on your hazards or something?”

  “They’re on,” he said, easing back into the flow of the neighboring cars.

  Blood soaked through Laif’s ruined shirt and oozed between his fingers, staining the white t-shirt he still wore. Her breath weakened and her skin beaded with cold sweat. Laif could all but feel her life slipping away.

  “Come on, baby, stay with me. Come on, just a little bit further.” He rocked her on his lap, his hand pressed against her stomach, mumbling an oath and a prayer. “Don’t die. Do you hear me? Don’t die.”

  The flutter of her eyelids and the smile as she said, “Found you,” caused his eyes to sting.

  A half-smile sprung to his lips. “Yeah, you found me.”

  Just as he started to relax a little, her eyes closed again, and her body jerked as she coughed up blood.

  “Hurry!” he screamed at the driver.

  The cab jerked to a stop. “We’re here.”

  Laif fumbled his way out and into the ambulance bay with Memphis gathered against his chest and yelled for help. An attendant, standing about thirty feet from the door, dropped his cigarette and came sprinting. Within seconds, his mother and a group of nurses had her on a gurney and rushed her inside. When they passed through the double doors of the ER, a nurse held Laif back.

  “I’m sorry, you can’t go in there.”

  He leaned around her shoulder, peering through the small windows on the closed metal doors, watching her roll further and further away.

  “We need to get a medical history. What’s her name?”

  “Memphis.” He stepped toward the doors again as the gurney turned the corner.

  “Memphis what?” The nurse’s hand on his shoulder brought him back to attention.

  Laif pushed his fingers through his hair and met her stare.

  “You don’t know her name?”

  “Yes. McLoughlin. Memphis McLoughlin.” He shook his head and took a step back. “I don’t know much more except where she works.” His gaze bore down on her. “Don’t let her die.”

  The nurse smiled reassuringly. “She’s in good hands. What’s your name?”

  “Laif.” He shoved his fists into the pockets of his jeans. “Laif Craig. My mother works here. Maybe if you spoke to her, you—”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Craig, but you’ll have to wait over there,” the woman said, pointing to the cushioned chairs huddled in the corner, shutting him down before he could even get started. “I’ll come find you as soon as I know anything.”

  He nodded and turned to the waiting area where the chairs looked hard and uncomfortable. Laif drug himself to a chair and sat. Clasping his hands together, he leaned back to wait, trying to catch his breath and control the blood pounding in his ears.

  His head had just begun to clear when his cell vibrated against his thigh. Retrieving it, he saw the number and wanted to scream. Paulina Winthrop. Not now. He let it go to voice mail, then called his mom.

  “They’re prepping her for surgery. I’ll be out just as soon as I know more.”

  He could hear the beeping of machines and the jostle of metal in the background. “Will she be all right?” he asked, shaking his head to clear it, to cope with whatever it was he felt. And at the moment, he wasn’t sure what it was. Other than pure fear. That he recognized.

  “She’s in good hands, honey.”

  The phone fell silent and he all but crumbled. With his face buried in his hands, he mumbled, “Mo chuisle, mo chroí.”

  His father had called his mother the Gaelic words meaning my heart, my soulmate all Laif’s life. Could that explain the strong reaction he’d had to her almost instantaneously? The knowledge that she was someone important? Was Memphis McLoughlin his soulmate?

  A tight fist squeezed his heart and air sat stagnate in his lungs. He’d never had a panic attack before, and sure wasn’t going to start having one now. He forced out a shaky breath and stood to pace. He wanted to know who did this to her and then go find them and shove that gun so far up their—

  “Laif?” Tiegan Murray burst through the glass doors, almost at a run. “What happened? Your mom called and said the girl you’re seeing was shot.”

  The girl I’m seeing? He’d specifically told his parents he wouldn’t see her anymore. Of course, he had called his mom in a panic and...

  “Laif? Are you okay?”

  He shook his head and stared at his brother-in-law, Tiegan, a detective with the Austin Police Department. Tiegan had married his sister Julz six years earlier and they had the two cutest kids in the world.

  Would Memphis be able to have kids? Had the bullet done that much damage? The thought of her not being able to have children ripped up his insides.

  “Laif?” Tiegan said again, putting his arm around his shoulder and pulling him in close.

  Laif stared at his brother-in-law for a long moment, trying to remember his question. He couldn’t concentrate.

  Tiegan eased him over to a chair and sat, all but pulling Laif down beside him. When Laif sat, Tiegan squeezed his shoulder again, asking, “You okay, buddy?”

  “I’m fine. They won’t tell me anything. I don’t know anything.”

  “Who’s this girl?” He took a small pad out of his shirt pocket and clicked his pen, poised to take notes.

  “I don’t know much. I’m pretty sure she’s a Guardian. She had a dagger and short sword when we met. Though why she carries those kinds of weapons is beyond me. Maybe she comes against some real creeps when she’s fighting and thinks having weapons will deter them from attacking her. She shouldn’t be out there fighting alone.”

  Laif babbled as he watched Tiegan writing in his notebook and added, “I’m not sure if this is going to be a police matter or one for the family and Born Elk.”

  His brother-in-law ran his hand through his dark blond hair and shook his head. “I hate it
when your family does this to me. Laif, I have to write this up. I have to investigate. I’ll get Williams to help me, but if someone was shot, I can’t just sweep it under the rug.”

  “I know. All I’m sayin’ is it might have been because of what she does and the person who shot her might be an innocent.”

  Tiegan arched his brow. “Innocent? That’s unlikely. I know how these Night Shadows work, even if I can’t see them like you can. The people they borrow are anything but innocent.”

  Laif blew out a breath and stood again, too agitated to sit. “You know what I meant. Just don’t do much without letting us check into it.”

  “I’ll let you and Dad be there when I question her, but I’ve got to find a crime scene, and I can’t have any of you there in case this isn’t a case of Guardians versus Demons.”

  Tiegan stood, pocketing his pad and pen. He gave Laif a one-armed-hug before letting go and saying, “We’ll find out what happened, and if it needs to be handled by the Guardians, I’ll figure out a way to keep it that way. But if it’s a police matter, let me do my job.”

  With a slight nod, Laif answered, “Don’t we always?”

  Tiegan laughed. “Mostly.” He patted Laif on the back and sat again, leaning into the hard-cushioned chair. “Now, tell me about the woman who has your mom telling Julz that you’ve met your match.”

  Chapter 3

  The Isle of Éire, 1416

  Caoimhe smiled weakly at her husband’s scarred face and lightly brushed her hand across his furrowed brow. “Dearest sweetling, do no’ fear for me. Ian and Aiden will protect me. I’ll no’ be gone from ye for long.”

  “How am I to continue without ye, precious?”

  Tears streaked Áinle’s handsome face. Knowing he loved her beyond anything in this world, and how he would hate living without her, broke Caoimhe’s heart.

  “Ye must. All we ‘ave worked for needs to be completed. Síofra needs to be protected and taught.” She slid her hand behind her husband’s neck. “Áinle, my love, yea must stop yer father and ‘is creatures. They are unnatural. The Tuatha De Danann ‘ave abandoned this world and are willin’ to allow the Druids to destroy the mortals here.”

  His chuckle was strained. “I am half-druid, woman.”

  “Yet I love ye still.”

  Áinle rolled to his back and pulled his wife atop of him. His large, scarred hands ran up and down her back. “I still think there is another way. If we could get Aiden, his blood could be used.”

  “Nay!” Caoimhe rose on her elbows and looked down at her one-and-only love, her heart breaking for her warrior.

  “Sweetling, if any of the fae discover what we attempt here, ye know I will be banished. I will become useless. ‘Tis the only way. I won’ die, only be weakened to this world. I will be able to return home withou’ any fae taking notice of ye or Síofra. And I will no’ use one of me brothers tha’ way.”

  Caoimhe lovingly glided her fingers over her husband’s jaw; to his lips. “Tis the only way, love. When Síofra is able to attend to herself and protect this world, I will come for ye and take ye home with me.”

  “Swear to me ye will no’ die.”

  Caoimhe kissed Áinle deeply. When she broke away, she whispered, “I promise I will always be with ye.”

  Áinle stretched and reached for his wife. Caoimhe was not on the bed furs where she belonged. As he sat, he heard a small gurgle from the corner and he looked over, allowing his sight to adjust to the darkness. Lying on her side, his woman had their daughter at her breast, a tiny fist kneading the milky white flesh.

  Overwhelming love for her and the bairn flowed through him. Here—the two of them—was his life. His everything. He drifted back to sleep, caught up in the peace only his little family could bring.

  When he woke again, Síofra was whimpering from the corner, her mother nowhere to be seen. Áinle crawled over to his daughter and picked her up, dread immediately sweeping into his heart. “Caoimhe?”

  Terrified, he made his way out of the small cottage and plunged to his knees at the sight of his wife, wrists cut, blood slowly dripping into the quenching tank used for dunking his swords.

  He screamed a curse to the gods, and, nearly dropping his daughter, dragged himself to his love. “Oh, Caoimhe, no. Ye promised ye would no’ leave me. Ye promised.”

  Sobs retched through him so powerful he knew not how he held his small bairn. How would he care for her? He could not feed her the milk of a mother. He could not allow another woman into his life. Into his home. What had Caoimhe done?

  “Why?”

  But he knew. They had discussed this. He simply had not believed his wife would give so much blood. Too much for her survival. That had not been the plan.

  “Oh, my sweetling,” he cried, “ye have surely condemned us all to hell. How do I go on wi’ou’ ye?”

  Sweat poured down Áinle’s face, his tunic had long been cast aside and now he wore only a leather apron and gloves to protect his dark skin from the flames he’d called upon from the elements and the molten metals used to cast the third sword of Caomhnóireacht… Swords of the Guardianship.

  He’d poured over the ancient text passed down from his great-great-grandmother, Brigid, daughter of Dagda, son of the goddess Danu and Bilé, the god of death. Only someone of the Tuatha Dé Danann, People of the Goddess Danu, had the power to fashion such swords.

  Since fae blood and the magik of the Druids oozed through his veins, Áinle was the only one left on the earth who could fashion such weapons. And the only one with the knowledge to craft the new swords needed to fight the Oíche Scáthanna and defeat them.

  So far, only the Magik Sword of Nuada could inflict a mortal blow to an immortal, and it had been long ago hidden from the Order of the Druids.

  The fae blood his wife gave sealed the swords’ power. He fought off the pain of her death. Her suicide. Sacrificed so their daughter could grow up and learn to fight. To rid the world of the monsters his own Druid father, Ciaran, had brought to this earth through dark magiks.

  The sword he labored over, a bastard sword, was fashioned to be used in either hand of a Guardian. Bronze, cobalt, nickel, and manganese, along with seven drops of his powerful blood had been poured into the mold and was now forged. Áinle now went through the process of annealing the short sword. This process of softening the weapon would take him the rest of the night.

  He glanced over at the quenching tank and knew he had only thirteen hours left before the fae blood in the tank turned to ash. Again, he fought off pain and rage and worked to make the weapons his wife had so carelessly given her life for.

  The magiks used to produce the special metals into the basic form, along with his heartbreak, were draining Áinle of his strength. Yet he could not stop until the weapons were completed.

  The devils from the dark had few weaknesses, and only a Guardian could defeat those who followed Darkness. It took the magik passed down to Áinle by his Druid father, Ciaran, and the blood of Dagda to be granted such guardianship, a guardianship he would pass down himself, Dagda willing.

  The small bundle in the corner rolled and a pink face peered out. Áinle sighed and prayed he’d have the time to teach his daughter the ways of the Caomhnóirí na Oíche.

  The Guardians of the Night.

  The fate of the world may one day depend upon it.

  Chapter 4

  Texas, Present Day

  Lydia Craig stood back and watched the ER doctors and nurses fight to stabilize the woman she’d first seen two weeks before wrestling with her son. Laif had assured them that he had no intention of ever seeing her again, though she and Reagan had been certain that wouldn’t be the case. Her husband believed this woman was Laif’s soulmate. When Laif had called and said she’d been shot, a part of Lydia’s heart had broken.

  “Call the OR, we have her stable enough to move,” Dr. Johnson said, readying the stretcher to take Memphis upstairs.

  Lydia watched in silence as Memphis was wheeled toward
the elevators. She had every confidence that the doctors would take care of the girl, so she headed to the waiting area to take care of her distraught son.

  As she entered the lobby, Lydia watched as Laif’s tightened fists rubbed across his face and then opened and shoved through black hair, which needed a cut. He stood to pace. A mother never turned off her heart, and he was something special. He’d given her enough trouble growing up. He certainly wasn’t a saint, but he had always been the most loving little boy, and that hadn’t changed.

  “Laif,” she said as she neared.

  He grasped her arm, his eyes frantic. “How is she? Can I see her?”

  For Lydia, this part of nursing was the most difficult. Comforting the ones suffering through the wait. It was much worse when it was her own that needed comforting. “No baby. She’s been taken up to surgery. They’ve stabilized her, but she lost a lot of blood, and that bullet was lodged against her spine. It could be a while. If you want to go home—”

  “I’m not leaving,” he cut in.

  Lydia smiled. “Didn’t really think you would.” She took him by the arm and led him back to the cluster of chairs. “I’ve called your dad, and he and Bryson are on their way. Dad said he’d call Born Elk and Fisher and call a family meeting.” Lydia took her son’s hand between her own and squeezed gently. “Did you see the griffin?” she asked softly.

  He looked up. “I noticed.”

  Lydia smiled, pushed a lock of hair off his forehead, and asked softly, “Did you see the scars on her body?”

  “Just the griffin. Guess I was too caught up with the hole in her gut to notice any scarring.” He shrugged but Lydia could practically see the tension he carried in his shoulders.

  “Does the griffin mean what I think it does?”

  He grabbed a magazine from the side table and began wringing it in his hands. “I think so. In fact, I’m positive.”

  “If she is like you and your brothers, she shouldn’t scar. Her body should heal well enough not to. None of you boys have any scars, and believe me, you should. So how is it she does?”