The Darkest Day

by Britt Bury

  Izel smelled burning underbrush and wood. But the space around her was clear. Kelvin must have taken her away from the previous “crime scene.” With the firelight at his back, she watched his large biceps flex and stretch as he bandaged her. His broad chest rose slowly with each breath, and the rigid strings of muscle that ran down his torso were just delectable.

  After securing the bandage, Kelvin pivoted on his knees and stretched for a nearby canteen. That’s when she noticed a slice of raised skin. Eyes grazing over his whole body, she found that he had already healed from the demon attack. No scars, just smooth skin, except for this one.

  “What’s that?” She reached out with her good arm and skimmed the mark with her finger. Still kneeling in front of her, he placed the open canteen at her mouth, letting her sip water.

  “Death scar.” He lowered the canteen and slowly ran his thumb along her bottom lip. “Though one can heal from wounds, death blows leave scars.”

  Her brows furrowed. “Why?”

  He gave a slight shrug. “Donna know for certain. Perhaps it’s ta remind one of how close they were to their end.”

  The only thing Izel knew about basic immortal physiology was how one grew into immortality itself. There was a transitioning period. Although the specific age varied from being to being, once into the being’s slow years, an immortal’s blood would shift and become potent with regeneration cells. Although an immortal would technically keep aging, it would be at an exceedingly slow rate, which explained why, though it was difficult to do, they could be killed.

  Kelvin had said he was over a thousand years old, but he looked around thirty-five. A thousand years from now, he’d probably look forty. Izel stifled a grin. Kelvin, at any age, was sexy. She looked at his death blow scar again. When had he gotten it and by whom? She couldn’t believe her strong Pookah had been so close to death.

  The thought made her stomach ache so she placed her palm against it. “Who could ever get close enough to leave this on you?”

  Something vicious flashed in his eyes. “No one you’ve ever met.”

  The sun broke over the horizon. Kelvin stayed close to Izel. He allowed her to sleep, hoping that rest would strengthen her, but he watched her arm carefully. Although the wound was no longer gushing, the bleeding wouldn’t stop. She couldn’t heal this kind of wound on her own. He needed to get her help, and fast.

  “I can smell the ocean,” she murmured. Her eyes were closed and she looked so pale.

  She must be delusional, he thought. They were not near an ocean. He rested the back of his hand on her forehead. She was burning up. Straddling her waist, he cupped her neck in his palms and gently lifted her to face him.

  “Lass?” he stared down at her, but she gave no response. Except for her face, her skin was cool to the touch. He leaned down, putting his cheek by her nose. Her breathing was shallow. Realization hit him like a sucker punch. He was in the middle of Scotland, holding his female in his arms, watching her die.

  He clamped his jaw closed and carefully laid her back down. He stalked to their packs and dumped them both out. He snagged his wallet from his pack and stuffed it into his back pocket and fastened a canteen of water around his belt He deemed everything in Izel’s pack unnecessary, except for a small leather-bound booklet. Although he didn’t know what it was, he figured it meant something to her. He secured the book at the waist of his pants, along his back. Sheathing all his weapons, he returned to Izel. Grabbing the vial of potion from around his neck, he dabbed his finger at its opening and lined her dry lips with the liquid. He waited for her human scent to fade before tucking the vial back beneath his collar.

  “Come here, love,” he murmured while cradling her small body. Wrapping his arms tightly around her, he rose. Her limp legs dangled and her head bobbed against his chest. He skimmed his lips along her hot forehead. Her brows creased in response. “I’m going ta start running now.” He knew the jolting of each footfall would tussle her and cause pain, but he had no choice. He needed to get her medical attention. Harlington was only an hour south. The small, upscale town would undoubtedly have some kind of healer or doctor there.

  “Wh-where?” she creaked. Kelvin hugged her closer.

  “I’m taking you ta town. I’m gonna get you help.”

  She tensed. “No. They’ll know I’m…” The lass was so weak, she could barely speak.

  “Shhh, I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen ta you.” Kelvin had never felt more helpless. Thank God there were still beings who practiced medicine, mystical or otherwise.

  When he leaped into a full sprint, Izel winced and gasped in pain.

  “I’m so sorry, love.”

  Chapter 16

  There was a reason Kelvin hadn’t been to Harlington in several years. He’d be lucky to walk two feet into any establishment there without raising unwelcome attention, especially with a human in tow. The posh town was the end of the line for a railway that traveled over three hundred miles of the coast. Although the borough was small, its inhabitants were exceedingly wealthy and didn’t care for outsiders.

  However, he burst through the doors of a lavish hotel. The front desk attendant merely raised her brows then lifted the phone to her ear, undoubtedly dialing authorities. Holding Izel tightly with one arm, he reached for his wallet and slammed his Centurion American Express card down on the counter. The woman gasped when she read the silver etching of his name.

  “Oh, Mr. Kerr! I’m so sorry. I did not know—”

  “Never mind,” he barked. “Get me a doctor now!”

  “Yes, of course.” She dialed frantically while scrambling around, yelling out orders. A lanky redheaded hybrid scurried up to the desk. “Fredrick,” the receptionist ordered, “take Mr. Kerr to the penthouse.”

  “This way, sir.” Fredrick ushered them toward the elevator.

  “The healer is on his way, Mr. Kerr,” the receptionist gently called from the desk as the elevator doors closed.

  Minutes seemed like hours. Kelvin had laid Izel on the oversized bed and then hadn’t moved from her side. The more he watched over her, the sicker he felt. Her skin was translucent and the bandage he had made was so drenched with blood that no white remained visible on the material. Her lashes rested against her pale cheeks; in that moment, he thought he’d give his left arm to see them flush pink with life. His eyes darted over her as he clamped her hand in his. Suddenly there was a rap at the door.

  “Mr. Kerr?” a small man asked, entering the room. Kelvin scented him as some kind of warlock.

  “Yes. Please.” He led the healer in. “She’s…”

  “Dying,” the doctor finished his sentence.

  Kelvin wanted to rip the man’s throat out for uttering such a word out loud. But instead he bit his tongue, not willing to give away any detail about her mortality. The doctor strode to the bed and set his black leather case down. The sound of gold clasps springing open made Kelvin uneasy, for inside was a smorgasbord of tools and liquids that could have easily belonged to a serial killer.

  Raising his head and peering under his glasses, the warlock looked over Izel while removing a large syringe and a clear liquid from the case. Kelvin inhaled deeply, terrified and anxious for his weakening female.

  “This one’s got quite a bit of human in her,” the healer absently stated while sticking the long needle into the vial of liquid. “Not healing very well on her own, is she?” He glanced at Kelvin, who shifted his shoulders in unease. He heard the suspicion in the doctor’s tone, but with humanity still in its early (supposed) extinction, it wasn’t uncommon to find some hybrid beings who still carried a decent amount of mortal blood in their systems.

  Kelvin knew that though the entities of this realm were immortal, strength and healing capabilities varied.

  Could the doctor move any more slowly?

  Lifting the full syringe to his eye level, he flicked it twice and squirted a drop of liquid into the air. Arms crossed tightly over his chest, Kelvin paced behind him,
feverishly watching the warlock hover over his unconscious woman.

  With a moistened cotton ball, the doctor sterilized the inside of her elbow. Laying the needle against a thick, protruding vein, he pierced her pale skin. Kelvin hissed, watching the needle enter her arm. Never had he wanted anything more than for his human to feel no pain. As if reading his thoughts, the warlock glanced over his shoulder. “I just gave her morphine. This next part is going to be formidable.”

  The warlock removed the scrap of cloth that had once been part of Kelvin’s shirt from Izel’s arm. The sight of the exposed wound made Kelvin’s whole body tense with rage. If it were possible, Kelvin would happily go back and kill the demon slowly, again and again.

  The warlock poured an orange liquid over the gouge. When it began to simmer like boiling water over her skin, Izel’s parted lips let out a soft sob of pain. A small black fragment frothed to the surface. Kelvin’s eyes widened. This mystical elixir was extracting the tiny shards of the poisonous claw. His clenched his hands, nails digging in and blood trickling down his fists. His rage built with every wince and bubble he witnessed.

  The worst is over. Just a quick stitch and then she’ll be fine.

  The warlock sewed up the wound, and thankfully Izel no longer seemed to feel a thing. Her face was relaxed; she slept soundly. Once the last stitch was in place and the healer withdrew, Kelvin sighed with relief.

  The thank-you on his lips was caught in Kelvin’s throat when the doctor stocked a torpedo-sized syringe full of a thick, red substance. “The morphine I gave her will take the edge off. Still, I suggest you look away.” He leaned over Izel and yanked her top down, wedging it under her breasts. Kelvin wanted to growl at him for such a display, but he felt the blood leave his face when the warlock swiped another cotton ball over her heart.

  God, no.

  Tossing the cotton away, the healer gripped the dram and rested his free hand on her chest. With his palm over her heart, he positioned the needle between the gap of his thumb and first finger. Eyeballing the area, he raised his arm high. Before Kelvin could blink, he watched the healer plunge the syringe into his female’s fragile heart.

  Her eyes shot open and she let out a gut-wrenching scream. Her torso arched off the bed as if her chest were being tugged on by a puppeteer.

  “What are you doing? What is that?”

  “This,” the warlock said absently while pushing the liquid into her, “is tapaidh a leigheas. Or ‘quick healing potion’ to the commonwealth.”

  Commonwealth, his ass. If the sodding prick only knew what Kelvin was worth, he’d probably piss himself stupid.

  “It must go straight to her heart. With her exceedingly potent human blood, she perishes at a rate I have not seen in decades.” Kelvin looked at his writhing female. Her green irises were vacant as the whites of her eyes flooded crimson in color. She screamed again and again as the liquid emptied into her body.

  “What the fuck! You said the morphine would take the edge off!”

  “It did.”

  Still forcing the dense fluid into her heart, the warlock faced Kelvin to ask, “Do you know her human-immortal ratio?” Kelvin was about ready to end this man. How could he chat casually while Izel cried out in agony? The warlock must have seen something in Kelvin’s eyes because he shuddered and returned his attention to Izel.

  Finally the ruby flux had disappeared into her. Izel’s eyes remained squeezed shut and she let out shaky breaths, broken up by choking sobs. Tears streamed down her pink cheeks. Kelvin wanted to kill the warlock until he noticed the change.

  Pink! Her cheeks are pink!

  He watched her flush with life right before him. “She’ll be fine. She’s already healing rapidly, but she needs rest and clean bandages until the wound is completely closed. The stitches should shed themselves in about twenty-four hours.”

  Kelvin nodded, eyes remaining on Izel. “Thank you,” he said, never meaning it so much in his life. Clasping the door handle and leaving the room, the warlock muttered, “I’ll charge my services to your room,” and left.

  Kelvin gingerly sat next to her. She looked so small, so… mortal. He dusted his fingers over her face, overjoyed to find her temperature returning to normal. Eyes closed, her lips curled as if, even unconscious, she recognized his touch.

  The sight of his hand caked with dirt and dried blood against her lovely face suddenly made him pull back. He was hit with the notion that he was not presentable enough to be next to her.

  After securing the locks and blinds, he stood over Izel and gazed at her for long moments. He couldn’t scent her humanness, and she appeared to be healing by the second. Glancing at the cordless phone atop the nightstand, he thought now was a good time to check in with Ian. Although he hated the idea of using a landline, in his hurry to get Izel here he had left his cell phone behind.

  Looking once more at the beautiful creature asleep on the plush bed, he rose and crossed to the bathroom. Unwilling for her first sight to be of him bloody and unkempt, he decided he’d call his brother after he showered.

  A little while later, after exiting the steamy bathroom, Kelvin made several calls to the front desk, acquiring food, clothing, and other items, then finally dialed Ian. Rolling his shoulders in the white terrycloth bathrobe he’d found hanging near the towels, he waited as four rings passed before his brother answered.

  “Aye?”

  “Ian?” Kelvin almost didn’t recognize his brother’s tone. The normally calm, calculated Pookah sounded disgruntled, stressed. “I donna have much time. I’m about two days out. Have you found out anything?”

  Ian let out a loud sigh, as if not knowing where to begin. “I need you back here, Kel. I can no’… I…” Kelvin’s heart rate quickened. Something had Ian rattled, and Kelvin was in no position to take on the “responsible” role.

  “What’s going on, Ian?”

  “Ach, where ta begin! I’ve got a regular fuck-all storm coming down on me. We’ve captured a D.P.D. and she’s—”

  “You have a Dark Prince Daughter in your keeping?” Kelvin stabbed fingers through his hair. Another demon walking the realm? What the hell was going on?

  “Aye. And she’s a vicious one. But the darkness…” Hearing Ian trail off, Kelvin knew right away what he was struggling with. Because he himself was struggling with the same thing. “I’m drawn ta her, Kel—in a way I’ve never been ta another.” Before Kelvin could tell him about the demon he ran into, Ian continued. “Keith is out looking for the one that got away.”

  “What?” Kelvin all but yelled. “There are two demon daughters on our soil?”

  “Aye. But I donna know what their purpose is. The one I have in holding will no’ cooperate. She keeps telling me that her father will come for her at the next Contention.” Kelvin heard the deadly hiss in his brother’s tone. Although Kelvin had run across a demon himself, Dark Prince Daughters were a whole different ball game. The female demons varied in shape and looks. They were also the blood offspring of Satan himself, not typical, run-of-the-mill, hideous Hell beasts.

  “The Court of Contention is still a while off. When the four realms open up, everyone will be coverin’ their asses and running from the Cypher. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  Kelvin wished he had more time to discuss this with Ian. A landline could easily be tapped. He considered all that had happened in the last few days: human blood had been spilled in the woods, a dead Alp and a dead demon, and now this.

  “Ian, I need ta know what you’ve found out about Izel.”

  “Izel?” his brother retorted, amusement lacing his tone.

  “The human,” he corrected quickly.

  “Well, the human is in fact sole heir, and current leader by right, of the Campbell clan. No’ to mention…”

  Kelvin almost broke the phone in his grasp, he was squeezing so hard. “What?”

  “Turns out she is betrothed to Andrew Thompson.”

  His face went hot and he gritted his teeth together. He knew
Andrew Thompson well. The Warrior Fionn had been the Campbell Battle Chief for the last twenty-five years.

  And he thinks to claim my female? Never!

  “He’ll be wanting the girl, Kel. Good money says he’s hot on your trail. Have you been staying in the highlands and away from the towns?”

  Kelvin snarled, inwardly cursing himself. His mind was on Thompson, hoping, praying he got to square off with the Fionn. “Let the little fuck catch me. I’ll cut him from hip ta sternum, just like I did—”

  “It’s no’ that simple, Kel. Alistair has no’ returned from the States. The witch has revealed that he’s been captured by the Campbell clan but we don’t know where they’re keeping him. I need ya ta get the human back here as soon as possible. We need some kind of leverage over them. Let’s hope our cousin still lives.”

  Kelvin was seeing red. Alistair Kerr was a Wolverine Pookah; he’d never let himself get caught by the Fionns.

  “About the prophecy. Ryo confirms that the girl has had a fate etched by the Dryads since birth. The details are vague, but she is foretold to come inta realm-defying powers. The Mystic must have known and that’s why he concealed her. She could be dangerous. We need her in our keeping. But—”

  “Christ, Ian, what?”

  “There’s also a curse involved that may affect you, too.”

  “What the bloody hell does that mean?” He palmed the back of his neck. He was cursed? Kelvin wanted to laugh.

  “It means that fate is cruel. Somehow you’ve managed to steer this supposed ‘powerful human’ from her destined path. Which is why I need you ta get her here so we can figure this out. Ryo will no’ tell me any more than that. She said you’d be in ta see her within the month with questions of your own.” Of course she did. Eerie, witchy female.

  “So you’re telling me that this wee female in my keeping has a prophecy to possess ‘realm-defying power’ and she is cursed to what?”

  “I do no’ know. Again, Ryo said you’d come see her about it.”