“Why in the world not, cher?” he asked.
“He’s crying. You can’t hear that?”
“I can hear it just fine, sweet heart. I’ve got great hearing, remember?”
“So you’re just going to ignore it?” she asked.
“I’m jealous,” he told her flatly, his eyes darkening a little more. They glittered with predatory intent. “He gets to have you whenever he wants you.”
Lily rolled her eyes. He was an immature, arrogant prick. If she hadn’t come to know and love the real man with the kind heart underneath his uber alpha wolf, she would have flushed her gorgeous wedding ring down the toilet months ago. “Get off, Daniel. There’s milk in the freezer. You know what to do.”
“What’s it worth to you, cher?”
An inkling of an idea uncoiled in her mind. With it, a rush of excitement flooded her blood. “A lot,” she said softly.
His brow rose. “Oh? Do tell.”
“Get off and I’ll show you.” She smiled a coy smile and made a show of running her tongue over the tips of her teeth. “I promise.”
Daniel was off of her like a light. He stood and waited by the bed as she crawled over to his side and raised herself up on her knees before him. As always, despite his unrepentant rapaciousness, she was amazed at how gorgeous he was. In the middle of the night, after three months of practically no sleep, he was still as starkly handsome as a fallen angel.
She leaned in and captured his lips in a kiss. His hand instantly fisted in her hair and held her fast as he deepened the kiss himself. She could feel him begin to send his deadly pleasure into her through the power of the kiss and she knew exactly when to pull away.
She jerked back and shook her finger at him admonishingly.
His look was pure, animalistic need.
And then Lily smiled.
In one smooth move, she pulled her arm back and drove her fist forward, slamming it into the side of his beautiful face. His head snapped to the side and he stumbled backward and into the wall.
Lily put her hands on her hips and nodded approvingly. “Wow. Tabby was right. Punching you as a werewolf is way more satisfying.” She couldn’t believe it had only occurred to her to do it now. Having a kid will take the think right out of you.
Daniel slowly straightened against the wall, his left hand gingerly rubbing the tenderness out of his jaw. His eyes were completely black now and his smile had only wavered for a second before it was back and as wicked as ever.
“Okay, cher,” he acknowledged, his tone low and laced with dark promise. “I s’pose you owed me that one.”
“Damn right I did. Now go feed your son.”
Daniel dropped his hand and sighed, shaking his head.
“Oh, and I want Starbucks in the morning,” Lily told him as she plopped back down onto the bed and pulled the covers up over her. “But not before ten.” She rolled over then, giving him her back.
Behind her, she could hear Daniel chuckle and finally leave the room.
Slowly, Lily Kane once more succumbed to the embrace of sleep. She recognized the dream state at once and, with a contented calm she allowed herself to float through the fuzzy edges of the tunnel that connected her real self to that other place and time.
As her surroundings solidified into a more discernible shape, Lily surveyed the dreamscape. It was relatively dark…. A club of some kind.
On the stage a band played. Lily waited as sound entered her dream state, and when it did, she felt the rhythm of the drums beat in time with her heart. Long strawberry-blonde hair shook and glided past creamy white shoulders as the drummer, in a tank top, beat on the skins of her toms and the lead singer began to croon to a packed audience.
Lily’s dream eyes scanned the crowd. In the corner, hidden by shadow, loomed a tall figure, his stark green eyes focused on the drummer.
Lily recognized those jade green eyes. Cole.
Confusion furrowed her brow; why would she be dreaming about him again? After all of this time? But something else tugged at her unconsciousness and she spun to see a second shadowy figure enter the club.
He was tall and built and Lily wondered if he was a werewolf, too. His shoulder-length blonde hair was pulled back in a leather knot. His brown eyes scanned the interior of the club.
And then settled on the drummer.
Lily watched him gazing hungrily at the woman on stage and fear began to uncoil in the pit of her stomach. The lead singer’s words echoed through the chambers of her mind…. “He’s a Hunter, bound to claim his prize. Lily, save the hero from his mistrusted eyes…”
It was a vision. The woman in the dream needed Lily’s help.
THE END
Look for The Strip, the second book in this series by Heather Killough-Walden.
Also check out Heather’s new young adult paranormal release, Sam I Am, the first novel in The October Trilogy, now available on Amazon….
SAM I AM By Heather Killough-Walden
The October Trilogy, Book One
Prologue
61 A.D. Island of Anglesey, Britain….
Keenan stumbled over something he couldn’t see and pretended not to notice that it was soft enough to give beneath his leather boot. “Faolan, lift her more on your end, son!” He hissed the command to his son, who was carrying Ciara’s legs. Keenan had her shoulders and head and though she was a wee lass, she was nearly a dead weight, and the night was without moon or stars.
The terrain was deadly; it had always been, and the druid elders had long warned against going out on the crags at night without torchlight. But for the angry red glow that emanated from the burning village behind them, there was nothing to guide their desperate escape across the rocks and heather of what had become their final home.
“Hurry, Keenan! We haven’t much time!” Ianna spurred them along from where she raced behind them, her small body wrapped in a cloak of sable, to hide her form from the eagle eyes of the Roman army. They all wore the cloaks, for what good it did them. Keenan was well aware that, before the sun rose on the horizon, the cloaks would become their death shrouds.
“I’m movin’ as fast as ay can!” Keenan hissed back, knowing that it didn’t matter. The night would soon be complete and the door that Ciara had opened several nights ago would remain open. All would be lost if it did. The dead traveled through the door to their new destination, the land that had been ruled by Samhain since time began. But this door worked both ways. If it was not closed and locked by the end of the Harvest, the dead could return through it into the world of the living, and with them, their King.
Ciara was the last of their druid leaders; all others had died on the coast with their soldiers and most of their women. The Roman general Suetonius Paulinus had attacked early in the evening and, though the village had managed to take many of their men down, it had lost in the end.
The women, with their torches and long red hair had fallen beside their mates – and even their children. The druids’ spells had immobilized Paulinus’s army for long enough to maintain a steady line of defense for most of the early evening. But the Romans had adapted quickly – changing their tactics to take down the elders first, before the others, until there were no bards left. And no spells.
And no hope.
It was Aidan, the strongest of the druids, who called out to Keenan, even as he lay dying with his own mortal wounds. He had warned Keenan that the spell had not been completed, and charged him and his son with Ciara’s safety.
She was the one who had started it. Only she could complete it.
Alas, we failed yae, Keenan thought now, as he tried to block out the sounds of another woman being defiled in the night. They had failed in Aidan’s task. Ciara was struck down with a spear even as they ran; the Romans did not mind killing women and children, and not even from behind. There was no honor in their attack, no honor in these deaths. It was slaughter.
But it was still was up to Ciara to complete the spell. Too much was hanging in the balance
.
Keenan glanced down to see Ciara’s closed eyelids flutter. The blood still ran from the wound in her side. It meant her heart still beat. If it weren’t for those signs, he would think her already dead.
Paulinus must be Samhain in disguise to attack on this night, in the midst of Samonois, Keenan thought as he gritted his teeth and took up the slack when his son tripped and momentarily lost his grip on Ciara’s booted feet. She groaned as her body twisted and a new well of blood appeared beneath her leather tunic.
“Careful, boy!” he hissed.
An arrow split the air somewhere nearby. The sound was unmistakable. Was it an errant shot by a ballista? Or had the Romans discovered their hasty retreat across the unlit crags in the darkness?
Keenan hoped for the former rather than the latter. They had so little time as it was. He and his family were already doomed. His entire village was doomed. There was no hope for them – not now; that was clear.
But if they hurried, if nature was on their side, they might yet save everyone else. Humanity. The future – every child yet unborn would still stand a chance.
“There!” Ianna rushed past them, her long arm pointing toward the entrance to the oak grove where the first part of the rite had been interrupted that morning. “In there! She’ll know what to do then!”
There was no response for that; it was too hopeless to speak on what they were all thinking – that Ciara was too far gone. So none of them said anything. They only moved faster, spurred on by sheer terror and desperation.
Another arrow split the night and following its slicing whiz through the air was the unmistakable thunk of its tip embedding itself into a nearby trunk or chunk of earth.
The spirits take him, thought Keenan. Take the bastard Paulinus. The general and his men meant to wipe the Kelts from existence. And they would no doubt succeed; Anglesey was their final refuge.
Ironically, if Ciara could not close the door that had been opened, it would not only be the druids and their people who suffered an end this night. Before long, the Romans would fall as well, victorious or not.
Precious moments passed before Keenan and his son were finally able to lay Ciara down beside the stones that marked the site for this devastatingly important annual ritual.
“Ciara!” Ianna knelt beside the young woman, shaking her gently – but not too gently. Ciara’s eyelids fluttered and opened. Stark gold irises reflected the distant firelight. “You must finish the spell, Ciara!” Ianna pled. Her voice was sheer panic now, sharing in the desperation they each felt.
Ciara closed her eyes and then opened them again, blinking slowly. Her lips were the same pallor as her cheeks, pale and dry. She had once been a very beautiful maiden; sought-after as any lass, with hair the color of polished bronze and a smile that beckoned suitors. But now, she was a shadow of what she had been only that morning.
She would soon be joining Samhain in his realm.
Be that he covets her, Keenan thought. Treat her well, Lord of the Dead, for she dies before her time.
And then Ciara began to whisper. It was nearly inaudible, barely a scratching sound, reminiscent of the leaves that fell beneath the Harvest moon and coated the island ground.
But her companions heard her well enough, and they fell silent and willed her to go on.
The distant night crackled and blazed and screamed and sobbed. Another spear or arrow found purchase somewhere nearby. The air felt thick with fog and smoke, and cold with the chilled spirits of the bansidhe, awakened and angered by their sisters’ cries.
Ciara grimaced and gurgled, blood making its way into her throat, hiccupping her progress in the spell.
And mist began to rise from a grave nearby.
“Och no…” Ianna muttered. She and the others watched with wide eyes, as the dead began to realize that their return path home might no longer be barred. The witch who kept them – the one who could close the door – was dying.
“Ciara!” Faolan dropped to his knees beside Ciara and gently cupped her cheek with his palm. “Finish the spell.” Faolan was only a few years older than Ciara. He had been one of the many men who’d hoped to win her heart one day.
Though they had happened but yesterday, those thoughts and desires seemed years gone now. All that remained was this one thing. This one spell.
It was their final duty to the world and all of life within it. Their people had been charged when time began; entrusted with the guardianship of this portal. It was up to them to keep it closed every year – every Samhain.
They could not fail now.
“We cannot fail, Ciara,” Faolan whispered, his lips now mere inches from her own. She slowly opened her eyes once more and gold irises met green. “Sweet Ciara… please,” he pleaded. It was all he could really say.
Ciara winced again as what must have been horrid pain lanced through her slender form. But she gritted her teeth and, as the others watched, their expressions lost, she continued to utter the words of the incantation.
Faolan stood and turned to watch as the mists that had begun rising from the graves started to dissipate. She was doing it. Keenan glanced at the rest of the hallowed resting places within their sacred grove – all were settling down once more.
Another spear split the sky. This time, when it landed, accompanying the thunk of purchase was a grunt of pain.
Keenan stopped breathing, his eyes wide, his world tilted on its side as he took in the image of his son with a spear through his young chest.
Faolan looked down at the long piece of wood embedded in his midsection. He could not even fall; the spear’s tip was braced solidly in the earth, holding the young man upright. It was obscene. It was wrong, somehow.
A man ought to at least be able to fall.
Faolan smiled a bemused smile and did not hear the sound of his father bellowing in anguish. Instead, he heard the final words that Ciara whispered as she finished her spell.
Before he closed his own green eyes, he met her honey colored gaze.
And the two of them closed their eyes together.
Chapter One
Modern Day….
Logan hurriedly shut her door and pressed her forehead against it. She tried to breathe. Just breathe… but the sound of something crashing from the first floor made her breath hitch in her throat. Then a door slammed.
Maybe it’s over for now….
A man bellowed with rage and there was another thumping-smashing sound.
That was Taylor’s fist, she thought. He’s putting another hole in the wall. It was a wonder the place didn’t fall down around them all. It was riddled with the fist and shoe-sized holes that her brother had created over the years. Swiss cheese, her mind offered, distractedly.
Her stomach churned as Taylor began swearing downstairs. Logan thought of it as stream-swearing. It was always loud and continuous and vicious.
It sometimes burned her ears. The words came down around her like a storm cloud, portending some kind of doom. She could hear his footsteps now. Her brother was moving quickly through the house, from room to room, like the Minotaur huffing through the Labyrinth.
Logan shuddered. Acid burned her esophagus. A sharp white pain shot from the right side of the back of her head to just behind her right eye.
She pinched the bridge of her nose with her free hand and tried, once again, to breathe. Doors opened and were slammed shut again as Taylor made his way through the house, looking for a victim. The reverberations of each door slam went like shock-waves through her body, disturbing her stomach and making her nauseated.
Logan’s heart hammered. It felt relentless in its beating, like drums. I have to stop him, she thought. Before he finds James again. I’m the only one he listens to.
With something akin to hopeless but hasty resignation, Logan reached for the handle of the door and yanked it open.
* * * *
Meagan Stone gazed, almost unseeing, at the calendar that sprang up on the LCD screen of her cell phone. The first of Oc
tober marked a full moon. The thirty-first was to be a blue moon, and rare in its own right. However, it was especially important during October. This was Samonois, the month of the Seed Fall. Everything changed now.
With a shakiness that she had been trying to squelch all morning long, Meagan took a deep breath and let it out in a trembling sigh. Then she sneezed and her skin broke out in goose bumps. Allergies, she thought distractedly. She felt a strange chill and shivered, for the most part ignoring it. When it passed, she looked back at her phone and pinched the bridge of her nose. She was getting a headache.
Tonight was the big night. October first. It was her night to prove that she had earned her rightful place in the grove.
An October with a blue moon was especially symbolic. Meagan wasn’t certain what the implications were, exactly. In fact, so much of the druidic Celtic tradition had been destroyed by Roman historians long ago, that no one in her Grove could say for sure what the blue moon at this time signified.
So, erring on the side of caution, they’d forced Meagan to practice her wording more than they would normally do. And a few of them suggested that she didn’t do it at all. Some of the elders had heartily requested that they perform the ritual instead. They were more experienced and this was too important.
However, it was Meagan’s right to do the spell this night. She was of age. And a deal was a deal, even if it was with the forces of nature themselves. She was the one the Seer in their group had foretold to do the spell this night, so she was the one who would do it.
And it was as simple as that.
She had been practicing for months – years even. She was lucky; she had a good support group, and very good friends who, if they found out about what she was, would most likely think it was something to be proud of rather than afraid or ashamed of.
The Heat Page 25