Blood In Fire (Celtic Elementals Book 2)

by Heather R. Blair

  Fand’s insipid laugh echoed behind her. Aine gritted her teeth.

  “Pretty! Do it again, Aine! Do it again!”

  “Hush, sister!” Aine hissed, darting away from Fand and the scrying pool at top speed. She was trying to figure out what had just happened, and how to keep Bav from finding out she hadn’t exactly kept her promise. This was so not going to be good.

  In her haste, she missed the tall, fair-haired form of her lover leaning against the archway to the throne room.

  That wasn't surprising to Lugh, as he had deliberately dimmed his sun-bright essence until he blended into the shadows of Ti'rna No'g.

  Lugh, king of the Tuatha de Naanan, watched Aine flee down the long hall and frowned. His own eyes of sunny blue narrowed. His paramour was a complex woman, even for a goddess. He knew that she found it difficult to ask for help or counsel from anyone, but that didn’t stop him from wishing she would come to him just once, instead of trying to handle everything on her own. Especially after that last mess.

  In time, he told himself. In time.

  She was just learning what love was, after all. It was a hard lesson. One that some never got the hang of, not even after centuries. He thought of Bav and sighed heavily.

  His interference in this mess would not be welcome; not by Mac, his old mentor and foster father, and certainly not by Bav…though maybe by Aidan. It was hard to tell with that one.

  Yet, it was important a king keep his eye on the plots swirling within his court, and while it was usually beneath him to worry overmuch about his courtiers’ dealings with humans—or former humans—Aidan was a special case.

  Lugh was well aware that the vampire was in possession of a weapon of potentially infinite power, something that could remake the world as the Tuatha de Naanan knew it. One wrong breath placed along O’Neill’s path could tip the balance one way or another. Aidan had proved more than once that he was incredibly unpredictable.

  Lugh scrubbed a big hand over the dark stubble on his jaw with a curse. Even as the king of the gods, he could wield only so much power. He could alter the spell, and divert part of the problem to Mac—and so he had, by twisting those words in Aine’s mouth—but in the end, Aidan’s choices alone would be all that held them back from hell. He’d seen that much of the road ahead, but no farther.

  The world could end in blood and fire next week and there might not be one damme thing he could do about it.

  Still…

  Lugh watched Aine disappear into the chamber they shared, her almost transparent blue skirt swishing over her pert, little backside. His lips curved. There was no reason not to enjoy every second until then. Aine would be feeling quite agitated just now, and not a little guilty. No reason he couldn’t harness that combination into something fun and distracting for the both of them.

  She’d thank him later.

  Probably.

  Aidan was sitting on her bed when Heather emerged from the shower, toweling her hair. When she lifted her head up, flipping a full yard of tangled black hair over one shoulder, she saw him there and her eyes narrowed.

  “What’s that look for?”

  “"Tis me face, I canna help what it looks like, love.” He tried to subdue what he knew had to be a pretty self-satisfied smile by just a hair. “Blame my mam and da.”

  “Oh haha—whatever—keep your smug self to yourself then. Do I have any of my clothes around here, or is my luggage impounded, too?”

  “I got a bag before the guards took it away, just in there.” He waved a hand to the wardrobe next to the bathroom, a bulky thing carved with stags that looked as if it could have led straight to Narnia.

  He watched her reach inside and yank out the bag he had taken from the Jag.

  “Got everything ye need then?”

  She gave him a pointed look as she knelt down to pop the case, the fluffy green towel sneaking up her taut thighs, baring smooth, slightly damp skin. “Except some privacy.”

  “Ye know I have seen it all.” Not that he couldn’t stand to see it all again, of course.

  She looked flushed and smelled heavenly. Oranges and honey, mmm…

  Hunger nipped playfully at his insides, but Aidan pushed it aside. He was fine on that front after his drink from her this morning, but the blood thirst lingered anyway, a low level throb. As did his desire for her other charms. Their mutual tension reliever aside, his craving for her refused to go away entirely.

  He wasn’t going to fuss about it. He was sure he’d get the chit out of his system… eventually. His eyes lingered on those long legs as Heather got to her feet, clutching her clothes and the towel as she glared down, those gorgeous purple eyes snapping at him.

  ‘Eventually’ might take a fair bit with this one, he admitted.

  “You really love playing the ass, don’t you, Aidan?”

  He shrugged at her exasperated look. “Yer in Ireland now. Say ‘arse’, it’s less touristy—and if yer gonna be shy, I promise to cover me eyes.”

  “You’ll fucking peek.”

  Aidan laughed. “Damme right ye are.”

  Heather frowned and turned to go into the bathroom again.

  “Oh, n'ver mind then, here,” he laid back on the bed, tucking his hands behind his head and closing his eyes primly. Aidan winced when he heard the whisper of the towel hitting the wood floor. He tried to think of something other than the fact that Heather was naked less than five feet away.

  He had been far from done with her when he left Istanbul, but Bav had sent him that dream about Ronan and any sort of a choice taken from him. Friendship took precedent over lust. Back to Ireland he went. Of course, the stupid dream had lied anyway—not that he was surprised by that.

  Even if you knew they were all lying, vicious pricks you had to jump when the gods called—especially where your best mate was concerned. Or in his case, his only mate. Ronan hadn't died despite what the dream had foretold, which was hardly cause for complaint.

  He just hadn’t intended to leave Heather so soon. He had been having far too much fun pushing her to explore her dark side and reaping the rewards. She had been delectable and oddly intriguing, but fuck it, he had figured. She was only a woman. So he had left.

  Worry for Ronan and the whirl of recent events had kept her from the forefront of his mind, but she had still been there, lurking in the shadows, beckoning him with those violet eyes. He had never expected to see her again. Funny how these things happened…awfully funny come to think of it.

  His eyes opened wide. Coincidences were always suspect. When had he forgotten that?

  Aidan sat up. Heather finished yanking up a pair of slim-fitting dark jeans and shot him an irritated look.

  “Sorry,” he said absently, not seeing her mouth fall open at his apology in his haste to ask the question he felt incredibly stupid for not pushing her on earlier.

  “Why are ye in Ireland, Heather?”

  She started finger-combing the tangles out of her damp hair. “We covered this, not your business.”

  “Piss on tha'. Tell me.”

  Her eyebrows raised at the command in his tone and her reply was pure sarcasm. “Hmmm…. I will yea.”

  “Oh tha' is me sorted, is it? Throwing me own words back in my face.” Aidan got up from the bed, his voice going low and hard. “Donna fuck with me, Heather.”

  She lifted her chin, though he could see the pulse in her delicate throat fluttering madly as he approached. “Why do you want to know so bad? It’s nothing to do with you!”

  “Let me be the judge of tha', alright?” He was close enough now to feel the damp heat coming off her freshly washed body. She stared up at him, her face wary and puzzled at his insistence.

  Aidan wasn’t an idiot and he knew very well that Heather was more than a beautiful face. This was a damn smart, complex woman and the wheels were turning, he could see it. He didn't have the time or the patience to go the charming and sneaky route.

  Not really his style anyway. He wanted to know, and he wanted to
know now. His every instinct had just gone on red alert.

  He reached for her, but she spun away. She only went as far as the wardrobe, putting her hand up in a ‘hold it’ gesture that he nearly didn’t obey. Aidan figured he'd give restraint a try.

  A fucking short one.

  Leaning back against the carved wooden doors, Heather regarded him with a frown. Besides the jeans, she had put on a slinky green top that slipped low off of one shoulder. No bra, obviously. The material outlined the firm curve of her breasts in a way that had to be damn near illegal. He clenched his fists and saw her eyes dart down and take in the gesture.

  Her frown turned into a tiny smile.

  “Okay then, how about you show me yours and I’ll show you mine?” Her tone was teasing and just a bit smug. This was a woman who had every reason to be confident of her power over men, but if she hadn’t learned by now he wasn’t ‘most men’, it was damme time to remind her.

  Aidan shook his head.

  “Ye really want to try and play me like tha', love?” The cool warning in his voice was unmistakable and it was with his own smug smile that he saw Heather shiver.

  When she answered him, though, her voice was steady.

  “I'm not playing, Aidan. I only meant, that if you want me to be straight with you, you’re gonna have to do the same. Starting with telling me what the hell really happened this morning.”

  Shite. He sat down on the bed abruptly and looked up at her, his face impassive.

  “We covered this.”

  Heather rolled her eyes. “Come on, Aidan, there’s more to it…isn’t there?”

  Aidan considered, watching Heather carefully. She couldn't remember much, even though he had admittedly been rushed this morning. He thought she might be fishing, but he had no idea what for. He decided to go for the bored approach.

  “Care to be a little more specific, love? I was fucked up, ye hit me with a car, the guards came and here we are—pretty much end of story. What else ye want me to say? Is nae tha' weird enough for ye?”

  “It’s a little too weird. I just—” She broke off and looked down at her suddenly twisting hands.

  “What?”

  Her cheeks flushed. “I never expected to see you again, alright? And then you fly into my windshield. I thought I killed you for god’s sake…I just can’t…”

  Aidan cut her off. He wasn’t without sympathy for her, but he couldn’t deal with the human bullshit anymore. He had questions. He wanted answers. Now.

  “I see this is getting us nowhere.”

  He'd been stripping the gloves from his hands while she was talking. Now he carefully folded them and deliberately tucked them into his coat pocket while he sat on the bed. He didn't look at her, only stared at his own hands for a minute.

  “Aidan?”

  Before Heather could begin to process what had happened, she was pinned to the wardrobe. She took in a quick, shocked breath. She hadn’t seen him move.

  Literally.

  Had. Not. Seen. Him. Move.

  How was that possible?

  How the hell was that possible?!

  She started to struggle as fear tightened her insides, but she might as well have tried to escape a man made of iron and stone. She couldn’t shift Aidan an inch. Not even a goddamn centimeter. It wasn’t natural. Fine hairs stood up on the back of her neck and arms.

  When he lifted his hand she didn’t know what to expect. It never once occurred to her that he might hit her—even though it was obvious he was angry…or at least very impatient about something. What she didn’t expect was for him to cup her cheek in one palm, his fingertips gently resting on her temple.

  Her heart nearly stopped in her chest as a cool tendril of sensation unfurled inward from his touch. Something slipping thorough her skin, into her mind…something other…something curious, intent and searching.

  She pressed her lips together, her eyes wide as she stared up at Aidan, at this man she was rapidly beginning to fear might not be a man at all.

  What was she thinking—not a man? What the other fucking options were there?

  Aidan jerked back with an oath. His nostrils flared.

  “What the…. Lacey?! Ye know Ronan’s Lacey?” He sounded shocked, but not anywhere near as shocked as Heather felt.

  Shivers cascaded in cold waves down her spine. Her vision started to go all funhouse mirror and her knees went weak. She had to lean back against the wardrobe for support or she would have slid right down to the floor for the second time tonight.

  “How…! Where is Lacey and who the hell is Ronan?” Her voice sounded all wrong to her own ears, distant, tinny and unreal.

  Aidan didn’t answer her. He had turned his head away and appeared to be sniffing the air. A look crossed his face that made her already quaking insides turn to mush. It was a look close to fear—before it hardened into something calculating and bitter cold. His hand reached out to clamp her wrist and shook her once, hard.

  “Things are about to go arseways again, love. Hold on to tha' thought, but keep yer damme mouth shut!”

  He had barely gotten the words out before the door to the hotel room swung open.

  It moved slowly. Floating until it reached the end of its hinge and started to swing back. An oddly grotesque hand slapped it down and kept it open. It was dark and gnarled with filthy, yellowed nails that had been filed into ragged points and dripped with blood.

  Stark red splatters streaked the soothing mint-green paint.

  Heather’s heart kicked back into roaring life at the sight of that hand. In pure instinctive panic, she tried again to yank out of Aidan’s grip. One look from those crystalline eyes of his and all the fight drained out of her at once.

  His goddamn eyes were glowing.

  Chapter 3

  “Aidan. My dear, dear boy, how have you been?” Like spiders scurrying, that voice crawled through the doorway, pale, creepy and cold. It wasn’t possible that a voice alone could hold such terror, but this one did. Heather whimpered and Aidan’s fingers tightened warningly on her skin.

  “Oh ye know me, Abhartach. A few women, a few drinks, several fights and I'm as happy as a pig in shite.”

  “Hmmm.” The man came into view almost in pieces, at least Heather’s terrified mind processed it that way.

  First, that god-awful hand, then the head; bloodlessly white but with veins traced thinly in blue on parchment paper skin drawn tight over a monstrous skull. Black eyes with very little whites shone in the doorway and seemed to hover in that skeletal face. The slash-like mouth was turned up in a humorless smile as those eyes slithered over Heather. “I see you have the woman part covered. Bring her if you must. She can be the entertainment at your homecoming feast. Hell, she can be the feast.”

  Heather turned panicked eyes back to Aidan. She was caught in a nightmare. She really wanted to believe she was tripping, that Aidan had slipped her something and this was some sort of a fucked-up hallucination—

  She couldn’t swallow that explanation, as much as she dearly wanted to choke it down. She could only look to Aidan. She was very sure he was her one shot out of this, and a long one at that.

  Aidan seemed at ease. He was smiling, his head tilted with an air of polite attentiveness. If it hadn’t been for the tension in his fingers on her wrist and the glowing eyes, she would have thought he was conversing with an old friendly acquaintance instead of this demonic thing that had appeared in their room. She'd seen him like this once before, she realized. That one night in Istanbul. The night she'd almost died.

  Oh fuck.

  “I'm no' really one for feasts and fanfare, as ye well know.”

  “Well, it is about time you got over that! Far past time for you to take your rightful place as my heir. I have been patient, my boy, more patient than you deserve. I am done with that.” The last words were ground out, as if between stones, as the man gestured to the door. “Come along, my son.”

  Like glass shattering, Aidan’s relaxed demeanor imploded.
“I. Am. Not. Your. Son!”

  She expected him to rush the man in the doorway, who braced himself with a black smile as if he expected the same.

  Instead, Heather’s world went upside down as Aidan spun around smoothly and threw her over his shoulder. He leapt toward the window with a surge of impossible power that carried them not only through the glass, which exploded around them, but also through brick, mortar and siding.

  The noise was terrific, grinding—like front-row seats to a demolition derby. The dust and debris billowed around her, a dull grey-brown cloud that sparkled here and there with bits of glass that stung her arms.

  Heather inhaled a lungful of the plaster-heavy air and choked as her stomach swooped against Aidan’s shoulder. They were in freefall, weightless…and someone was screaming.

  It wouldn't be until later that she'd realize that had been her.

  She braced for a crash into the earth.

  Instead, Aidan landed lightly in a crouch, her face near the heel of his boots, boots gone white with dust. She could see the dew-beaded grass, smell the greenness of it and see the droplets glittering on the thin blades. Everything seemed to be moving ever so slowly, but in crystal clear hi-def.

  Aidan surged to his feet and real time kicked back in with a vengeance.

  Black shadows streaked at them from the entryway of the B&B. Aidan moved faster. In seconds, they were deep in the woods. She could hear sounds behind them; snarls, odd yips and snorts, mixed with oaths in both Gaelic, English and something that might have been French. All that faded in a rush of night air and flickering moonlight as Aidan ran.

  And ran.

  She didn’t think he was ever going to stop, but finally he did. Emerging from the woods at last, he stared up at a great, hulking lump of rock. Twisting her torso round in a way that would've made her yoga instructor proud, Heather could see the moon shining on a bald expanse of stone far above. Aidan looked down at her movement and met her eyes. His were no longer doing the eerie incandescent deal, but they were hard as diamonds glittering at her.