Angus nodded back.
* * *
General Kevin Trenton slowly paced around the small metal-lined chamber, his hands clasped calmly behind his back, his stark blue eyes knowledgeably surveying the faces of his men with an inscrutable expression.
Three of his men were gathered within the secure chamber, and three alone. They had been selected and separated by careful consideration—and for good reason. Each possessed powers or abilities that were unaccountably useful and irreplaceable, powers that the Adarians could not continue to survive without. They had earned their place in that room, for those gathered were about to have a very great gift bestowed upon them.
They were the Chosen.
In one corner of the small room, a strangely humanoid-shaped bundle was hidden beneath a simple white sheet. Its identity was unknown to the men and the shape did not move.
“I’ll get straight to the point, gentlemen,” Kevin began, turning his back to his men as he glanced once at the barred metal door. “We have been searching for thousands of years for the means with which to prevent the suffering that time inflicts upon our race.” He paused and turned to face them once more in order to measure the understanding on their faces. “We can’t heal ourselves,” he stated simply, placing his hands on the back of a metal chair before leaning on it. He looked each of his men in the eye, one after another. “We take on wound after wound and suffer the slow healing process of a human, unable to die no matter how grave the injury. The only thing that sets us apart from mortals in that respect is our lack of scars. We can’t heal ourselves,” he repeated. And then he added quietly, “Not on our own, anyway.”
At this, they seemed to straighten in their seats, their interest piqued.
“Eleanore Granger represented a chance for us that we’d never before possessed.” The men were silent, but he knew what they were thinking. Even if they’d managed to abduct Granger, there had been no promise that her ability to heal could have successfully been transferred to the Adarians.
However, for him, that uncertainty was laid to rest the moment he took Ely’s blood and absorbed his withering power.
“Ely,” Kevin addressed the large black Adarian personally.
The Adarian stood, gracefully and fluidly, and nodded in respect at his general. “Yes, sir.”
“I know you have been wondering why I took your blood earlier. I will tell you now.” Kevin released the chair and began pacing once more. “Quite frankly, men, I drank what I took from Elyon. I absorbed it into my own body.” Here he paused, glanced at them, and continued. “And in doing so, I absorbed his power as well.”
With one clean pull, he yanked the sheet off the mystery form in the corner of the room, revealing the dried corpse of the man he had killed during his experiment that morning.
The surprise was clearly evident on his men’s faces. None of them spoke for some time, their eyes wide, their postures now hyperalert. They looked from the corpse to him and understanding dawned on their handsome features.
Elyon, who was still standing, now smiled a slow, knowing smile. “Sir,” he said, flashing bright white teeth. “You did a better job than I normally do.”
Kevin flashed his own winning smile and then nodded for Ely to sit. The Adarian obeyed and Kevin moved away from the withered corpse. “Unfortunately, the effects are temporary. I tried the experiment a second time on a fresh prisoner, but failed.” He stopped and faced them. “Because only a few hours have passed since I absorbed Ely’s blood, I am assuming that it was not time that caused the power to dissipate. Instead, it is most likely the case that the ability can only be used once before needing to be replenished.”
“Sir.” One of the soldiers, a blond man with light blue eyes, nodded at his general, gaining Kevin’s attention. Kevin waited for him to continue. “What exactly does this mean for Eleanore Granger?”
Kevin’s smile was back. “I’m glad you asked, Luke.” Luke’s Adarian name was Laoth and his given abilities allowed him to hypnotize the mortal minds of his victims. He could also call darkness upon a certain area, silence it, and send anyone without the will to resist him into a deep sleep. Once they were asleep, Luke could enter their dreams at will, forming them and molding them to his specifications. His abilities had been incredibly useful on many, many occasions.
“I believe Granger is the first of what will soon be the revelation of all of the archesses,” Kevin told them. “And I believe each one will possess the ability to heal—among other talents.”
“How many will there be?” asked a dark-haired soldier by the Adarian name of Morael. He went by “Mitchell” now and had for some time. His powers allowed him to change the molecular structure of an item, move the very earth beneath their feet, and control the temperature of the air around them. He also possessed the ability to read minds, though he had never been successful at reading Kevin’s.
“Four.” Kevin paused a moment, frowned, and then added, “I could be wrong. But it would make sense. This is why I have chosen the three of you to receive their blood. I, myself, will drink from Granger.”
Again, the group fell into silence and Kevin could just imagine the implications that were undoubtedly spinning in their heads. After a few moments of somewhat stunned quiet, Kevin went on. “Of course, we will take a small amount at first in order to test our theory. But if the biological makeup of an archess is anything like that of an Adarian, this should work. And if it does, then our wisest step would be to carry out the final act quickly and completely and take the power their blood gives us.”
Mitchell focused his dark eyes upon his general and frowned. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying, sir?”
Without missing a beat, Kevin replied, “I am,” and accompanied it with a very serious nod. He could feel the tension in the room thicken then; it almost crackled with foreboding intensity. What he was suggesting would most likely be regarded as insane at first. They would balk at the idea, which he could plainly see was happening before his eyes. Kill an archess? And not just one archess—but all of them?
These women were not only special; they were nearly sacred. What kinds of repercussions would causing their deaths bring down upon the already cursed Adarians? Their knee-jerk reaction was understandably one of terror.
But in a few minutes, it would settle in and they would realize that he was right. They had no choice. If Kevin and his men were actually fortunate enough to be able to locate and capture every one of the archesses, they couldn’t afford to risk that the women would be taken away, along with their powers, once more.
The women had to die.
“Sir . . .” Elyon shifted in his seat, glanced at his fellow Adarians, then looked back at his general. “There is nothing more dangerous than a man who has nothing left to lose. And an archangel in that position? They won’t stop coming after us until we’re all dead.”
“I know,” Kevin told him. He wasn’t about to share with them the fact that he, himself, had killed another Adarian and drained him of all his blood in order to see whether this plan would indeed work. Instead, he simply expected them to trust him. After all, he had never led them astray before. Not in thousands upon thousands of years. “Either way, men, the archangels will have to die as well.”
Now the men before him sat in stunned silence, obviously trying to absorb all this new information—and failing. Kevin took a deep breath and crossed his arms over his chest. “For the moment, trust that I am working on a few plans,” he said. “You’ll be briefed when the time is right. In the meantime, the information I have shared with you is not to leave this room. Am I understood?”
His men nodded. “Yes, sir,” they replied in unison.
With that, he dismissed them, and when he was alone, he sat down in the metal chair he’d been leaning on. He ran his tongue over his straight, white teeth and the gums that ached above them. He frowned and stared at the blank white wall, his thoughts turned toward a woman with jet-black hair and gorgeous blue eyes.
br /> CHAPTER FIVE
How many times he had taken this very same ferry across from Ullapool to Stornoway, he couldn’t count. Gabriel was older than the ship. He was older than the ferry system itself. For a hundred years, the ancestor of each ship had seen and felt him mount its planks, climb its stairs, and watch the cold gray sea through its salt-stained windows.
Yet, every time, it was as if he were doing it for the first time. The magnetism of the water never lost its pull. It never grew un-grand or un-magnificent. It was never less than it was the time before. Gabriel felt a respect for the sea that he felt for little else in the world. It was older than he was. And just as deadly.
He liked it out here, on the open observation deck, the best. The wind was cold and cut to the bone and would probably rip the immune system of a human to shreds. But he was no human. The wind hurt, but it was a begrudging kind of pain. He put up with it, and as his reward, he was allowed to stand alone, a solitary figure in black, and gaze out across the ocean’s bottomless plain.
He needed this right now. He’d felt anxious of late. He had no idea what it meant, as it happened very rarely. But every once in a long, long while, he felt restless and uncertain and his brain felt slightly fuzzy. It was how he had felt as he’d boarded the ferry in Ullapool and headed straight to the top deck. He had known that the wind would slice through his anxiety and rescue him from the fuzzy shroud that had wrapped itself around him. He was right; it hurt, but it helped.
Traveling by ferry wasn’t necessary for him, of course. Anytime he wanted, he could find a door and simply open a portal to the mansion he shared with his brothers and its extra-dimensionality would transport him to any location he desired.
This time, he was on his way back from a quick trip to Glasgow to straighten things out with the banks. It hadn’t taken much: a phone call to Max explaining the situation and a fast pop-in at the main office, and everything was squared away again. Gabriel and his brothers and their guardian were used to covering their tracks in this manner. Luckily for them, Max’s ability to erase memories, clean files, and destroy evidence was always available to help them clean up their messes. And the four brothers weren’t without recourse themselves. Michael was a cop and knew how to move through the proper channels. Uriel could bribe just about anyone to do something for him now that he was a famous actor. And Azrael was famous, too, as he was in a very popular band, but he also possessed powers beyond the scope of most people’s imagination.
In fact, Gabriel could have handled the new trouble Angus Dougal had caused for him without ever leaving the Western Isles. But Scotland was old country. Its people were steeped in tradition and culture and superstition. He didn’t want to raise any suspicions. He needed to appear, for all intents and purposes, as normal as inhumanly possible. So he took the ferry. It was worth it.
He smiled to himself as he watched the waves crest white over a gray blue sea. Scotland would always be worth it.
* * *
Juliette stared out the ferry window at the gray blue water of the deep sea beyond. It looked cold. And it looked timeless, like everything else in Scotland.
She had been in Scotland for three days: one day in Edinburgh, one in Aberdeen, and one in Glasgow. Due to various complications, Juliette had failed to obtain an Internet connection in any of the hotels. She couldn’t seem to call her adviser when Dr. Larowe was actually in the office, so she had yet to check in with anyone in Pennsylvania, answer her e-mail, or even get much work done. As a result, she’d been forced to put family, friends, and school more or less out of her mind and focus on the world around her.
The first thing she’d done was go shopping to replace her lost luggage. She’d never been more grateful for the advance that Samuel Lambent had sent to her—or for Samuel Lambent, himself.
The second thing she’d done was hit the streets to take pictures, speak with locals, and get as much of a feel for Scotland as possible.
As she’d ridden the train from Inverness to Ullapool, a sobering sensation of bereavement and stark loneliness had come over Juliette. She’d gazed out the window at the craggy highlands, and realized that she had never been to a land more beautiful than Scotland. It had everything: crumbling castles; fascinating history; ancient stone ruins; black rock shorelines topped with yellow moss and green grass; bright white seagulls; aquamarine inlets; golden sandy beaches; countless tiny islands graced with abandoned monasteries, kirkyards, and keeps; rolling hills made purple with blooming heather; misty mornings; and stars that shone bright at night in an unpolluted sky. . . .
She could see where the fairy tales originated from now. She could easily spy a quick flash of red in the tall, dense, and dark evergreen forests that dotted the landscape, and she could just as easily imagine a wolf chasing after that bit of red. She could pretend, without trying very hard, that if she gazed long enough at the mushrooms on the grassy hill, a sprite would peek its head out from beneath one of their umbrellas. This was where the lords and ladies were born. This was where they lived still today.
Juliette had been in a strangely altered state of mind ever since landing in Edinburgh. The appearance of her new “abilities” aside, life felt surreal here. She felt as if she were stuck in one of her many haunting dreams.
There were places she passed by on the train or in the car that she would have sworn she’d seen in those dreams, in fact. Was such a thing as a genetic memory possible? Had she seen these places before—through her ancestors? Both of her parents were Scottish by heritage. Her blood was steeped in the richness that was this land. It was why she had wanted to visit since she was nine and had decided to do her dissertation on Scottish heritage and culture.
Scotland was a part of who she was.
But there was something slightly uncomfortable in the way the ancient green land called to her. It wasn’t a siren song she heard, but the eerie whispers of ghosts and spirits, echoes of voices from the past. It pulled at her like wispy skeletal arms in the shadows or the grayness of the fog at dawn—and at times, she found herself disturbingly close to tears.
Overhead, an intercom crackled to life and the captain announced that they would be arriving at the dock in ten minutes. Juliette pushed away from the window by which she had been standing since they’d departed from Ullapool, and made her way to the stairs leading to the floor below.
* * *
They hadn’t seen him yet, just as they had never noticed him watching them from across the street in Ullapool where they had each boarded the ferry. Daniel was very good at keeping himself hidden. It might have had something to do with his invisibility power. It was in his blood to be able to blend into his environment; most of the time he didn’t need to use his powers at all. He just stood behind a bookshelf or raised the hood of his jacket or covered his face with a newspaper. And he could watch all he wanted, listen to every exchanged word, and learn everything he needed to learn in order to carry out his plan.
He had been watching Juliette Anderson very carefully when she turned in her car at the rental shop and made her way down the street to the ferry’s dock. Her elflike slender form moved with enough supernatural grace that, to him, it was as if her archess nature were overtly trying to present itself to the world. Everyone noticed her and yet she seemed oblivious to the attention. She was as much a beauty as Eleanore Granger, her skin clear and poreless, her eyes unnaturally bright, her tiny nose upturned like a fairy’s. Her newly purchased clothes—he had to smile at that thought—fit her like a glove, clearly outlining every one of her enticing curves.
It was dangerous to look like she did. If there was anything Daniel had learned over the thousands of years he had existed among its predators and prey, it was that the men of Earth were capable of insane selfishness and cruelty.
As for himself—if Daniel hadn’t known that touching the archess in any untoward manner would be as good as signing his own death warrant, he would have acted on the dark thoughts that ran through his mind as he watched Juliette
. As it was, however, time was short and she was too valuable. So he settled for watching her. He’d also been watching Gabriel Black. The archangel.
Gabriel and his archess had somehow managed to book the very same ferry and were headed to the very same place. Though Daniel wasn’t exactly surprised, he was definitely disappointed. This wasn’t the time and place he would have chosen to make his move on the archess.
He’d hoped for just a little more time. He’d learned by reading her files that she was going to do research on the Outer Hebrides. He could have posed as a librarian or fellow ethnographer—something to gain her trust until he could get her alone, in some secluded spot at night. He had also hoped to have enough time to make preparations for their return trip to the States. It wasn’t easy to transport an unconscious or unwilling captive overseas. Not these days, anyway.
But the fates had conspired against him, and time had all but run out. With the archangel and his archess in such close proximity, there was no way they wouldn’t be meeting up soon. And once they did, Daniel didn’t stand a chance of getting Juliette Anderson alone—ever again.
Daniel leaned forward in his chair and sighed through his nose. If he didn’t move now, it would be possible for the two to meet while disembarking. He watched a minute more while the lovely archess made her way down the stairs to the level below, her waist-length hair shimmering beneath the low lights as she moved. And then he rose from his seat, taking his black backpack with him. He’d purchased it after leaving the Adarian headquarters. It had everything in it that he would need to subdue Juliette if it came to taking her by force. He was fairly certain it would.
He moved to the stairwell and stared down into a steadily growing crowd below. He didn’t see the archess anywhere. Cursing under his breath, he took the stairs at a rapid pace and searched the sea of faces that had gathered between the two stairwells. He met several pairs of female eyes as he hastily searched, but none of them belonged to Juliette. His heart rate kicked up a notch. How could he have lost her so quickly? She’d simply rounded the corner in the stairwell and slipped his grasp.