by J. M. Adele
She looked over the patrons, searching for the most likely candidate for a thousand-year-old witch. She found an elderly couple sitting in a studded leather booth, laughing hysterically over a shared joke.
“That’s gotta be her.” D tugged on Shiloh’s hand.
A flawless redhead sat at the bar in a flowing floral dress and cardigan. Her head turned in their direction as she sipped from a highball glass.
“As I live and breathe, here you are, Devlin. You are so much like your brother.” She put down her glass, spun on the stool, and offered her hand to Shiloh. “And your mistress. Shiloh, is it? What a beauty.”
Shiloh took her hand, a jolt of electricity shooting up her arm. She yanked her hand away, giving it a shake.
“Airmid,” Devlin confirmed.
“The one and only.”
“Rory filled you in on why we’re here?” Devlin raised a brow.
Airmid smiled, nodding. “I’ve been waiting for this meeting for a long time.”
“Where can we go to talk?” Shiloh asked.
“Follow me.” Airmid took them through a corridor to a narrow stairwell, the bells on her flip flops jingling. They ascended two levels to an apartment.
“After you.” She waved them in.
The decor was an eclectic mix of old and new. Mismatched lamps, rugs, and cushions clashed with the green velvet sofa. Picture frames in every size and shape crowded the walls. Rosemary, mint, and thyme infused the air with their fragrance.
“Have a seat. Would you like a herbal tea?”
“No. We ain’t got time. We need to find this prophecy.” Devlin shook his head, tugging Shiloh onto the green velvet seat. They sat side by side, hands refusing to release their hold.
“You are the prophecy, my dears.” Airmid smiled as she folded elegantly into a purple paisley armchair, before crossing her legs.
We are the prophecy?
“What you really need, is to understand who threatens to take it from you. Do you know the story of your father?” She addressed Devlin.
“He was the first vampire. The virus started with him. I dunno how or why.”
She tutted. “Your mother should’ve filled you in, but you were so young. She thought she was protecting you by hiding things, when in reality she did more damage than good.” One manicured nail flicked a stray lock of hair to the side.
Circling a finger in the air, Airmid thrust her arm towards an old wireless and it powered up. Classic Billy Holiday lent a melody to their meeting. She tapped her ear, mouthing they’re listening. Devlin’s hand tightened on Shiloh’s, pulling it into his lap.
Crossing the room, Airmid turned up the radio the old-fashioned way before returning. She didn’t immediately sit. Stretching out her arm, she made an arc in the air over them, a dome of protection forming along its path. The music faded, almost muting entirely as it closed over.
“There, that’s better.” Taking her seat, she crossed her legs again and smiled. “Your father was born in a time when the gods walked the Earth. He was jealous of their powers and immortality, and demanded they teach him their secrets.” She tapped her fingers to the beat. “There were no secrets, of course. They were gods. They were created by a much higher force. The humans didn’t like them and drove them back to the heavens. Jealous little creatures, they are.
“Before the gods left, he begged them to help him. What he didn’t know was the being that offered its help was not a god, but a demon—Asmodeus, the Prince of Lust. He taught your father blood rituals that tainted his blood, causing the virus.”
Airmid paused, walking to the window and checking the street. The bubble dome surrounding them warped and stretched to move with her, bouncing back when she returned. “Sorry, I thought I felt a presence.” Clasping her hands, she perched herself on the edge of the chair. “It’s a nasty affliction—bloodlust. Rumor is, he couldn’t control it. He turned thousands of humans, discovering that siring vampires gave him control over them. He also found that vampires could still die from a mortal wound. Hunting down Asmodeus, your father demanded to be made immortal. The demon told him if he fathered a child with a Lilin, the child would cure his virus and provide him with immortality.” She raised her clasped hands and pointed them at Devlin. “It achieved both of those things. You cannot pass the virus on through a bite and your father will always live on through you. But that’s not what he had in mind. He now seeks to destroy his creation, thinking that your power will be transferred to him.”
“My father is dead.”
“No, my dear. Jax is your father. He cannot be destroyed until you bond with your queen. Your brother has killed him many times, just as your father has killed your mate. You cannot be destroyed once you are bonded. He cannot be destroyed until you are bonded.”
Shiloh met Devlin’s hollow gaze, her stomach plummeting two stories to the inn below.
So that was it, then. They were officially screwed.
_____
Devlin threw his head back, gulping down a shot of tequila in one go. He dropped the glass onto the table, spinning it in circles with only a filthy stare and invisible strings of energy. Shiloh felt the pulses bounce off the table and hit her in the chest. They were probably the only reason her heart kept beating. After their meeting with the witch upstairs, the organ had squeezed in her ribcage like it was trying to hide in a corner.
She sat across the booth in the inn, holding a shot of the Mexican spirit between her thumb and pointer finger. She’d never tasted tequila, but now seemed like a good time—with death breathing down her neck and all. She raised the drink to her lips and poured it into her mouth. Swallowing, she smacked her lips.
Yeah, it burned.
I’ve endured worse.
The searing pain of bloodlust was infinitely more excruciating. Although, her craving had been satisfied after her flashback episode. She must’ve taken Jax’s blood, somehow.
I guess I’ll never know.
Any hope she’d harbored had been extinguished in the witch’s apartment, three floors above the old inn. She only prayed that Lanie was going to be okay and that their parents would forgive her.
Mum, Dad, I’m sorry.
She wished she could say goodbye. Thank them for all they’d done for her.
Shiloh turned her attention to the windows, unable to see much through the smeared glass and smoky air. The woman who’d saved Devlin was buried here somewhere. She wondered if Devlin wanted to see Magaidh. He said he hadn’t visited her grave since he’d moved to America.
I want to thank her.
“Where’s your aunt buried?”
His power retreated, the rapping on her sternum ceasing its rhythm. The glass stopped spinning. His questioning gaze met hers. “Across the street, in the Abbey’s yard.”
“Can we? Would you be all right with seeing her?”
Pulling to his feet, he came to her side of the booth, reaching for her hand. “Yeah, babe. That’s all good with me.”
_____
Dunfermline Abbey rose beyond the trees as they exited the inn. Its tower, declaring Robert the Bruce as its eternal king, topped the imposing medieval stone relic. Devlin scanned the shadows for any threats, flaring his nostrils to catch any whiff of ambush as they entered the grounds. Rounding the south side of the building, they picked their way through the headstones to the southwest corner of the churchyard. The frosty air nipped at the back of his neck as he lit a cigarette, clouds of smoke blending with the mists and the ghostly occupants roaming the night.
“They’re over here.” Buried with kings and saints. As it should be for the woman who’d saved him, and her stillborn son.
He survived. Devlin hadn’t really believed the story his brother had spilled until he’d met the witch who’d helped dig Rory out.
Shiloh didn’t wait for Devlin’s direction. She beelined straight to the grave like she’d been the one to lay them to rest.
“Here,” she whispered.
A Celtic cross of stone
marked the grave. No names. No dates.
Devlin wasn’t even sure why he’d chosen to keep them a secret. How’d she know where they were?
“Yeah.” His voice croaked. The tequila should’ve melted the icicles from his vocal chords, but it hadn’t.
“I feel her.”
Magaidh was Shiloh’s ancestor. Of course she knew where to find her.
In a deafening roar, the earth rumbled under their feet. It was a moment’s warning before a cavity yawned above the grave. Two skeletal hands latched onto Shiloh’s ankles and pulled her in. Landslides of soil immediately cut off her scream, the grave presenting a dormant facade, mocking Devlin’s frantic attempts to carve under its surface.
“No! Shiloh!” He clawed at the earth, his fingernails ripping as they met the unyielding ground. It was like the soil had fossilized.
Lurching to his feet, he thrust out his arms, his fingers stretched. Breath sawing, heart thundering, he concentrated his power down to the bleeding tips of his fingers. Waves of energy pummeled the earth.
“Oomph.” The force ricocheted back at him, knocking him on his ass and stealing his breath.
He groaned, pain shooting up his spine and into his skull. Fuck. He told his legs to bend, but they scissored lamely. He was like a boxer trying to come back after a KO. Between his ears, the ringer was turned to full volume. Above him, the scattering of stars smudged as his vision checked in and out.
I gotta get up. Gotta get her back.
He tried again, this time ordering his torso off the ground. The grunt he made was a joke considering he didn’t move more than an inch.
His eyelids peeled wide as the ground rumbled again. Shiloh burst into the air, dirt spraying everywhere. She hovered above his fallen form, her eyes glowing icy white. With her hair floating around her in an inky mist, she looked possessed. Her mouth opened, worms slithering out and falling on his face. He shook his head, dislodging their slimy bodies.
Words chased the worms’ retreat, spilling from her mouth in Magaidh’s voice:
Once man reaches beyond his heights,
And gods engage in sinister rites.
A plague upon humankind does blight,
Death consumes by bloodlust’s bite.
Heaven’s wrath courts the forsaken,
Demons and angels, pleasures partaken.
The retribution birthed at daybreak,
A mother’s love burned at the stake.
Heaven and hell unite with creation,
New flesh revived in brilliant salvation.
The light extinguished behind Shiloh’s eyes before she dropped on top of him like a stone.
His arms flung around her. “Shiloh! Fuck. No.” Giving her a gentle shake, he pressed two fingers on the side of her neck in search of a pulse. The only heartbeat he felt was his own rattling his brain.
I’m not letting you go. This ain’t over, goddamn it.
He rolled her, placing her back onto the grass. Pinching her nose and covering her mouth with his, he blew air into her lungs. “Come on, Shiloh.”
He felt for her pulse again. Nothing.
Starting chest compressions, he counted aloud. Anything to distract him from the images flashing across his mind. He’d never met his grandfather and he sure as fuck didn’t want a visit from the sickle-wielding, robe-wearing angel of death now.
Rory slammed onto the ground beside him. “I’ll do compressions. You breathe for her.”
Shouldering Devlin out of the way, his brother pumped on her chest, forcing her heart to move. Dev covered her mouth again, her chest rising only a little under the force of Rory’s compressions. He stopped and pressed two fingers to her neck. Frowning, he continued to massage her heart.
“Magaidh!” Airmid bellowed from yards away.
She must’ve been watching through her window above the inn.
The brothers fell back onto the grass, knocked back by the glowing misty form of Magaidh as she rose from her grave. She swooped down into Shiloh’s body, like she’d been sucked in by a vacuum. Shiloh lifted a few feet off the ground, her body bowing backwards. Dragging in a great suck of air, her eyes sprung open. She coiled into a ball before collapsing to the earth, panting.
Magaidh’s mist drifted out and dissipated away.
Devlin reached for Shiloh, wrapping her legs and arms around him so he could hold her. “You still with me?”
Her chin pressed into his neck. “Mm.”
Thank fuck.
She was alive. Shaking like a junky, but alive. His head swiveled back to Airmid. The witch nodded with a smile before leaving them there.
Rory stood, clapping palms with his brother and pulling the pair upright.
“Welcome back, brother. This is how we roll in the old country.”
Fucking God bless America.
Well Played, Asshole
Nestled in the hills east of Oxton, Rory’s cottage posed a lonely figure on the rolling green landscape. Dark clouds shaded the terrain and denied them the sun’s warmth. Devlin swung an axe, splitting a block of wood, and threw the pieces into a wheelbarrow. He grabbed another and placed it on the tree stump.
The cottage was in a perfect spot. The hills protected its back. There were open views of the valley in front of them. There was no way they wouldn’t see any mofos coming. They were prepped and ready. The little house didn’t look like much on the surface, but that shit was an iceberg. Above ground, it was all Better Homes and Gardens. Down below, he had a whole level dedicated to weapons. Below that, another level for combat training and strategic planning. Below that, he had a fucking panic room.
Damn, Devlin was tempted to camp out in there. Beneath his cool exterior, he was shitting himself.
Looking in through the windows, he caught sight of Shiloh sitting in front of the fire. A blanket covered her shoulders and her hands curled around a mug of steaming tea in her lap. Her head lolled to the side. Margo came into view, rescuing the tea before it spilled.
The ground steadied under his feet and his jaw loosened a little. His second in command had his back. Always. He needed something? She made it happen. She’d seen him lose his shit two hundred years ago in San Jose. She’d given him space to grieve. Then she’d knocked him the fuck out and told him to find his balls.
And here he was, faced with losing his mate again. He didn’t know if it was better to have the warning, or to have her life ripped away suddenly. His brows pulled together, a pain throbbing in his chest. Her body was failing. All the sleeping, the mood swings, not wanting to eat—she was shutting down.
Jax’s baby grew inside her, sucking her life-force dry.
Even without the pregnancy, he’d seen this pattern too many times. Sadistic motherfuckers like Jax had been crawling out of their graves and into any pair of unsuspecting panties they could find for centuries. They all wanted one thing: power. They spun lust into something resembling love so they could own the blood of their victims.
It stank of Asmodeus, Prince of Lust. Devlin’s father wasn’t the only one doing the work of the demon. The entity preyed on the ones who thought they had their shit together. Not the ones who knew their weaknesses. No. Because if you knew your issues you were already aware enough to guard against their exploitation. Chances were, you were working on cutting the crap. But Asmodeus enabled his victims to swallow their own bullshit and ask for seconds.
Maybe Shiloh had been vulnerable ’cause she’d thought she was invincible. But he didn’t buy it. This was different. This dispute was centuries in the making. She’d had a target on her head before she was conceived.
He swung the axe, the crack reverberating off the hillside. Tossing the tool in with the wood, he wheeled it to the mudroom entrance.
Rory met him at the door. “Thanks, brother.”
“Did she fall asleep again?” Removing his jacket, Devlin hung it on a hook.
“Margo just tucked her in.”
“Can you promise me somethin’?”
“Aye.”
“If I die before I get to kill him, you gotta put him in the ground for me.”
“Done.”
He didn’t need to ask. His brother’s sword had spilled their father’s blood before. But Devlin still gripped onto the hope that the cycle would finally end, by the tips of his fingernails.
The brothers joined the rest of the team in the living room, wood smoke a comforting companion.
“Have you been able to contact Carter?” Lock threw out the question.
“Nada.” And Devlin didn’t fucking like it, at all.
His intestines twisted up through his body and wrapped around his heart. No. She wouldn’t dare to go against him. Sienna knew what he was capable of.
Or would she?
Sienna had been responsible for protecting Lanie while she’d been in hospital. And the cop had put Shiloh’s parents in a safe house.
Fuck. Devlin’s chest just about caved in.
“You want me to—” Lock started to ask.
“Car approaching,” Ren butted in from her station at the window.
Devlin and Rory crossed the room to peer over her shoulder.
“Pass me the binoculars.” Dev held his hand out to Margo, who’d claimed the other narrow window at the front.
“Here.” She hooked the strap over his palm. “Looks like Sienna, but she’s not alone.”
“She didn’t tell us she was coming. I smell a fucking rat,” Ren snarled.
“It’s Sienna. Myles is in the passenger seat. Looks like the kid is in the back, too.”
Why the fuck would Zain and Myles be in Scotland?
Why would Carter?
Sienna had to be on the ground in LA. Besides, her job didn’t permit her to travel unless it was for personal reasons.
Maybe this is personal?
Why the fuck else would she be halfway across the world?
None of them had a reason to be here. And they hadn’t cleared it with him.
“Suit up. They ain’t gettin’ in.” He handed the binoculars back to Margo.