The Rhyn Trilogy

by Lizzy Ford

  She followed him up a set of regal stairs to the second floor, where multiple rooms lined a hallway. He disappeared into one without turning on the light. She trailed, groping around the wall nearest the door until she found a light switch.

  There were two beds in the room and a single bathroom off to one side along with a small living area. He said nothing, and she sensed his simmering anger. She sat on a trunk at the end of one bed. He flung off clothing soaked with blood, stripping with his back to her without one concern about her watching.

  He was muscled like the panther-beast he turned into. She felt both awed and terrified watching his rippling, shapely muscles move beneath the olive skin. His shoulders and upper arms bulged while his long torso was lean and chiseled. He changed mechanically, as if accustomed to removing bloody clothing several times a day. He tugged on loose judo pants and flung himself on his back on the bed nearest the door.

  "You’re acting like you’re normal," she objected, tears rising. "What the fuck is wrong with you? You run around turning into animals and tearing off people’s heads and then just…a bed and breakfast? Come on! Now you’ll just lay there and go to sleep? Is this where you hung out while I was in that cave?"

  He pulled a pillow across his face, ignoring her. She stood and glared at him, wanting to cry, scream, and sleep all at once. Instead, she marched to the bathroom and took the hottest shower she could tolerate to try and take off the alcoholic edge. Her shot nerves calmed until she rubbed a towel against the misty mirror and saw the tattoo again.

  Rhyn.

  Fury at her situation rose hard and fast. She suppressed it with deep breaths. She’d been to Hell and back; Ireland with a moody predator was far better than that. She put on the jumpsuit she hated and emerged, expecting her first night of good sleep in a week.

  Her nose wrinkled at a familiar scent, and she looked first at the plate full of raw fish on the table and then at the silver-eyed predator with his roped forearms displayed across his wide, bare chest. His look was calculating and judging.

  "That’s it!"

  She crossed to the table and lifted one from the plate, flinging it at him.

  "You miserable son of a bitch! You all deserve to be in Hell! Damn you, Toby for ruining my life, and Gabriel and Ully and Andre…"

  With each name, she flung a fish at him. He was unaffected, batting the dead creatures away like flies.

  "…and you, Rhyn, who should owe me something for freeing you from the depths of Hell! Fuck you all! I swear to God, I’ve had it with all this shit. One week ago, I had a shitty life alone but I was normal. Normal! I know you don’t know what the fuck that is, but it means no immortal monsters sucking my blood and tearing up my body, no tattoos, no four-hundred-thousand-year-old angels in the bodies of five-year-olds, no buildings exploding when I get near them, no trip to Hell. And no raw fish!"

  He stared at her, and she flung the plate at him, furious at his lack of reaction. He didn’t care. He couldn’t care. Monsters couldn’t care!

  Tears stung her eyes. "Kris was right. I need to help him save the world from jackasses like you."

  His eyes flared then narrowed. He moved toward her slowly, body tense.

  "Oh, now you give a damn!" she snapped, backing away. "It’s personal, isn’t it? Like it’s been for me for the past fucking week! Kris, Kris, Kris!"

  With each mention of his name, Rhyn’s eyes flared hotter. A low growl started deep in his chest, a warning that penetrated her rampage. She stepped back and whirled, darting toward the door. He snatched her around the waist and lifted her.

  "Damn you, Rhyn!"

  He flung her on the bed, and she launched up, meeting a wall of pure male. His solid, warm body atop hers immobilized her and he pinned her wrists to the bed, silver eyes blazing and elongated fangs resting on his full lower lip. She strained, unable to move but no longer caring if he did kill her.

  "Fuck you, Rhyn," she said again, his silver eyes blurry through her tears. "I want my life back!"

  "This. Is. Your. Life." His words were controlled with effort, his body so tense, she thought he’d snap any second. "You. Are. Mine."

  "No!"

  "You. Are. Mine."

  She began to cry, no longer able to deny what she knew deep down: she’d never get her life back. Even without some sadistic creature’s name around her neck, things would never be the same.

  "There’s nowhere you go where I cannot follow,” he added. “Kris’s pets can go anywhere but Hell. I can find you even there, and I will. I claimed you. You. Are. Mine. Forever."

  She sobbed, her emotions from the week’s events breaking free. He released her without another word, and she curled onto her side, weeping not only for the bizarre world she’d entered but from the realization she’d never, ever, ever return to hers.

  Rhyn stormed out of the bed and breakfast. The streets of Dublin were too busy for him. He felt claustrophobic in the city, needed air and space. Without a thought as to who might be watching, he ducked into an alley and flung himself into the air. Pain blazed through him as he took the shape of the ancient creature. He beat the air mercilessly with his wings, rising high above the city and coasting on cold wind currents until he reached the ocean. He floated on the updraft of air off the water and then drifted to the beach below, changing into his human form as he landed with a gentle thud on rocky sand.

  You. Are. Mine

  He hadn't believed the words himself until he said them. He hadn't wanted them to be true. He wanted to fulfill his promise to Gabriel, piss off his brothers, and then walk away. It wasn’t quite as easy as he thought, especially since she was so helpless.

  The doll with the large blue eyes crying on the bed bothered him on more levels than he wanted to admit. He'd meant to piss her off earlier, keep her from developing any sort of affection for someone who had no intention of keeping her.

  That, too, was more for him than her. The minute he found her missing from the cave, he'd felt an uneasy, unfamiliar sense of concern. He didn't just notice she was gone--he found himself wishing she wasn't.

  He sensed the death dealer’s presence.

  "What, Gabriel?" he said without turning.

  "Brought you another book," Gabriel said, handing it to him.

  "Hope it's better than the last."

  "This one was written by someone in the human realm. The other one was from a bitter immortal."

  Rhyn accepted the book, glanced at it, and flung it into the ocean.

  "You're right," Gabriel said, unaffected. "That one was probably bad, too."

  "I burned the other one. How to Train a Pet Human. Really, Gabe?"

  "It was worth a try. I don't know anything about them."

  "They don't eat fish," Rhyn grunted. "You never did answer my question about Andre."

  "You know I won't."

  They stood in silence, watching the waves fling the book around before sinking it.

  "I fucking hate Kris," Rhyn snarled. "I've been waiting for someone to tell me what to do with this human."

  "She's your mate."

  "So why did you insist I protect her? Death doesn't have something up her sleeve?"

  "Death always has all the cards," Gabriel grunted. "But the woman is yours."

  Rhyn frowned, not sure whether he wanted the woman or not. Gabriel cocked his head to the side and then shifted.

  "Death's calling. Talk later."

  He disappeared. Rhyn sat and draped his arms over his knees, staring at the horizon. He'd been furious when Katie mentioned Kris. He didn't understand why the self-proclaimed guardian of humans would drag such a helpless creature into this web of evil.

  He remembered little about how to deal with humans and nothing of how to deal with their women. The women he remembered were docile and silent. The men of his time had been harsh with them, and he thought he was doing well by tolerating her.

  Even so, his own conviction to keep what was his made him uneasy. A human was weak. A human mate was a liabil
ity he couldn't afford.

  Yet he'd done what Andre always warned him about: he'd acted without thinking and affected someone he hadn't intended to. He'd claimed her as his, and the tattoo around her neck proved it.

  You can't protect someone so fragile from what's coming.

  Maybe there was a way out of it yet. Maybe he could undo what he'd done.

  He dwelled on her scent, the taste of her, the kiss. He'd never felt such a connection with anyone. The sight of her being attacked by the lesser immortals infuriated him like nothing else ever had. He'd wanted to go back and tear apart the pieces he left.

  Maybe there was a part of him that didn't want to undo whatever he'd done. She was destined for him. His mate.

  He couldn't shake the sense he'd reached the first challenge in his life he didn't know how to handle. He'd never been entrusted with anything to care for, not when he was unable to control his powers.

  And now he had a mate who infuriated him as much as she turned him on.

  For the first time in years, he doubted himself. Could he really protect her, since he was now bound by Immortal Code to keep her? Or was this another Immortal Code he dared break, for the sake of another, and take whatever consequences came his way?

  He'd been to Hell. The only thing worse would be to make him dead-dead.

  Rhyn dropped back to stare at the sky. He wasn't ready to be dead-dead yet, not after all the time he'd spent in Hell and all the unfinished business he had.

  Chapter Six

  Katie ate gingerly, her head aching from both her hangover and her mental breakdown. She’d cried herself senseless before falling into a sleep too heavy to bring her any real rest. Five cups of coffee later and a full Irish breakfast settling in her stomach, she still couldn’t shake the throb. The breakfast room had cleared out an hour before, but the patient matriarch kept her coffee cup full.

  “Blood puddin’?"

  Katie almost lost her stomach at the innocent question from the middle-aged matriarch of the bed and breakfast.

  "No, thanks," she managed. "More coffee, please."

  “Aye, I see that.”

  Because she looked like shit. She knew it. She wore a jumper that reeked of her own body odor. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot, her hair in a half-assed braid.

  "I need to get some clothes," she said, turning to where the woman had moved to sit and read her paper. "You know a cheap place around here?"

  "Consignment store down the road."

  "Thanks. I’ll bring this back."

  She carried the mug with her down the street to a store that smelled like an attic. The sun was too bright, the people around her too friendly. She sorted through the clothing, finding a pair of jeans, another pair of cargo pants, a scarf, and a few shirts. She paid the cashier with the remainder of her Euros and returned for a hot shower.

  New clothes had never felt so nice, even if they were used! She wrapped the scarf around her neck and almost felt normal. The room was straightened and the fish removed, though the scent of them lingered.

  The owner had left a bottle of painkiller and a snack on the nightstand, and Katie smiled at the first piece of thoughtfulness she’d received in what felt like a year. The whiskey she’d asked for. She downed her painkillers with a swig of alcohol. Before she could take another drink, Rhyn appeared out of nowhere and snatched the bottle from her.

  "What is it with immortals and alcohol?"

  He ignored her question and tossed it out the opened window.

  "My sister is expecting me to call and then to actually show up in DC in the next week."

  "I don’t give a fuck." He looked her over and then strode to her again. She took a step back, but he only snatched the scarf and flung it, too, out the window.

  "I don’t need the reminder every time I look in the mirror!"

  "Not for you. They’ll leave you alone when they see it," he replied.

  "Just like the goons last night?"

  He gave her a warning look. "You look like shit."

  "I feel like shit, no thanks to you," she said, sitting on the bed. "My head hurts, my body hurts, and I was nearly sliced open before you decided to show up last night."

  "You learned what you needed to."

  "I already knew you could tear people’s heads off."

  She refused to admit he was right. She had learned her lesson. He’d find her no matter what, and he wasn’t going to be swayed by her neck next time. And, he’d slaughter anyone near his property.

  "I’m not chattel," she muttered.

  "You are what I say you are."

  "No, I’m not,” she countered. “If you want an obedient nymph, then go get one. You’re stuck with me otherwise."

  She thought she heard him grind his teeth and frowned.

  "If you really don’t want me around, why did you go through that effort to claim me?" she asked, crossing her arms and taking a step toward him. "Why not go get a stupid nymph, whatever those are?"

  In daylight, he was almost approachable. Almost. He fidgeted with a couple of pens and doodled geometric shapes similar to those around her neck onto stationery bearing the seal of the bed and breakfast.

  "You freed me. I repaid you by not killing you," he replied.

  "That doesn’t explain why you keep me around."

  "I don’t have to," he said, voice lowering into a growl.

  "Those idiots last night said Ancients always pick the best blood monkeys."

  "You were the only one around."

  "So, this was an opportunity too good to pass up and isn’t about getting back at Kris?" she asked.

  One of the pens in his hands snapped, and she took a step back. The tension eased from his frame, and he said with effort, "No."

  "The idiots also said that anyone--I assume monster--can sense me ’cause you did claim me."

  "Wouldn’t go out walking alone after dark if I was you, little girl."

  "Then they said I was your mate, because I bear your mark. I don’t know what--"

  Snap. The other pen and pad of paper went flying out the window. This time the tension didn’t leave his frame. He rose from his kneeling position and faced her. Wordlessly, he pointed to a spot on the floor before him.

  "You just ate a little while ago!" she argued.

  His eyes flashed, and she hurried to stand before him with her neck craned back to meet his gaze, toe-to-toe with the beast. He took her throat in one large hand, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin of her neck. They locked gazes, his intense silver eyes boring through her. Last night, after he’d beheaded the four, she’d innately known he wouldn’t hurt her. Even when he spoke of replacing her with a nymph. Whatever claim he had on her, she was more than just a blood monkey, especially when he had his choice of blood monkeys outside of Hell.

  What did he want from her, if more than her blood?

  She closed her eyes and offered her neck, surprised to find her pulse quickening in excitement.

  "You spit fire one moment and submit the next," he said, his voice thick with need.

  "We are both complex creatures." She gasped as his fangs pierced her throat. The pain subsided, replaced by familiar warmth. He didn’t drink long and sealed the wound after.

  "No more whiskey," he snarled, turning away.

  When she opened her eyes, he was gone, and she was just as confused as ever. She caught her reflection in the mirror, and the sight of the tattoo around her neck infuriated her. She strode from the room through the house to the alley to retrieve what belongings she had.

  She was on her way back to her room with the scarf securely wrapped around her neck and the whiskey that had fallen mercifully into an outside trash bin without busting when she felt the change in temperature. Not as severe as traveling through the shadow world, but close. She pushed the door to her room open slowly, surprised to see who awaited her.

  "Gabriel?"

  He lifted his chin in greeting from his spot at the table.

  "You here to kill me?" she a
sked.

  "Nope."

  She closed the door. His dark eyes dropped to the whiskey.

  "What is it with whiskey?" she demanded. "You’re immortal--can’t kill you."

  "Mortals need the power of reason to deal with us. It’s Immortal Code. You have free will." He took the bottle and tossed it out the window. This time, she heard it smash.

  "A choice?" she echoed. "I haven’t had a choice yet with you people."

  "But if you did, you’d need to be sober."

  Was he amused? She couldn’t tell.

  "Well, what do you want?"

  He offered a hand. She took a step back.

  "That’s not a good idea," she said.

  "Kris’s orders."

  "Why doesn’t he come get me then?"

  "I’m not allowed to tell him where you are," he said.

  "Why not?"

  He took her hand. "We aren’t to interfere in mortal happenings."

  "Bullshit."

  Her curse was lost as she was sucked into the shadow world. She wobbled. Gabriel steadied her. She turned around, but saw no doorway behind her. Forced to follow, she couldn't help wondering where the other portals went as he disappeared through one. She stepped from the shadow world back into her world and waited for nausea or pain. This time, there was none.

  She looked around. They were in a burnt-out room…with the Arc de Triomphe a short distance away.

  She had no good memories of Paris and crossed her arms. Kris rose from his squat nearby, flanked by Ileana and Jade. He looked her over intently while she stared speechlessly at Jade.

  Jade withdrew his knife with a warning look.

  "You look awful," she said to Kris. She wondered what it took for an immortal to look as if he’d been through Hell and back.

  "So do you."

  "I went to Hell."

  He snorted, then looked back at her when she didn’t break a smile. His gaze went to Gabriel.

  "Hell?" he asked.