The Dracove (The Prophecy series)

by N. L. Gervasio

  “Don’t you know how to make some noise?” Most people make noise, if only breathing, and her hearing was good.

  “My apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He played with the pencils on her desk. “I’m a bit early for my appointment.”

  “It’s okay—” She realized she didn’t hear the door chime either. “Wait, you’re my appointment?”

  “Aye. I figured today might be better.”

  Yeah, right. Flustered, she picked up the glass fragments to distract her thoughts from the instant fantasy that popped into her head about him.

  He smiled, keeping his laughter at bay, and he walked toward her. “Be careful. I wouldn’t want you to cut—”

  “Ow.”

  “— yourself. Sorry,” he said.

  “It’s okay, it’s not your fault,” she replied, and raised her left hand to get a better look at the cut.

  He stopped. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, it’s not too bad.” She looked at him, then back at her hand and cleaned it.

  Grant walked over to the painting and looked at it again, waiting for her to finish. He smelled the blood and was thankful it was only a small cut, even though he fed last night. Just the smell of it can bring on the faint sound of the symphony and the hunger if it’s strong enough . . . and the symphony in his head just went up a note or two.

  “Are you finished with this one?” He did his best to ignore the slight crescendo of melody.

  When she saw what he was asking about, she joined him next to the painting. He slid his sunglasses to the top of his head to get a better look. He’d forgotten to take them off the day before. It happened often. He’d get so damned accustomed to them blocking the light from his eyes.

  “You really like that one, don’t you?” He sensed not only her confusion regarding his admiration of the piece, but there was also a hint of fear coming from her. Not fear of him, but of the painting. Something about it scared the hell out of her.

  “Aye, I do.”

  “Look, I’m really sorry about yesterday—”

  “I’m here today; however, it doesn’t look like today is much better for you.” He looked at her hand and returned his eyes to the painting. “Besides, there’s nothing for you to be sorry for.”

  “Yes, well, I am sorry. I’ll try to be nice today,” she said with a warm smile. “But my friend convinced me I’d have a good time if I went out with her last night, so I have a headache. And this” —she raised her hand— “well, accidents happen, I suppose.”

  People usually told him things in situations where they wouldn’t otherwise, such as a customer in a gallery shopping for a new painting to hang on his wall. He smiled. “And did you?”

  “Did I what?”

  “Have a good time?” He didn’t move his gaze from the painting.

  “Yes, actually, I did. That is, until I woke up this morning.”

  He laughed and turned to her. “How much for this one?”

  “I’m not sure. I really wasn’t finished with it yet.”

  “I like it the way it is.” He looked at it again. “And judging from your reaction concerning it, it doesn’t seem to me that you’ll want to finish it.”

  She chuckled. “You’re probably right. Are you sure you want this one?”

  “It reminds me of someone I knew long ago.”

  “Really?” She arched her right brow. “Strange friend you have.”

  He nodded gently. “Yes, he was. I can pick it up tomorrow, if that’s okay with you?”

  “I think that’ll be fine, but let me check my calendar.” She walked to the front of the studio.

  He watched intently, his eyes surveying every inch of her. He followed quietly, surprising her with his stealth when she looked up to find him standing in front of her desk.

  “This should be enough.” He handed her a bundle of cash, folded in half, and let the shadows drop back so she could see him truly for the first time. Normally, he’d only let someone see when they were to become his prey.

  She stared at his face. He felt goose bumps race over her skin when his hand brushed hers.

  “Yes, um . . . I’m sure it will be.”

  He smiled when she forced herself to look at the calendar on her desk.

  “Could you pick it up around eleven tomorrow morning?”

  “That would be fine.” He tilted his head. “Perhaps you could join me for lunch then?” He surprised himself by asking, but there was nothing he could do. It just came out.

  The forefinger of her right hand gently touched her lips and tapped softly. She looked into his eyes and smiled. “Maybe I could, if you tell me your first name.”

  “My first name?” He realized he never introduced himself to her. “Oh shit, please pardon my rudeness. My name is Grantlund; you may call me Grant, if you like.”

  “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Grant.” She extended her right hand to shake his.

  “The pleasure is most definitely mine, Kylie.” He leaned forward and kissed her hand. He shifted his eyes upward to catch the blush rising in her cheeks. Holding her hand in his, he stood straight again. “I do have another appointment, so I must go, but I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  Kylie lost the fine art of speech. All she could do was nod her answer. Her hand slipped out of his, until only their fingertips touched, and she strangely felt like a part of her vanished with his touch. It was a familiar feeling, the same she’d experienced at the club the night before for no apparent reason.

  He looked back at her, giving her another opportunity to see those ice blue eyes before sliding his sunglasses back in place. He smiled, waved, opened the door, and disappeared into the world.

  When he was gone, she dropped into her chair. Her thoughts drifted Cianán and she thumped her forehead down on the desk. She sighed heavily. Last night, it was Cianán, who was . . . mysterious; that would be the best word to describe him, and she was supposed to have dinner with him tonight. Now this new man, Grant, asked her to lunch. She sighed deeply again. Rob could never compete with these two. She stood and walked to the back of the studio. Shithead.

  Ana came in not long after Grant left and told her about Rob. The story had been all over the news, which Kylie never watched. It upset her, even though he wasn’t a part of her life anymore. She now didn’t understand how she could love someone who was so mean to her. Why she stayed with him for so long, she didn’t know, and her decision to leave wasn’t easy. She’d left him after that terrible night when Tobak bit him, but he still had trouble letting her go. He’d followed her to every new place she’d moved to. She wasn’t sure how she got away from him completely. It was as though someone watched over her, since she still lived in the same city. When she opened the studio, it surprised her he didn’t find out and show up at her door. That special someone must have been watching out for her again one she liked to call her guardian angel. She affectionately called him “Mane” when she was a child. She really didn’t know if Mane was male or female.

  At any rate, there couldn’t be any other explanation. Rob wasn’t one to give up easily and he surely would have searched until he found her, but for some reason he never did. Up until Ana told her what had happened to him, she’d been wondering how she got home last night without him following.

  Maybe Mane killed him. She shook her head. No, guardian angels don’t kill people. But, vampyres do, and if they existed, she’d swear that was what happened to him because they didn’t find any blood. Not around him, or even in him. Nah, it’s probably some weird occult thing. I watch too many horror movies.

  Her thoughts shifted back to sweet little Ana with her curly black hair, who comforted her through just about everything. Sometimes she didn’t know what she would do without her. Ana was her Ami—a soul-sister. Kylie could tell her anything; Ana was someone who would always be there for her when she needed her and not think twice about it—even if she was a little crazy sometimes. But Kylie needed that craziness in her life, since it
was so full of tragedy, and Ana was the perfect person for that. Her bubbly personality brightened Kylie’s day on more than one occasion.

  She first met Ana when she leased the studio. She’d only known her for about four months, but they became the best of friends right away. Kylie was glad she chose this place for her gallery.

  Rob came to mind again and she wondered if she should go to the funeral. It might not be a good idea. His parents never liked the fact she’d accused him of hitting her. No, not their son, he could never do a thing like that.

  “Whatever,” she muttered and dipped the brush in the water to clean it. She swatted the brush against the easel leg a few times to get rid of the excess water, and dipped it into the next color—cadmium red.

  The phone rang and she jumped at the sound. “Hello?” She didn’t usually answer the phone that way in her studio, but her mind wasn’t on work, nor was it on whether or not the phone would be ringing anytime soon.

  “Hello, Kylie? This is Cianán.”

  A smile appeared at hearing his voice. “Hi.” She tried to sound cheerful.

  “Good afternoon, an’ how are ye today?”

  “I’m okay, and you?”

  “I’m fine, thank ye.” Silence filled the line briefly. “Are ye sure you’re all right? I detect a bit o’ sadness in your voice.”

  “I guess I can’t hide it, huh?”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “I just received some bad news about a . . . friend, but I’ll be all right.”

  “Are ye certain? We can ‘ave dinner ‘nother time, if ye like.”

  “No, tonight will be fine, unless you’re trying to back out?”

  He laughed. “I’d like nothing more than to have dinner with ye this eve.”

  “Then I guess you’re taking me to dinner.”

  “I s’pose I am. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  “As do I.”

  “I suppose you’ll want to know where to pick me up?”

  “That’d help.”

  She laughed and gave him directions to her house. When she hung up, she realized she wasn’t so sad anymore. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was about Cianán that brought a smile to her face. She didn’t get that wonderful feeling like she did with Grant, yet there was definitely something there. The comment he’d made—asking her if she believed in destiny—came to mind. She wondered if he was her destiny.

  “Oh, that’s just crazy. It’s probably just because he’s a foreigner with a cool name.” But the smile remained on her face. She thought about the night before and the way he looked at her. The way he spoke to her—to her, not at her, nor at her chest. She’d learned over the years to tell the difference, and they’d both spoken to her that way.

  Perhaps Grant was the one she was destined to be with, when she recalled the incredible energy she’d felt with his touch. She shook her head, chuckling under her breath. Grant was a hottie with a cool name. Finally, she stood and walked back to Grant’s painting to finish what she’d started.

  Cianán paced his luxurious Empressina suite, thinking about Kylie. She could be his Chosen One, but he had to be certain. He needed to know if she wore the mark upon her flesh, but it was obviously in a place not easily seen.

  He could have taken her last night, fed on that precious lifeblood of hers, but it wouldn’t help him in the end. He didn’t normally romance his prey; he’d take enough time to locate, study, and then harvest them. He never thought he’d be in a situation long enough to find which color they favored most. He knew what worked well for each. There were ones with strong motherly instincts. For them, he took the form of a lost child. The expression on their faces when he revealed his true self was a sufficient reward. Then there were all those young men who wanted nothing more than to become intimate with the woman (or man) of their dreams. Those were only too easy and not nearly as enjoyable. But, what he fancied most was his ability to play the role of predator in the animal world, although his prey was of the human persuasion. Sometimes, he’d soar high above like an eagle swooping down to pluck his unsuspecting prey from their poor miserable lives. Other times, he’d use the sly tactics of the wolf. However impressive all these abilities were, he knew he’d have to take on his true form as the handsome mysterious gentleman she’d met if he was to get anywhere near Kylie.

  He licked his lips at the prospect of what she’d taste like. Mayhap a small bite wouldn’t hurt. He abruptly changed the direction of his pacing. No, not yet. He needed her in his homeland for what he had in store, where everything would be prepared for her, and he knew he’d get too carried away if he took that bite, no matter how small the intended sample. Perhaps he could have fun with her right before he needed her. A little fun without biting her? Would it be possible? He had strength enough to do so.

  She was, after all, merely a sacrifice.

  A wide grin spread across his lips. He stared at the silver ring tumbling between his fingers. He’d taken it from her when he kissed her goodnight--a small token to remember her by. He always took something, although it was usually after he fed.

  Unlike other prey, he’d have to go out in the sun with this one. He didn’t care for the sun’s warmth. If everything went well at dinner, he shouldn’t have to see it again, other than his short trip to pick her up around dusk.

  But dusk he enjoyed because it was different. ‘Twas when the creatures of the night rose from their daylong slumber, and when the shadows had free reign of the night. He smiled, recalling a time when the Merlin taught him of these things. During his time with the Druids, he learned nothing compared to what she’d taught him. But it was ages ago when he’d met her, when he was a young man of twenty-three, although it felt like yesterday—

  * * * * *

  334 B.C.E., Ireland

  He treaded softly through the forest, listening to the leaves rustle in the breeze and the sound of the babbling brook not far off. They spoke if one knew how to listen.

  What was left of the sun’s golden rays slipped through the tree branches. Dandelion seeds and autumn leaves floated through them, lingering there, trapped in time. The world was magical to him, but then nature was magical. He crept around the large oak tree, touching it gently, carefully stepping over its roots to not disturb any gods still in the forest.

  He searched for the Mistletoe, a sacred plant meaning a great deal to him and the others. Difficult to find, but whence found, rejoicing was apt to occur. Once he knew where it was, he’d tell the others. They would hold a ritual ceremony, cutting the Mistletoe down with golden shears and catching it in a white cloth where it would be used later to make healing potions. He looked up into the giant oak tree and searched its branches carefully.

  “What is it you’re searchin’ for?”

  He turned around to find a beautiful woman standing nearby. Her hair was as golden as the sun’s rays, and her eyes as bright as the brightest blue sky. He was speechless, his voice taken by her beauty.

  “I ask ye, what is it ye search for?” Her melodious voice flowed from between ruby lips. She tilted her head to the side. With the motion, her hair fell, covering a small portion of her delicate face, and she pushed it back with her finger, awaiting an answer.

  “I, uh—” For the first time in his life, he couldn’t find words. He swallowed his heart.

  “D’ye know what you’re searchin’ for?”

  All he could do was nod. When he realized his mouth was agape, he shut it. I must look like a fool.

  “Not quite,” she said. “Ye look rather charmin’.”

  “How did ye—?”

  “Know what you were thinkin’?”

  “Aye.”

  “‘Tis a simple thing, really.” She waved a delicate hand, dismissing the complexity of what she’d done.

  “Then why do ye ask me what I’m searchin’ for if ye can search my mind for the answer?”

  She smiled. “That’d take away the pleasure.”
<
br />   “O’ what?”

  “Speakin’ with ye. Hearin’ your voice.”

  He smiled and wondered who the beautiful creature was who wished to speak with him. He’d not seen her before and wondered where she came from.

  “I am Cianán Lor—”

  “Lorcan MacLeer, I know,” she said. “I’ve been searchin’ for ye.”

  “For me? Why?”

  She smiled again, and it was radiance unmatched by any sunrise. “‘Tis difficult to explain. Best to show ye. Should you care for some wine? I’ve some just over that knoll” —she pointed toward the small hill— “an’ perhaps you’re hungry, as well. You’ve been treading through the forest for some time.”

  “How do ye know these things o’ me?”

  “In time, Cianán. Please, join me.” She turned and walked away from him.

  At first, he stood there, not sure if he should follow. She turned around to look at him, and he forced his feet to move. He had to find out who she was and what she wanted with him. When he caught up to her, she walked again, leading him over the grassy knoll to a large spread of food and drink.

  “Is this to your likin’?” She lightly touched his chin and closed his mouth.

  “There’s so much,” he said.

  “I wasn’t sure what ye favored.”

  He turned to her, looking into those mesmerizing eyes. They were as blue as the sea and he swam in them. “I thought ye could read my mind.”

  “I can, Cianán, but to see every detail of your life could take many lifetimes, an’ though that does not vex me, you shall not live that long . . . unless of course, ye chose to.”

  “What do ye mean?”

  “Come, sit.”

  She walked over and knelt down, extending her hand out in an invitation for him to join her. The candles surrounding the spread flickered to life. He stepped forward and took her hand, looked around, studying his surroundings. She poured a goblet of wine and handed it to him. He nodded and thanked her in the Druid dialect. She set the wine down and reached for another goblet. Before she could reach for the wine again, he picked it up, lifted it to her goblet and poured.