A young blond male stepped through. Matty brought the sword down slowly and placed its tip on her throat, just under her chin.
“You’re a very lucky woman,” he said with a growl. “Very. Lucky.”
The blond vampyre placed his hand on Matty’s shoulder. Reluctantly, Matty withdrew the sword from her throat and stood. He stared down at her a moment and stepped over her, taking his place behind the blond.
“Conor,” he said when he walked past him.
Conor gave a short nod. “Kevin, Gino, get ‘er to ‘er feet.”
Kevin kept his hand over her mouth as they lifted her.
Conor stood before her. “Sorry, Kylie.” He wrapped a piece of cloth around her face the moment Kevin removed his hand, covering her mouth with the gag. “But if ye’d come to us nicely, I wouldn’ ‘ave to do this.”
Matty threw the sword to the floor. They carried Kylie down the stairs and out of the house.
Stones littered the yard. Kylie didn’t recall seeing so many of them before. How many of the statues died in the fight? Were they protecting her? Why would they? Her heart sank at the thought of so many dying to protect her from Cianán.
Then she saw the monster himself, covered in blood of varying colors that had nothing to do with Christmas.
“Kylie.” His tender voice made her cringe. “Where’s Grantlund? I’d think he’d be here to protect ye.” He shook his head. She noticed a chunk missing behind his left ear. “It’d be just like him to leave the woman he loves unprotected. It’s not the first time.” His eyes darted to the locket around her neck. “Get that feckin’ thing off her!”
Matty reached for the locket. Kylie yelled through the gag and struggled in the arms of the two holding her. Her arms slipped through their fingers. A beam of light shot from the garnet, blinding Matty and anyone else near enough. The vampyre and the locket screeched simultaneously. The rest not caught in the path of light turned away. Kylie took advantage of the moment and ran.
“Catch her,” Cianán yelled. Three of them flew after her and tackled her to the ground, but couldn’t hold her down. “Trent, help ‘em.”
The one Cianán called Trent flew over in the midst of the third time they’d caught her. “Let her go.” He glided down and landed softly.
Conor looked up at him, eyes wild. “Are ye bloody crazy? She’ll get away.”
“No, she won’t.”
Reluctantly, they climbed off her.
Trent stepped up next to her and held out his hand. “It’s okay, Kylie. I won’t hurt you.”
American. An American vampyre.
She scrambled backwards. He knelt, lowering his head in a bow, and offered his hand again, waiting for her grasp it.
“Kylie, please,” he begged softly. His hand seemed to stretch further than possible. “He’ll hurt you terribly if you don’t listen. Please, I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Kylie stared for a long moment and wasn’t sure why she’d listened to him. Perhaps something to do with the way he spoke to her or the gentleness in his voice. She let him help her up and walk her back to Cianán, who thanked him with a short nod.
Conor grabbed another piece of cloth, closed his eyes, grabbed the locket, and ripped it from her neck. He quickly tossed it away.
Cianán smiled, his fangs breaching his lips. “Well done, Conor. Well done, all of you.” He stepped closer to Kylie. He ran his hand along her neck and she shuddered.
Trent whispered calm words in her ear. His hands settled on her shoulders.
“Let’s go now. They’ll return soon.”
Cianán spread giant bat-like wings and lifted himself into the air. Kylie stared in awe and horror. Matty and another picked up Kylie by her arms. They followed Cianán. She kicked at the air. Trent fell in directly behind them.
“It’s okay, Kylie,” Trent said and flew around in front of her. “They won’t drop you.”
“Sure do feel like it, though. How ‘bout you Kev?”
“Oh yeah,” Kev replied, and the two assholes dipped her.
She let out a small cry through the gag and shut her eyes, swallowing her heart after it’d jumped into her throat. Trent yelled at them. The gesture made her smile inside. Maybe he’d help her escape later.
Kylie couldn’t count the number of vampyres on the ground before they took flight, but there were a lot—a small battalion. That couldn’t possibly be good if Cearbhall only had three, plus he and Grant.
Grant, help me, please, she screamed inside her head. Kylie waited for an answer, for him to tell her he was right behind her, that he would save her from these monsters.
But none ever came.
Should have fucking changed me.
Grant abruptly pulled away from his donor in the darkness of the vampyre club and bounded from his seat, blood dribbling down his chin.
“What is it?”
Had it not been for his heightened sense of hearing, he wouldn’t have heard Cearbhall’s voice over the music.
“Something’s wrong.”
“What’re you talkin’ ‘bout?” Cearbhall stood and scanned the area quickly.
“We have to go . . . now.” He turned and walked toward the door, not waiting for his friend and brother.
Cearbhall caught up with him outside. “Grantlund?”
“Kylie. Something’s happened to her.”
“Do ye be certain ‘bout this?”
Grant glared. “Aye, certainty floods my veins. She has my blood in her, and hers is in me. I sense her distress.”
Cearbhall studied him a moment. “Let me tell the others.”
They waited for Cearbhall’s fledglings in the alley where they’d started out. Grant wiped the blood from his chin.
“Did I get it all?” He stuck his chin out for Cearbhall to get a good look.
“You’re quite the messy fellow, aren’tcha?”
He cocked an eyebrow and looked down the alley. “Where are they? We have to go.”
Cearbhall opened his mouth to respond. They walked around the corner. “Right there.”
“What’s going on?” It was Elizabeth, the short redhead, who asked.
“Grant?” Cearbhall gestured to him.
“Kylie’s in trouble. I heard her call for me, but it was faint.”
“Well then, we’d better go,” Daniella said.
Her supportive response surprised Grant, since she was the one who’d touched Kylie earlier. They spread their wings and lifted themselves up into the sky.
As they neared Cearbhall’s home, piles of stones were ever-present. The house and grounds around the home looked as though a war had been fought, and the front lines were on the front lawn.
“Bloody hell,” Daniella said. “The gargoyles, are they all—”
“It looks that way,” Cearbhall said.
“I’m sorry, Cearbhall,” Grant said, and they landed in front of the once grand home.
“It’s okay, my brother. I knew this would happen someday.”
Grant cocked a brow, wondering what the hell he meant. The moon reflected off the locket’s garnet lying in the grass, catching his attention. He ran over and picked it up. He’d hoped she’d still be there.
He was too far away when he’d heard her call, and too late to stop Cianán from taking her.
And too fucking emotional to phase to this damn spot he stood on now.
Grant cradled the necklace in his hand, damning himself for not being able to control his emotions. It always was an issue for him. Hell, it was what got him turned into a vampyre in the first place. “They figured out how to get it off.” He showed it to Cearbhall.
“Was prob’ly that bloody little bastard, Conor,” he said. “That spell ye used only worked on those around at the time. Conor’s not that old, an’ he’s learnin’ the magic.”
Grant looked up from the locket and Cearbhall patted him on the shoulder.
“Let’s go inside. I need to see if Frederick’s still alive.”
“But Kyl
ie . . . I have to find her.”
“We will, Grantlund, but we can’t right now. We’re not prepared to fight him an’ his army—aye, he actually has an army. We don’t even know where he’s taken her.”
“Then I’ll go by myself,” Grant said.
Cearbhall grabbed him by the shoulders and stared into his eyes. “Don’t lose your control now. He will kill you. Then what good are ye to her?”
“But I—”
“No, Grantlund. We wait.”
Grant finally nodded and followed him inside.
“What a mess,” Kenneth said. “It looks like a tornado hit in here.” He scratched the side of his head, and combed his short blond hair back with his fingers as he looked around. “Damn.”
“No kidding,” Elizabeth agreed. “What do we do now?”
“We wait,” Cearbhall repeated. “Daniella, go upstairs; see if you can find Frederick. We’ll look down here.”
She nodded and ran up the stairs with lightning speed. Moments later, she returned and walked into the library where Cearbhall and Grant were.
“Who do you s’pose this is?” She held up a head that, thankfully, didn’t belong to Cearbhall’s butler.
“Cassandra,” Cearbhall said. “I wonder how it happened.”
“Don’t know, but I found one of your swords lying on the floor up there, so one could guess,” she said with a smile. The smile faded. “I couldn’t find Frederick.”
Cearbhall turned to Grant. “Grantlund?”
Grant spun around, a book he found on the floor next to the ladder in his hands. He felt Kylie’s energy on it.
Cearbhall continued. “Would Kylie have been able to do this?”
Grant shifted his eyes to Daniella, the head she held, and back to Cearbhall. He shrugged. “Don’t know. I s’pose so if she felt her life was in danger. I did tell her how to kill us an’ she’s quite skilled with a sword.”
“Why, why would ye do that?” Surprise etched Cearbhall’s face.
“In case she needed to defend herself,” he said, raising his voice. “An’ apparently she needed to. It’s not like absolutely no one in the world knows how to kill us.” He looked Cearbhall in the eye. “Why don’t you tell me how ye knew this was goin’ to happen.”
Cearbhall looked dumbfounded. “I don’t know what—”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Cearbhall,” he growled. “What you said when we got here, it didn’t make sense.”
Cearbhall stood with his mouth agape. “Grantlund—”
“How did you know this was going to happen?” Grant’s voice rumbled through the library and into the entryway.
“Well, it looks like I’m too late,” a white-haired man said. He wandered into the room, dropped his bag, and looked at the two of them. “Or perhaps just in the nick of time.”
“Who the hell are you?” Grant glared at the intruder.
Mahlon knew this wasn’t going to be easy, with the amount of emotion surging through the large vampyre. But hell, who could blame the man? His love had been kidnapped.
“Now, Grantlund, I’m here to help you.”
“Help me? How? I just wanted to protect Kylie from Cianán an’ he” —he pointed to Cearbhall— “let him take her.”
“No, I didn’t,” Cearbhall snapped.
Mahlon calmly tried to interrupt. “Now gentlemen—”
“Aye, you did. You knew this would happen.” Grant growled. “That’s why ye wanted me to go on the hunt with you, isn’t it?”
Mahlon tried again. “Grantlund—”
“He would’ve taken her no matter what, you imbecile,” Cearbhall bellowed.
Mahlon arched a brow and raised his hand. “Cearbhall, that’s not entirely—”
“Ye said she’d be safe here.” Grant slammed his fist down on the desk. It cracked down the front edge. “I trusted you. How could ye do this to me? You’re s’posed to be my brother.”
“Boys, I think—”
“Blood-brother, an’ as such, I welcomed you an’ your mortal woman into my home, an’ this is how ye re-pay—”
“What the hell is that s’posed to mean . . . mortal?”
Oh boy. Mahlon knew that was a bad move on Cearbhall’s part. For vampyres, “mortal” was an insult. Not so much the word, but the tone.
“Take it however you wish.” Cearbhall growled, baring his fangs.
Grant’s lip curled, exposing his fangs. The two scowled at one another.
Mahlon watched the exchange, withholding a yawn at the emotional tennis match. He tried to find a point where he could cut in nicely, but it wasn’t working. Hell, he should just let them fight it out. He turned to see if the girl was still there. A small grin stretched across his lips, barely visible; not that these two hotheads would notice if he laughed out loud and danced around in a circle. He thought he’d heard the girl leave, but with these two yelling at each other, it was difficult to hear much of anything.
“You bastard.” Grant threw a book.
Dean Koontz hit Cearbhall hard upside the head, knocking his head to the side. He closed his eyes tightly and drew in a deep breath, likely only because he’d just figured out Mahlon was in the room. Before long, he opened them again.
If looks could kill . . . .
Okay, perhaps his presence hadn’t sunk in yet. They both opened their mouths. Mahlon did not wish to hear what spewed from them.
“That’s enough,” Mahlon shouted. “I’ve had it with your petty bickering.”
“Petty?” Grant asked wildly. “How dare—”
“Silence, Grantlund.” Mahlon’s voiced thundered like a god’s. He’d definitely shaken them both. “The both of you will sit down and shut the hell up.”
Grant stared at him in disbelief, unsure of how to react. He couldn’t believe the man, whoever he was, just spoke to him that way.
“And I’ll do it again if I have to. Now, sit,” the white-haired man commanded.
Grant’s jaw dropped. He looked at Cearbhall, who was still angry, but grinning widely.
“And wipe that damn grin off your face, Cearbhall,” the man said without looking at him.
Cearbhall grabbed the nearest chair and sat.
Grant blinked, but figured if Cearbhall, who was much older than he, feared the white-haired man making demands, he must be pretty powerful. From the sound of his voice, he should be a god.
Grant looked around, and frowned. The man waited impatiently, arms folded and foot tapping the floor, like he were their father. Grant didn’t know what to do. It had been ages since someone treated him this way, since someone told him what to do. Since he acted so childishly.
“He has the only chair,” Grant mumbled. The others had been broken during the rampage.
“Then sit on the floor.” His voice was stern. “You can’t sit on the floor? You sat in the garden with her, in the soil, but you won’t sit on the floor of a house? Fine, sit on the ladder.”
Grant sat on the ladder as the man told him to.
“Wait a minute, how did ye—”
“I know everything, Grantlund,” he said in a much softer tone. “Or do you prefer Grant?”
“Grant’s fine.” He studied the crack he’d made in the desk. That’s what Kylie calls me.
“I know she does, Grant. But if you can’t control your anger, you’ll never save her.”
“Who are you?”
“I am Mahlon.”
“Mahlon?”
The white-haired man—Mahlon—nodded.
“Okay . . . How can ye read my mind?”
“Consider me to be your blood-grandfather,” he said, smiling. The smile faded. “I, unfortunately, am the one who created Cianán.”
“What?” That slapped Grant upside the head. Did I hear him right?
“Aye, you heard correctly.”
“Stop doing that,” Grant snapped. He took a calming breath. “Please.”
“If you wish. I apologize, telepathy is something you care to only share with Kylie.”
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Grant rolled his eyes. “When she lets me.” He tried to smile, but it was a weak effort. “I can’t unless she directs her thoughts to me, or leaves herself open, which is rare.”
“I know,” Mahlon said. “I’ve been in her mind.”
Grant glared at him.
Mahlon laughed and shook his head. “Don’t worry, Grant, it was long before you met her.”
“But—”
“I’ll explain everything, since you seem to have no idea what’s going on.”
“Aye, I do. Cianán wants her for—”
Mahlon stepped closer and leaned on the desk. “Grant, you only know a small part of the prophecy.”
Grant didn’t like his tone. He wasn’t a child. But the mention of the prophecy caught his attention.
“What is this prophecy? All I’ve ever known about is some ritual.”
Cearbhall let out a small laugh, and Grant glared at him.
“Shut up, Cearbhall!”
Mahlon rolled his eyes and drew in a deep breath. “Listen, you two. If you don’t stop acting like children, we’ll never get anywhere. Continue to act in such a manner, I will treat you as such; otherwise, act your damned ages. Do you wish to save Kylie or not?”
“Of course I do. How could ye—”
“A simple ‘aye’ will do.”
Grant rolled his eyes and lowered his head. “Aye.”
“Cearbhall,” Mahlon said. “Do you wish to help me stop Cianán?”
“Aye, Mahlon,” Cearbhall answered proudly and sat up straight in the chair.
“Good, we have a common goal. Killing one another would defeat this goal. I understand emotions are running high. Strong emotion can wreak havoc on the manners of gentlemen; however, as gentlemen, specifically those of your age, you need to understand and take heed of it.
“Grant, Cearbhall did not betray you. She was safer here than anywhere else, unless of course, she’d stayed in Arizona. Cianán would’ve had a much more difficult time bringing her here. Rathius and the others tried to protect her as best they could, but there were too many” —he turned to Cearbhall again— “which, by the way, I wanted to tell you. Rathius is still alive, and very angry.” He smiled.
Cearbhall’s eyes lit up.
The Dracove (The Prophecy series) Page 24