“So you’re saying you’re a…a weredragon?” Juliette asked, her doubt evident in her voice.
“As you are a dog, I am a dragon,” Alana replied simply, tucking the pendant back under her shirt. Then she looked at Mark for a moment, before returning her gaze to me.
“You have found him at last,” she said. “And you are happy? No more dreams?”
I glanced over my shoulder at Mark, realizing for the first time that she was right—I hadn’t had one dream about him since he had come into my life. To Alana I said, “No, no more dreams. And I am deliriously happy but… I do have concerns. I mean, I’ve heard conflicting stories about his kind.”
She took both of my hands in hers as she smiled, flicking her eyes toward Diarmid for a moment before she said, “I feel your turmoil, Saphrona; all your long years you have believed that which you were told as a child, that the dhunphyr are humans with unnatural long life and healing properties passed onto them by the vampyr that took the lives of their mothers. Yet now you also know that they were persecuted even in infancy for the power of their blood, which gave more to the drinker than did that of any human.”
She rose and moved to stand in front of Mark, who stood as well, giving her his hands when she reached for them. Alana closed her eyes, and the Dragon’s Eye literally began to glow beneath the cotton blouse she wore, bathing hers and Mark’s faces in a muted green light. I shifted in my seat, mesmerized by what I saw before me, and just a little concerned about what, if anything, she was doing to him.
When about a minute had passed, the light from the stone faded. Alana opened her eyes and looked at Mark, then reached for one of my hands and placed it in his. “Do not worry, child,” she said to me. “He is immortal.”
I sighed with relief and exchanged a smile with Mark, who gave my hand a triumphant little squeeze. But I still felt compelled to ask, “Is he naturally, or did you do that?”
She smiled as she returned to her place next to me. “It is natural, for those of his kind that escape being fed upon,” she said, ignoring the not-too-subtle “Hmph” from my father. “The glowing of the Eye, which you saw a moment ago, was me tapping into my magic. I looked back into the history of the world to be sure that what we both felt from him was real.”
“So you have a supe-sense too?”
Alana laughed. “I suppose that is one way of looking at it,” she replied. “The myths which have thus far painted dragons as magical beasts are not entirely made up, you see. In every piece of fiction there is an element of truth.”
“Speaking of that,” Diarmid said, sitting forward, “we would like to request your assistance, Ms. O’Mara.”
She looked at him. “I know why else you are here, Mr. Mackenna,” she said. “I can only tell you that those you seek are one in the same.”
His eyes widened. “Are you saying that Vivian Drake is a vampire?”
“She is. But it is pointless to pursue her. What’s done is done.”
“No,” he declared, standing abruptly. “I have to find her. Where is she?”
Alana shook her head. “I cannot tell you that.”
“Can’t or won’t?” my father asked snidely.
“Can’t. Even my gifts are limited,” she said. “But if you will leave me your contact information, I will be sure to call should anything else come to me.”
Hoping to stay the swell of anger I could see building in Diarmid’s eyes, I turned to Alana. “You say Vivian and her source are the same person. Can you at least tell us, if you know, why she wrote these books? Surely she knew she was putting her life at risk.”
Our hostess looked at me with a tiny smile and a sparkle in her eye that confirmed what I had already suspected to be true—she knew that I was Vivian Drake. Yet she was keeping my secret for me, protecting me. I wished I could have asked her why.
“She wrote the first from a place of hurt,” she said. “Anger and frustration at her lot in life, as well as resentment, despair, depression… She had no idea the book would be as successful as it was, or that her publisher would be so eager for more.”
Diarmid scoffed. “You know all that, but you can’t tell us where she is?”
Alana looked up. “A prophetess such as I can see only what the gift chooses to reveal. It may be fate’s way of telling you to let it go, or that you must find her yourself.”
“Or that you’re protecting her,” he returned, stepping closer.
Out of nowhere the butler appeared between them. “I believe you have overstayed your welcome, sir,” he said in a voice that was not to be argued with.
Diarmid stared at him, but the old man (or was he also a Drake?) didn’t back down. With a frustrated snarl, my father turned and stormed out of the house.
As soon as the front door had slammed shut, Alana grabbed my hand fiercely. “Tread with caution, child. I fear that your newfound happiness will come to an end should the truth be discovered.”
She must have known also that both Mark and Juliette knew the truth, for something told me she would not have spoken otherwise. “I know,” I told her. “But even if I don’t finish the fourth, even if nary another word is written, he or someone else could still find out. I don’t know what to do.”
“I know it will pain you to think of it,” she said, cupping my face gently. “But you may have to lay the blame at the feet of another.”
“You mean set someone else up as Vivian? I can’t do that!”
“I feel it may be your only recourse,” Alana replied. “You cannot not see it now, but the means to your salvation will yet come to you.”
I could not help but have my doubts, but I stood and thanked her anyway. After all, she had assured me that Mark was indeed an immortal, and she had protected my secret from my father. I turned back to her as the butler was leading us out of the room, needing to satisfy my curiosity. “Why didn’t you just tell him it was me? Why protect me when lying to him may well bring retribution to your door?”
Alana laughed, and again I likened it to the sound of bells. “Because punishment is the lot of the wicked, and that you are not. Also, he can do no harm to me that I will not see coming. I have nothing to fear from him and his ilk.”
“The Drake must be powerful indeed,” I mused.
“Stronger than any vampire, I assure you,” she said. “With all due respect to the majestic lion, it is the dragon who is the king of beasts.”
“If that’s true, then why hide?” Juliette asked.
Alana gave her a knowing look. “Even the king has enemies, child.”
“Good point,” Juliette conceded. “I don’t suppose you can or will tell me when I’m gonna meet my guy? You know, so I got something to look forward to, since I don’t even have dreams to go to sleep to at night?”
The wyvern walked across the room and took Juliette’s hand. After a few moments of holding it with her eyes closed, she looked at Juliette and said, “He will come to you when your need for him is greatest.”
The three of us burst out laughing, Mark and I exchanging a glance. “Why does that not surprise me?” Juliette murmured with humor in her tone.
“Is that not the way it always happens?” Alana countered. “When most we need the strength of another, they are suddenly there to hold us up. Take heart, though, young shifter, for I see that you will not have to wait nearly so long as our friend Saphrona.”
“Really?” Juliette asked brightly, a smile on her face.
Alana nodded. “Aye. You will have the good fortune of meeting him in less than a year’s time. He is…” Her eyes took on a faraway look for a moment, and then she blinked and shook her head.
“He is what?” Mark’s sister prompted.
The psychic smiled. “Someone from your past—a person with many talents whom you once called friend.”
With that hopeful bit of news imparted, we took our leave of the seer, and as the door closed at our backs I said, “Gee, I wish she could have given me a timetable.”
“No o
ffense Saphrona, but thank goodness I don’t have to wait a few hundred years,” Juliette quipped.
“A few hundred years?” Mark queried as we exited the house. “Don’t tell me that shapeshifters are immortal?”
“Dude, you just met a dragon shapeshifter who claimed to be thousands of years old,” she said as we descended the steps. “Now whether that’s species specific or because she hasn’t met her own bondmate, I dunno. But with other shifters, once we reach physical maturity we stop aging. When a shifter meets their imprint, then he usually stops phasing regularly, and thus aging begins again.”
My attention shifted from the brother and sister on either side of me to the man pacing back and forth next to the rented limousine. I could tell that Diarmid was furious, and I feared that Gail or one of the pilots, or some other unsuspecting human, would pay the price for it. Silently I resigned myself to the very real possibility that someone was going to die tonight, because taking a life might be the only way assuage his fury…
…I just hoped it was only one life.
“Did you get anything else out of her?” he thundered as we approached.
I shook my head. “I’m sorry, but no. I tried to, but she swore there was nothing else she could tell me.”
It was a lie, of course. But I was well-trained in the art of the poker face, and I imagined that as a soldier and a shapeshifter, so were Mark and Juliette. I did not believe either of them would give us all away.
“She’s lying,” Diarmid went on, all but throwing himself into the limo when the driver came over to open it for us.
Lochlan climbed in behind him and then I did, followed by Mark, Juliette, and Jake. “She’s lying,” he said again we were all in and the driver closed the door. “That’s the vibe I got from her. She knows who it is and she’s protecting her.”
“Diarmid, you don’t know that,” I said. “A psychic’s powers are unpredictable, and cannot always be expected to work the way we want them to.”
“Are you saying she’s not lying? That you believe her? Mida, I thought you were smarter than that.”
I felt my spine stiffen. Should have known the peace wouldn’t last long, I thought sourly. “Thank you for that resounding vote of confidence, Diarmid. Just so you know, though, I didn’t get the same feeling as you did. I thought she was being honest with us, and you should consider that your ‘vibe’ is the result of the fact that she couldn’t tell you exactly what you wanted to hear.”
His expression darkened and I prepared myself for the inevitable explosion, but then Lochlan stepped in, saying, “At least we know that Vivian Drake isn’t just getting her information from a vampire, but that she is one. We know her mindset, so we should start searching for vampires that are disenchanted with their lives.”
“Yes, that will be just so easy,” Diarmid said, his tone snarky. “My son, you know as well as I that there is only the smallest percentage of our kind who are not happy in their immortality. The only one I have personally ever known to be discontent is our own dear Mida. This entire bloody journey has been a waste of time.”
“On the contrary,” I said with my eyes narrowed, Mark’s hand taking mine to keep me calm. “I’ve not been discontent with being a vampire myself, I’ve simply been discontent with one vampire in particular. Need I remind you why?”
We stared at each other for a long moment, and then Diarmid turned away from me. The rest of the ride back to the airport was spent in silence.
Back to Top
Twelve
“It’s a shame, really,” Mark said as the plane lifted off.
“What’s a shame?” I asked.
He looked over at me. “Well, that we came all this way, flying seven hours across the eastern seaboard and the Atlantic ocean to such a beautiful country, and we were here only about half that. I know that the purpose of our coming was to get information, but still… I think it would have been nice to see some of Ireland while we were here.”
I nodded, watching with resignation as Diarmid grabbed Gail by the arm and hauled her into the galley, closing the door that separated it from the rest of the passenger cabin. Mark followed my gaze, leaning close to whisper, “She gonna be alright?”
I shrugged. “Can’t say for sure. It’s possible she’ll either be dead or turned by the end of the end of the flight. Nothing we can do about it, I’m afraid. He’s really angry, and it’s the only thing that will satisfy him.”
Moments later, though, the sounds emanating from the front end of the plane seemed to indicate Diarmid had had other plans all along, for we could plainly hear muffled moaning. Jake jumped up and trotted to the door, putting his ear to it to listen, and grinned widely.
“Somebody’s getting the shit fucked out of her,” he said as he came back to join us.
Lochlan sat back with his hands behind his head, and glanced at me before saying, “It is common practice for a vampire in a rage to seek sexual release prior to feeding, my malamute friend, if he or she is unable to go on a killing spree—which of course, he cannot, for various reasons. My father will have his way with her, and when he comes he will feed.”
“At the same time?” Jake wondered.
Loch nodded. “Feeding in the midst of orgasm increases the overall pleasure the vampire experiences by a magnitude of… What would you say it is, Saphrona? Ten? Twenty?”
I pulled a throw pillow out from behind my back and tossed it across the aisle at him. My brother laughed as he easily dodged the fluffy missile, saying, “I imagine, of course, that when you do it sister, it’s incalculable, given the unique properties of your lover’s blood.”
“Lochlan, I swear you better shut your damn pie-hole!” I warned him.
His face took on an expression of woe. “But my dear sister, I have not had pie in three hundred years. I do not even recall what it tastes like.”
I glared at him while Jake and Mark laughed, and glanced over to find the latter’s sister shaking her head, her own face red with embarrassment.
After suffering the sounds of my father’s sexual interlude for about half an hour, a strangled cry was heard. Instantly both Jake and Juliette rose, but they sat again when they were reminded that there was really very little they could do to help Gail.
“I can’t believe I’m about to say this,” Jake muttered, “but I hope he turns her rather than kills her.”
“Me too,” Juliette agreed. “At least then she’ll still be alive in some form.”
I agreed with the two shapeshifters, and when Diarmid emerged some minutes later looking like a cat that’d eaten the canary, we all studiously avoided his gaze.
“Did you kill her?” I had to ask, turning to face him as he dropped into a chair.
“Planning to sic your dogs on me if I did, dear Mida?”
Jake and Juliette growled their displeasure, and were further aggravated when Diarmid laughed.
“Are you purposely antagonizing them, Diarmid? That’s hardly a way to treat guests,” I said sharply.
“They are your guests, daughter, not mine. I suggest you keep them on a short leash.”
This time Jake jumped up and took a step forward. Mark stood to block him, joined by my brother. “Take it easy man,” Mark said. “He’s not worth it. Don’t let him push your buttons.”
After a moment, Jake nodded and returned to his seat. Mark turned to Diarmid as he and Lochlan followed suit, saying, “Alright, you’ve had your fun. Back off now.”
Diarmid raised his eyebrows at Mark. “And what will you do if I don’t? Will you try to kill me, boy?”
“Enough! All of you!” I shouted as I stood. “This ridiculous display of testosterone serves no purpose except perhaps pissing everyone off. Might I remind you that we have a little more than six hours to spend in each other’s company? No more snide comments from anybody, so we can endure the rest of this flight as peacefully as possible.”
With that, I turned on my heel and headed for the galley. I found Gail propped haphazardly in the si
ngle seat of the crew rest area just beyond, her clothes askew, her torn panties on the floor. Leaning close to sniff the bite mark on her breast I detected no trace of draculin, so I grabbed her wrist and felt for a pulse while also listening for a heartbeat. It was faint and thready, but it was there. Gail was not dead and she was not in the midst of being turned.
She was just unconscious from loss of blood.
Fixing her clothes, I picked her up as carefully as I could and carried her back into the passenger cabin, where I then laid her down on the sofa, placing a pillow under her head.
“Why the devil did you bring her out here?” Diarmid asked.
I shot him a murderous glare. “Because you used her up like she was nothing, and she deserves better than that,” I snapped angrily.
Diarmid rose with a disgusted noise in his throat and walked through the galley and into the crew area, where he closed himself in away from us. After making sure Gail was in as comfortable a position as she could be, I returned to my seat across from Mark.
“Try not to take this the wrong way,” Jake said slowly, “but your father is a flippin’ dickhead.”
“That he can be,” Lochlan replied, surprising me with his agreement. Usually my brother took the neutral route when it came to our father.
“Is she alive?” Juliette asked, nodding toward Gail.
“And is she gonna stay that way?” added Jake.
I nodded. “I didn’t smell any draculin, so she’s not going to turn, and though her pulse is somewhat weak, it’s there, so I think she’ll live.”
“I’m surprised the magnificent bastard left her alive,” the malamute shifter muttered.
“Careful, friend,” Lochlan warned. “There may be times I dislike him as much as the next person, but he’s still my sire and you are a guest on his aircraft. Mind your tongue, please.”
Given the discourse of the last several minutes, I half expected Jake to argue, but he merely nodded his head and turned his attention to Juliette, engaging her in a discussion of the goings-on in their pack that she had missed for much of the last year. Because I was eager to learn more about the shifter community, I asked them to tell me about their pack. Weredogs, Jake told me, only came in the forms of breeds most closely resembling (and thus considered related to) wolves—those being Huskies, Malamutes, Akitas, Tamaskans, and German Shepherds. Because wolves considered themselves the kings of werekind, they’d claimed the term “were” for themselves (I recalled from Juliette’s explanation the other day that most other werekind had given up the term in favor of calling themselves shapeshifters) and almost never allowed “shifters” into their packs. The shepherds also practiced exclusivity, but the other four had no such qualms about mingling and forming a pack with each other, so it was not uncommon to have a mixture of the four “lesser” weredog breeds in a pack.
Chasing Shadows (A Shadow Chronicles Novel) Page 18