“Rose,” he hissed in an agonized whisper as he struggled to regain control.
He surged to his feet and sprinted away from the pub on the path she’d taken. Maybe Ciar had already discovered his bond with Rose and sent shade warriors to frighten her. Shades he could handle. With their bodies left so far away in Ireland, the shadows would be weak.
He might not be able to acknowledge his bond with Rose, but he would give her his strength and his protection.
Rose peered over her abductor’s arm to the rapidly retreating safety of solid ground below. Hope flashed as she saw Niall sprinting toward them along the path, limned by moonlight, his face inhumanly perfect and determined.
She tried to shout his name. But the devil man tightened his grip around her chest and beat his wings. They were too high. Niall would never reach her.
He leaped with the grace of a stag, long, lean muscles extended to the limit, defying gravity. His fingers locked around her ankle. Her body ached, bone and muscle stretched to the breaking point as both men hung onto her. Then the arm around her chest slipped.
A scream ripped from her throat as she plummeted down. Rose tensed, ready for a jarring impact, but Niall swung around and caught her against his body. While her head was still spinning, he gently deposited her in a heap of musty leaf litter.
As soon as she gathered her wits, Rose scrambled backward until her head hit a tree. She huddled against the rough bark, clutching her knees.
Niall positioned himself between her and the winged man, his stance wide, combative. Although common sense screamed at her to run, the tremors of shock in her muscles robbed her of the strength to do so. She couldn’t take her eyes off Niall, his lithe body tense, ready to defend her. With a flick of his wrists a gleaming blade appeared in each of his hands. The edges of reality blurred.
Her would-be abductor beat large black wings and lowered himself to the ground, head bowed, arms crossed over his chest like a fallen angel. He touched down on the toes of one foot with the grace of a ballet dancer and raised glowing silver eyes.
“She belongs with me,” the dark angel said. His voice was deep, resonant…frighteningly familiar.
Rose pressed her forehead against her knees and rubbed her temples. A door to the past cracked open in her mind. Memories of childhood stirred like dust in a tomb. She remembered sobbing against the winged man’s chest as he rocked her in his arms.
“No way!” Niall’s firm reply pierced her thoughts. “Leave her be, Nightshade. She has no knowledge of the Good People.”
Niall was acquainted with this devil man…Nightshade? And who were these good people?
Nightshade faced her, eyes narrowed to glittering silver slits. His wings snapped closed against his back; then he took a step forward. “Rosenwyn,” he demanded, “you remember nothing about me?”
Rose shook her head in denial. Nightshade knew her real name. No one had ever called her Rosenwyn except her mother. Rose’s carefully cultivated normal world fractured, and flashes of childhood memory escaped. Mother singing and dancing with strange people. The drowsy scent of fragrant candles. Alone in the dark. So alone…until…Nightshade came for her.
She pressed her hands over her face and shook her head to clear the images. I’m a senior manager with Francis Marchant. Fear was making her imagine things—that was all.
Niall stood watching intently as Nightshade approached her. She groped among the fallen leaves for something to use as a weapon. Her fingers closed around a broken branch. Pushing herself up on shaky legs, she held it out, but strangely, her heart wasn’t in the threat. “Keep away. I…I’m sure I don’t know you.”
She expected him to react angrily or, if she was lucky, fall back at her threat. She wasn’t prepared for the flash of hurt in his eyes before he dropped his head and hid his face behind the veil of dark hair. With his wings folded and invisible from the front, Nightshade resembled an ordinary man. An extraordinarily beautiful man, his ebony skin sculpted into perfect curves and hollows by the moonlight.
Slouching off, Nightshade beckoned Niall, then halted a short distance away beside the river. She could just make out the shadowy outline of Nightshade’s wings folded against his back as the two men spoke. His wings are soft. She remembered the feel of running her hand over them. Tickling him?
Oh, God. She stared into the shadows beneath the trees, and the branch dropped from her fingers. Nightshade had said he wanted to take her home. The only home she could ever have had in Cornwall was with her father.
All her life she’d believed her mother was the weird one—her father was supposed to be her anchor to normality. Rubbing her arms against the cold, she summoned her self-control. It didn’t matter. If she didn’t like the truth about her father, she had her career, her life in London.
Rose ignored the creeping chill of disillusionment and channeled it into annoyance. What were the men talking about? She reached out her senses to Niall as she did to her tarot people, but felt nothing. Had she imagined the connection with him earlier? Well, she’d learned one thing from doing her job: the best way to get answers was to ask.
With a determined stride, she walked toward the men. They glanced up and fell silent as she approached. “Nightshade.” His name felt awkward in her mouth, like a foreign word. “I’ve come to Cornwall to find my father.” She paused and swallowed. “Do you know a man called Tristan Jago?”
Nightshade grimaced, and the two men shared a meaningful glance. Denial whirled inside Rose’s head as Nightshade flicked back his hair and tilted his chin defiantly. “I do.”
Shock jolted her body. His terse reply left no room for doubt, no room for hope. She had to face facts. If her father was involved with Nightshade, he wasn’t the normal dad she’d built her childhood fantasies around.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Niall slip his knives inside the cuffs of his shirt. He’d been mighty quick to come to her rescue, almost as though he’d expected trouble. He knew Nightshade, and he’d obviously lied to her about not knowing Tristan Jago. Add that to his deceit over the pub accounts and she didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him.
In the moonlight, she glanced from one man’s evasive expression to the other and anger fired her determination. This was no different from an insolvency investigation. If she wanted to root out the truth, she’d have to be firm. “I’d like to talk to you both back at the pub. I’m freezing my butt off out here, and I’ve got questions about my father. After putting me through this”—she plucked at her ripped, dirty shorts—“I think you both owe me some answers.”
The look of surprise the two men exchanged before they pasted on emotionless expressions gave her a shot of satisfaction that boosted her resolve.
On weary legs, she made her way back toward the pub, acutely aware of the two men at her back. Niall carried knives up his sleeves, and Nightshade had wings and silver eyes. Shit! The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and she fought the overwhelming urge to look around.
Now that she’d gotten their mea sure, she wouldn’t let them intimidate her again. Difficult situations had never beaten her before. She would get one of these two men to answer her questions about her father. Rose just prayed they were answers she wanted to hear.
Feeling more composed after a ten-minute walk, Rose went through the back door into the Elephant’s Nest kitchen. Michael was leaning against the counter dressed in skintight scarlet silk pants, a multicolored shirt, and a pixie hat with a tassel and bell on the end. He held a cigarette in one hand and a glass of amber liquid in the other.
He looked like an X-rated Santa’s elf.
Rose smiled and some of her tension fell away. Winking, he held up his glass. “Want one, darlin’?” He glanced at Nightshade hovering in the doorway behind Niall. “You’ve had a shock, I’ll wager.”
She nodded. “I usually steer clear of alcohol, but tonight you can make mine a double and stick a little parasol in it.”
Michael filled a tumbler, strolled ove
r, and pressed it into her hand. He clinked his glass against hers. “Sláinte.” This time the look in his eyes only warmed her. Odd that she had become immune to his attraction just when she was starting to like him.
Niall walked up and raked his gaze over Michael, and a muscle jerked in his cheek. “Who you got working to night?”
Michael grinned, mischief bright in his vivid blue eyes. “The lovely Marie. She’s out front now stocking the bar. Me fans will soon be arriving to hear more tall tales.”
Niall sighed as though the worries of the world weighed on his shoulders. He crossed to the door into the hall and locked it. “The nightstalker cannot stay long,” he said, glancing toward Rose. “Marie will need to use the kitchen.”
At Niall’s signal, the extraordinary dark angel sauntered into the brightly lit kitchen. Rose tried not to stare. She didn’t know whether to think of him as man or beast. Niall had called him a nightstalker, what ever that was. He was over six feet of well-packed muscle, with everything above the waistband of his jeans on display. Her gaze trailed up and down his body; then she cleared her throat and looked away. Definitely all man.
In her peripheral vision she caught Niall watching her, eyes narrowed, mouth tight. She sensed him like heat, warming the edges of her mind. He averted his gaze, straightened his cuffs, and the heat faded, leaving her cold.
So, she hadn’t imagined the link with Niall. After years sensing only her tarot people, why the sudden connection with Niall?
Michael tilted his glass at Nightshade and gave him a cheeky grin. “Come join us in the bar. To night I’ll reveal one of the secrets of the fairies.” He sucked on his cigarette and blew a perfect smoke ring. “’Tis a tale about a nightstalker who creeps around watching lasses in their underdrawers. I’m thinking you’ll add some spice to the telling.”
Nightshade raised his chin. “Don’t mock me, bard, or I’ll crush your scrawny neck.”
Michael shrugged innocently. “What’s biting him?”
“For Dagda’s sake.” Niall stared at Michael, frustration shimmering in his eyes. “Don’t tread on his toes. We have little enough time as it is.”
Nightshade folded his arms and leaned against the door frame. “I believe Rosenwyn wished to ask me some questions.”
Under the fluorescent light, his silver eyes gleamed, and his black hair slid over his shoulders like ebony water. Rose tried to suppress the little frisson of excitement that buzzed through her every time she looked at him. Any normal person would be running in the opposite direction screaming.
Gradually she became aware of the heavy silence and glanced at Niall and Michael. They were both watching her: Niall with his mouth set in a tight line of disapproval, Michael with an indignant pout. Michael clicked his tongue. “Now, why does she not look at me that way? I have the glamour.”
Niall rounded on Michael. “Button your lip. We’re not here to stroke your ego.” Niall turned back to Rose, eyes veiled. “If you have questions about your father, lass, now’s your chance.”
Rose had lots of questions about her father, but first she wanted to discover what Niall was so eager to hide from her.
“Michael, what do you mean, that you have the glamour?”
Niall gave Michael a dirty look. “You could not keep your mouth shut.”
Michael shrugged. “Makes no difference.” He pointed his cigarette at Nightshade. “Exhibit one in the freak show. Meself, I’m just small fry.”
Nightshade growled low in his throat, raising the hairs on Rose’s body.
Niall smacked his palm on the kitchen counter. “Show her, Michael, if you must. But make it snappy.”
After depositing his glass on the counter, Michael held his hands before his face and wiggled his fingers. “Abracadabra.”
Niall rolled his eyes, drawing Rose’s gaze for an instant. When she looked back, Michael was different. It took a moment for her to work out what had changed. His face was the same, but the gloss had gone. His hair was no longer as thick and luxuriant, his complexion less glowing. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot. He was still good-looking, but in a more normal way, and he was clearly a little worse for wear.
Rose hadn’t thought of it for years, but whenever her mother looked awful after a drinking binge, she’d go to her room to refresh herself and return looking perfect. “I could use some of that. What is it? Some kind of illusion?”
Michael opened his mouth, but Niall beat him to it. “Something like that.”
Niall didn’t seem the type of man to use deceit to improve his looks, so she passed over him and stared expectantly at Nightshade. “I bet you use it too.”
The nightstalker grinned and arched a brow at Niall. “I’m naturally beautiful. My gift is different.”
“Your gift?” Presumably he meant his wings. She glanced at Niall, remembering his superhuman leap to rescue her. “Do you have a gift?”
“We have no time for this now.” He stared pointedly at the clock above the fridge. “What is it you be wanting to know about Tristan?”
Tristan. Niall’s familiar use of her father’s Christian name jolted her back to reality. She was avoiding the very questions she craved answers for, frightened of what she’d discover. Reluctantly, she met Nightshade’s disconcerting silver gaze. “You said you know my father?”
“That’s right.”
“In what context?”
“They live together,” Michael chipped in as he clicked his lighter and lit another cigarette.
“Live together?” Rose studied Nightshade, who shifted uneasily. She glanced toward Niall, who avoided eye contact, then Michael, who grinned wickedly. The penny dropped with the thud of a lead ball. “Ah.”
Rose clutched the back of a chair. Her father had a relationship with this…this…The room suddenly seemed too bright. She covered her eyes with a hand. When Rose’s mother had railed at her for being boring and plain, Rose had clung to her fantasy of a normal dad who would think as she did and value her academic achievements. She’d been ready to accept that her father might not be quite as she imagined, but this was beyond anything…
“Lass, are you feeling all right?” Niall’s gentle inquiry brought tears to her eyes for the disillusioned child inside her. She blinked them away before uncovering her face.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine. It’s just a surprise.”
“You must come home with me, Rosenwyn,” Nightshade said in his dark, gravelly voice. “You and I belong together. We’re the last—”
“Enough!” Niall stepped between Rose and Nightshade, as if blocking her view of him would prevent her from hearing his words. “She doesn’t need this.” He touched her arm, and comfort flowed from his fingertips. “Me advice to you, lass: forget about Tristan. Take yourself back to London and get on with your life.”
“Your destiny lies with me, Rosenwyn,” Nightshade said, stepping up beside Niall. “I’m the last of your people.”
Shock jolted her. “You’re not related to me.” God, she hoped there weren’t wings in her gene pool. “I’m looking for my father. Not you.”
“Stop this now.” Niall shoved Nightshade in the chest.
He staggered back, but kept speaking. “Your father is not of the Good People like us. He’s human.”
“Human?” Rose gaped at Nightshade. Reality stopped and flipped over like a negative image. So that meant…Her usually quick brain stalled. “I don’t understand…” She refused to believe she was anything like Nightshade. And Niall and Michael were human—weren’t they? They looked human, apart from Michael’s glamour and the way Niall jumped higher than any man should be able to jump. Her brain juggled the implications, but she couldn’t keep all the balls in the air.
“Oh, my God.” She dropped into a chair, closed her eyes, and tried to focus her mind.
She clutched her three stones through her sports top and took comfort from the familiar smooth circles. A suspicion trickled into her brain. Niall had similar stones. What about the other two men?
>
Rose glanced up to see Niall shepherding Nightshade out the back door. “Wait,” she called. Both men jerked around. She pulled her stones out and cupped them in her palm. She remembered Niall’s reaction when she’d mentioned her stones earlier. Somehow they were the answer to an important question, but she didn’t know what the question was.
Nightshade smiled, a slow curl of lips revealing pearly white teeth like a crescent moon in a night sky. “My sweet, you offer them to me?”
“No, you bloody don’t!” Niall jumped between them and struck out, the action so swift Nightshade was on his back before Rose realized Niall had hit him.
Surely they weren’t fighting over her?
“Well, well.” Michael pushed away from his safe spot on the opposite side of the kitchen and ambled toward her. “Me brother, the grand protector, strikes again.” He gazed at Rose’s stones cradled in her palm. “Let me see what you have there, lass.”
The Magic Knot Page 6