He sensed danger, although he couldn’t tell which direction it was coming from. His instincts were screaming at him to protect, to defend, but it was impossible when he didn’t know where the threat was.
“Talk to me, Kærasta.”
She blinked, her pupils wide with terror as she stared, transfixed at something to his right. Nord twisted, trying to ascertain what frightened her so badly.
“I-I remember,” she whispered, her voice cracking.
He jolted, his attention snapping back to her. “Remember what?”
“How I died.” Her voice was hollow and dry, sounding more like the skittering of leaves over concrete than the vivacious girl he was coming to know.
Placing his hands on her shoulders, he turned her until she was looking at him, hoping that the sight of something familiar and safe would help her find her way back from the horrific memory she was lost in.
“How did you die?” he asked, his own voice hoarse.
She looked confused, as if trying to make sense of whatever she was seeing. “It’s a bit of a blur—a series of images more than the event itself. There was a . . . ritual,” she fumbled over the word, as if not certain it was accurate. “It was a trap. I was”—her brows dipped low and she looked up at him, her eyes wide and filled with pain—“betrayed.”
Her anguish hit him like a blow to the gut. She looked lost. Nothing like the woman who’d been dancing barefoot on the dance floor mere minutes before.
“By who?” he growled, the need to avenge her giving his voice a savage quality he barely recognized as his own.
Lina shook her head looking frustrated. “I’m not sure. I only remember his eyes, just before—” she cut herself off, looking like she was about to be sick.
“Just before what, Lina?” he asked, his voice soft as he squeezed her hand in his, trying to reassure her that she was safe.
Blinking, she licked her lips. “Just before he slid the dagger into my heart.”
Nord snarled.
“It wasn’t . . . it wasn’t the first cut, Nord,” she said, rubbing her free hand up and down her other arm.
“What do you mean?” he demanded, his heart pounding like a war drum signaling the start of a battle. Or a hunt. Either way, the murdering bastard’s days were numbered.
A bit of color had returned to her cheeks and there was a flash of rage burning in her eyes when she spoke again. “I think he carved something into my skin first.”
A vein throbbed in his neck. Yes. Definitely numbered. “I look forward to returning the favor.”
“If we can find him again in this crowd, he’s all yours,” she muttered, more of the life returning to her as she searched behind him.
“Wait. The fucker that murdered you is here? You didn’t think to start with that?” he asked, not really upset with her but furious that they missed their chance.
Lina nodded; her eyes narrowed as she scanned the rooftop. “He was over there,” she pointed, “staring right at me like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.”
“Probably didn’t expect to see the woman he murdered however long ago to show up at a party very much alive,” Nord said dryly as he looked in the direction she pointed.
He didn’t see anything more than oblivious party goers, losing themselves to the music and their partners. Nord let out a frustrated breath. He should have thought to ask her what triggered the memory. Maybe then he could have caught the little rat before he’d had a chance to hide, but he’d just assumed it was a result of accessing her power for the first time. Now it was too late. Lina’s murderer would be long gone, especially if he realized she spotted him.
“I guess someone did recognize my sigil in the sky,” Lina added as an afterthought.
“On the bright side, if one person is familiar with it, others will be too. That gives us something to start our search with,” Nord said, trying to shake off his frustration.
Being upset wasn’t going to do either of them any good. Their hands were tied . . . for now. The only thing he could do tonight was make sure his charge was cared for.
“You okay?” he asked, focusing on her once more.
If not for the drunken sparkle missing from her eyes, Nord wouldn’t have known she’d just received the shock of a lifetime.
Lina shrugged, giving him a wan smile. “As good as I can be, all things considered. It was a hell of a memory to resurface out of nowhere.”
“I’ll bet. Is there anything I can do? Get you some water or something?” he offered lamely. He was a little out of his element trying to figure out how to help someone deal with recovered memories of their death.
“No.” She smiled more warmly, moving back into his arms to rest her head on his chest. “But it’s sweet of you to ask.”
He ran his hand over her head, pressing a kiss to the top of it and loving the way she fit against him so perfectly.
“Do you remember anything else?” he asked.
Lina was quiet for a second before shaking her head. “No, nothing.”
“There’s no rush. The memories will come when they’re ready.”
“It’s funny. I spent years wondering who I was and what had happened to me. Not once did I stop to consider that the memories might be bad ones.”
“They won’t all be bad, but no one’s life is comprised of only good times. The only way we learn to savor the sweet moments is because we’ve known the bitter.”
“Speaking from experience?”
Nord’s finger brushed over his father’s ring. “I am.”
She snuggled closer and squeezed him, offering more comfort than she probably realized. “I know that you’re right. It’s just . . . I’m not so sure I really want to remember anymore. If those are the kinds of things waiting for me, I might be better off just creating new memories and leaving the past buried.”
Nord’s fingers caressed the length of her face before tilting up her chin. “Do you really think you could do that?”
“No,” she sighed. “Especially not now. Someone wanted me dead, Nord. I need to find out why.”
Her bravery touched his warrior heart, filling him with pride. He leaned down to brush his lips over hers.
“We will, Lina. And when we do, we’ll face it together.”
Chapter Eleven
Lina
She knew the night was coming to a close as people flocked to the roof. Part of her was sad to see the night end, but another part of her was exhausted. Who knew having a body could be so draining?
When she’d arrived tonight, all she’d wanted to do was have fun and live while she could, but the night had other plans. Not only had she gotten her body back, she’d learned she’d been murdered, discovered her power—sort of; she was still a little iffy on the details of how it worked—and found a man who claimed he was destined to be her Guardian.
Lina smirked. So not all bad, really. Having powers was pretty cool, and not something she ever thought was a possibility. And more time with Nord could only be a win as far as she was concerned.
“What’s that look for?” Nord asked, handing her a drink as he returned to her side.
She smiled gratefully, accepting the offering and taking a sip of the warm liquid. “I was just thinking that tonight was not anything like I expected.”
“Oh?” he asked, lifting a brow. “What did you expect when you heard ‘The Monster Ball’?”
“I never really focused on that part. It was more about the adventure of getting to experience things for myself instead of through somebody else.”
“And was it what you hoped for?” he asked, his eyes warm and his lips lifted in a small smile.
“Oh yes,” she murmured, kissing him. “And no.”
“No?”
“Feelings are exhausting. I had no idea.”
Nord’s head tipped back and he laughed. “They can be.”
“I would never trade it, you know. Being alive. No matter the consequences of reality, it’s worth it to be alive . . .
to be standing here with you.”
His expression softened, and he tightened his arm around her waist.
Before he could answer, the lead singer’s seductive voice came over the speaker. “We hope you’ve all found love, even if only for a little while . . .”
She continued speaking, saying goodnight and introducing their final song, but Lina’s attention was wholly focused on Nord. It was too soon to tell if love was what was building between them, but she was looking forward to finding out.
For all the bad that might be waiting for her, there was a lot of good too. Best of all, tonight was only the beginning.
A haunting song with a thumping beat started seconds before the first of the fireworks exploded in the sky.
“What do you say? One last dance?” Nord asked.
Lina feigned shock as her mouth fell open. “Is the big tough Guardian actually asking me to dance?”
“Wait too long and the moment will be lost,” he warned, his eyes glittering with amusement.
“As if I could ever turn down an offer like that,” she said, stepping into his arms.
Nord pulled her close, one hand rested just above the swell of her backside, while the other lifted to cradle her head where it rested against him.
Everyone else’s faces were turned toward the sky watching the vibrant colors explode above them.
Except theirs.
They were focused only on each other and didn’t immediately realize that their surroundings had changed. The last, bright flash of light must not have been a firework, after all. Or not just a firework.
Not letting go of Nord, Lina glanced around. “Where are we?”
“Hmm?” Nord asked, his eyes closed.
“Guess you had a good time,” a man said, appearing in a doorway behind them.
Nord’s eyes flew open, his body strung like a bow beneath her arms. “Finley.”
The brown haired stranger grinned. “Expecting someone else, mate?”
“Fucking moonlight,” Nord muttered.
Lina lifted a hand to cover her laugh.
“You going to introduce me to this gorgeous creature?” Finley asked, leaning against the doorframe as if he had no intention of going anywhere.
“Nope,” Nord said. “Fuck off, Fin.”
“You got it, mate,” he said with a little salute. Turning to Lina, he winked and added, “Looking forward to meeting you properly in the morning.”
Lina gave him a little wave before Nord grunted and pulled her back to him.
“What are you doing?” she asked, still chuckling.
“I’m not done dancing with you yet.”
Heart melting, she couldn’t help but point out, “But there’s not any music.”
“Lina?”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up and dance with me.”
Grinning, Lina rested her head on him once more. Some battles were worth losing, and she had to admit, the sound of Nord’s heartbeat steady and true beneath her ear provided a lovely beat. Even though she did miss the seductive lure of the siren’s melodies.
As if the thought conjured the women, the haunting refrain from the band’s last song swirled around her.
Nord’s amused voice had her eyes fluttering open. “The lack of music bothered you that much?”
“What do you mean?”
The side of his mouth curled up. “Well I’m certainly not the one doing it.”
It took a second for her to realize the song she’d revisited in her mind was actually there in the room with them.
“Huh.”
“You must have been the one to dim the lights around us at the ball too. Seems like part of your power allows you to alter reality to suit your needs,” he murmured thoughtfully. His eyes had a devilish twinkle when he added, “Or wants.”
It was too much for her to process right then, the thought of bending reality to her will and all of the endless possibilities it created. She shoved it aside, along with the single memory of her past—and her murder. Those were both mysteries she’d solve another day.
Instead she gave Nord a flirty grin, pulling his lips to hers. “There’s only one thing I want right now, and that’s to be right here with you.”
“Works for me,” he rumbled, tucking her in closer before continuing to sway to the siren’s sultry voice.
Nord and Lina danced as the sun came up, their soft voices and hushed laughter soon replacing the music. Despite all that had happened, contentment unlike anything Lina ever felt filled her and she couldn’t help but look out at the clouds and whisper, “Thank you.”
Her eyes closed before she saw the flicker of answering light.
The End—For Now
Find out what’s next for Nord and Lina in Hint of Danger, coming in 2020!
Turn the page for more Monster Ball…
The Banshee’s Song
By
Heather Lyons
Pronunciation Guide
Annwn: ah-NOON
Aoibheall: eefv AYL
Ciabhán: Kee VAWN
Clíodhna: KLEE nuh
Gwythyr: GWEE thir
Creiddylad: cry THUL add
Gwyn ap Nudd: GWIN app nuth
Chapter One
String
Death beckoned, and the banshee Aoibheall paid heed.
Bitter wind scraped across Craig Liath, across her cheek, bringing with it the heady scent of rosemary and remembrance. She was rooted atop her hill, gazing east. Tresses the color of a fiery sunset whipped about her pale face; a hand shaded her eyes.
England. Colm O’Brien dwelled in England.
Bloody hell, she thought.
She could not see the isle across the sea, nor could she view the waters necessary to traverse across. It was a sensation, a rapidly fraying thread that connected her to the latest family member marked for passing. Soon, it would snap. Before that happened, she must journey to this O’Brien’s home and play his farewell song upon her harp.
And cry. Oh, how Aoibheall would keen.
Rain infused the wind, soaking through her woolen dress, down to clammy skin. The skies wept for her plight, for the extinguishing of a young flame nowhere near the end of its wick. Death was both fickle and unrelenting, an unmovable force that cared naught for fairness or time. It directed her fingers, her songs, her tears, her purpose. Most of all, it turned a blind eye toward her abhorrence for wielding such knowledge.
Aoibheall and Death had been linked for a very long time now.
She turned from the O’Brien’s direction, toward the land she knew and would pass in when it was finally her time. For as long as she could remember—and her memory was as sharp as it had been since the day she’d winked into existence—Aoibheall’s world was painted by a heavy hand in greens and grays: the sky, the land, her home, her history. She could stand atop her hill and survey her domain, counting the number of different shades, and still not come to an end. In days when technology wasn’t even dreamed about, she could not imagine living anywhere else. Now, she dreamed of other lands, other colors. Other purposes.
Thanks to the last two months’ unrelenting rain, fuzzy moss stained her floors, her walls. Bleach and vinegar made nary a difference when the very air was mist incarnate. Even a fireplace’s cheer and crackling flames couldn’t wipe away the steely skies, emerald hills, or the pear hued invasion within her home.
Once, just once, she mused, it would be lovely to step into the azures and taupes of other lives.
It was not meant to be, though. She was a creature of Éire, and she would dwell forevermore in County Clare whether she wished it or not.
The moon’s ascent into inky darkness finally drove Aoibheall from atop the craig, back into her warm den burrowed within its depths. She stoked the dwindling fire built earlier in the afternoon and busied herself with the therapeutic process of making a cup of tea. She ate a small meal. Read long into the deepest hours of nighttime.
She steadfastly ignored the wooden trunk at the
end of her bed although its contents continued their attempts to lure her well into her dreams.
Aoibheall knew better than to give in to anything other than Death. It had made sure of that for centuries.
Chapter Two
Glastonbury
Dark, violaceous smudges marred the fragile skin beneath her eyes, and her curls were tumultuous when Aoibheall stepped off of the ley and into Britain. Thank the stars for leys. She was running a smidge behind schedule, not that she supposed the O’Brien would mind. She’d slept poorly and restlessly the night before, a victim of nerves and what-ifs.
Colm O’Brien had to settle in bloody England, didn’t he? Worse—she glanced around, absorbing the local energy into her skin and bones—he lived in Glastonbury.
She truly was cursed.
In and out, she thought. To the concealed stars above, she sent a wish: Just a bit of luck, please. Let my heart remain intact, just this once.
Most of the family, true O’Briens that was, still called Éire home. Some were across the vast ocean, settled in the Americas, but the majority she remained tied to maintained devotion to their motherland just as their mighty, royal ancestors had. In the early days, the O’Briens came to her for counsel and worshipped her, and she championed them, thereby binding herself to the family. Bloodlines were ever diluting, evolving, though. There were plenty of O’Briens out there who had no strings tied to her.
Someday, she mused, she hoped, all O’Brien pedigrees would grow so distant that she would finally be cut free of both purpose and Death. There would be no tethers, the threads all snipped. Her harp would still. Her voice would quiet.
She had no idea if, on such a day, she would dissipate or simply be free. Either conclusion was attractive, considering the present and its slog. In the ancient, wild days, she’d been more than Death’s instrument. She was fierce and powerful and full of life. Revered and feared and loved.
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