The Unhallowed (Book Five in the Witch Hunter Saga)

  “She turned up this afternoon looking for Alex,” he explained. “I couldn’t let her leave for her own safety.”

  “He’s not going to like it.”

  Nye closed the file he was reading and said, “Which is why I had a witch lock her inside.”

  Tristan raised his eyebrows. “You put up a barrier spell?”

  “Don’t judge me,” he retorted. “You know why I had to.”

  “She’s angrier than a bee in a jar, you know.”

  Nye snorted. “I’ve made my decision,” he said, picking up a small pile of files. “Bring them here. I want to meet with them tonight.”

  “Here? Where exactly? They can’t be invited in, and Isobel—”

  “Don’t question my orders,” he snapped. “We have an outside patio that is delightful this time of year. I don’t know these men other than their reputation, and inside the house is a step too far in the wrong direction. Make it happen, Tristan. I won’t ask again.”

  The knight took the files and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  He’d never get used to Tristan of all people calling him that. Once, they’d been at each other’s throats, but now… It was odd and probably would be for a long time to come. Vampires forgot a lot of things, but love, rivalry, revenge, hatred…they all stuck around like a bad smell.

  When he was finally alone again, he cast out his hearing and listened to the comings and goings of Isobel, who was still in the room he’d given her. He smiled as he heard drawers opening and closing as she explored her new home for the foreseeable future. She was a firecracker. The woman had more spark in her than any other human he’d crossed paths with in the last four hundred and twenty-one years.

  When he heard her open a window and curse as she found the spell had blanketed the entire mansion, his smile faded.

  She’d understand soon enough.

  Isobel sat on the couch in her room, staring at the television.

  With a sigh, she flipped through the channels, settling on a rerun of the BBC sci-fi classic Doctor Who.

  As promised, her luggage had appeared at her door moments earlier, and as she rifled through the contents, she cursed when she couldn’t find her laptop or notebooks. She wished she’d had the foresight to request Nye’s compelled maid bring along her work. Her thesis wouldn’t write itself, and considering she was now housemates with two men who had actually lived through the Tudor dynasty of England, she could’ve gotten some real insight.

  But the real kicker was when she realized Nye had lifted her mobile phone from her purse. No calling her brother for help.

  Then there was her other more immediate predicament. She was starving.

  Where the hell was the kitchen, and more importantly, was there any food in it?

  Finally, she couldn’t handle it anymore. Wrenching open the door to her room, she marched down the hall, wild with anger.

  Opening the door that Nye had said was the study, she peered inside and found it empty. It was yet another room that was grand beyond comprehension. The walls were lined from top to bottom with leather-bound books with a large desk taking up most of the space to one side. On the other wall was a fancy open fireplace crackling merrily with a small orange glow.

  Closing the door, she went down the stairs, listening for movement ahead, but she couldn’t hear a thing. Was she alone? Had they all gone out stalking dinner without asking her if she was hungry? Had they forgotten humans had to eat food to survive? Not blood but roast meat, vegetables, pasta, chicken, sausages… At the thought of all that deliciousness, her stomach began to rumble.

  Downstairs, she found more splendors. Paintings by famous artists that looked like originals hung on the walls—paintings that should be in museums and others that historians thought were lost to the ages—and she gaped at each one. There had to be at least ten million pounds worth of them just in the rooms she’d seen. Who were these people?

  When she found the kitchen, she threw her hands into the air. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

  The kitchen was huge. Stainless steel appliances, marble benchtops, a giant two-door refrigerator, ovens and sinks, a large island in the middle of it all… It was like she was inside one of those million-dollar home lifestyle shows.

  Through the windows, she saw light and movement outside and circled around the bench. Nye was about to get a piece of her mind, and it wasn’t the good part.

  Standing in the open doorway, she hesitated. Not because she couldn’t go outside but because there was a group of strange but dangerous-looking men standing before a serious-looking Nye on the patio. She’d stumbled upon something that was none of her business, and as they all turned their heads toward her, her heart began to beat faster.

  The strangers—she counted six—all started looking very…hungry.

  Nye turned back to the men without acknowledging her and waved his hand like she was an annoyance.

  “Forgive the intrusion. She belongs to me,” he said absently.

  She went to open her mouth to complain, but another glance at the six mean-looking thugs on the back patio had her zipping her lips closed. She supposed she didn’t mind ‘belonging’ to Nye if it meant his royal subjects would leave her alone.

  “Tristan,” he said, pointing at her.

  Tristan emerged from where he’d been hidden behind the group and came toward her, his expression impassive.

  Suddenly, her bravado felt extremely rash and stupid. She didn’t belong in this world, and by stumbling into what looked like a business meeting, she’d made that painfully obvious. She was a silly little lamb waiting for the trip to the slaughterhouse.

  “I’m sorry,” she said as Tristan guided her through the kitchen and away from whatever was going on outside. “I was hungry, and I wasn’t sure… I didn’t know if you kept food or if I was supposed to ask…”

  “He should have told you he was meetin’ them,” Tristan said kindly. “They can’t come inside, just as you can’t go out.”

  “Oh…” Her stomach growled again, and she shuffled from foot to foot.

  “I can have something delivered for you,” he went on, his gaze dropping to her stomach. The rumble had sounded loud to her, and she wondered if it was like a clap of thunder to his sensitive ears. “What do you like?”

  Isobel shrugged. “I don’t know. Pizza? That’s easy enough, I suppose…”

  Tristan smiled. “I’ll arrange it.” Before he moved off, he hesitated. “Are you feelin’ well?”

  “Annoyed mostly.” Isobel frowned and glanced back toward the garden. “He sounds like...”

  “Regulus,” the knight finished for her.

  “Gabby’s Regulus?” She’d never met the Roman but had heard plenty of stories. The bad guy with a soft spot for her friend.

  “Yes. Nye is using what he knows the vampires will respond to. Regulus had a particular flair, after all.”

  “If that flair extends to me belonging to him, he can just flair off.”

  Tristan chuckled. “It’s in your best interests that he claims you. They need to think you’re nothin’ but his human plaything. You can probably understand why.”

  “Alex,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  “You’re precious to him and that warrants protecting.”

  Precious to Alex…or Nye? Her fragile human heart wanted to say both, but she knew Nye was looking out for himself by keeping her here. He’d made it clear all he worried about was his precious crown, and she’d only been incarcerated a few hours. She wasn’t a stupid little girl with a crush. She was working on her Masters degree at Oxford University. No one could get that far without developing an analytical brain in their head.

  “Wait in your room,” Tristan said, watching her shifting features closely. “I’ll bring the food to you when it arrives.”

  As he turned, she wondered if it was too much to ask if they could get her laptop. Deciding there was no harm, she said, “Can I ask for something?”

  The knight stopped and nodded.
“Of course.”

  “Someone brought me my clothes, but if I’m going to be here for a while… My thesis…” She swallowed, feeling like a fish out of water. “Can someone bring my laptop and notebooks?”

  His lips curved into a smile, and he nodded.

  “Thank you…”

  “If you need anythin’ else, let me know.”

  Then he just disappeared in a whoosh of air, leaving her skin tingling. Bloody vampires!

  Climbing the stairs, she was glad Tristan had been so nice to her, but she still felt uneasy…and unwanted.

  She’d had her life all figured out, from her studies and career to all the places she wanted to travel and projects she wanted to work on before settling into a cushy position as a curator at one of the big archaeological museums. And now?

  Now that she knew the things she did about the world, she wasn’t sure she belonged anywhere.

  The morning arrived, and Isobel still felt uneasy.

  Her annoyance was rising, turning into a full-blown case of pissed off. It seemed all good and well spending one night in forced imprisonment, but in the cold, hard light of the next day, it wasn’t fun anymore. She’d pretended, but it was a flimsy excuse for Nye’s shitty behavior.

  Locking her in here against her will with magic!

  Deciding to make herself at home, she took the last of the pizza downstairs and found the kitchen. It looked big in the sunshine, the large windows letting in all the natural light bathing the garden outside. Staring across the greenery as she dumped the old food into the bin, she marveled at the olive tree. She never knew they could grow like that in London due to the weather… Shaking her head, she knew it was probably because of magic. Everything around here was.

  Deciding breakfast was a good option, she walked over to the fridge and said a silent prayer. Please have something edible in there.

  Opening the door, she gasped when she set eyes on the contents. It was full of clear, heavy-duty, hospital grade bags of blood. Screwing up her face in disgust, she grabbed the pint of milk on the door and slammed the fridge closed.

  Ugh, vampires. She should’ve known.

  Rummaging through all the cupboards, she found enough ingredients to make some basic pancakes. She’d have to have them with butter, but it was better than pizza that had turned to cardboard.

  Digging in her pocket, she plugged her MP3 player into the speakers sitting on the benchtop, selected her favorite playlist, and hit play with flourish. She hoped Nye was home so she could annoy the crap out of him with the most obnoxious, loud rock music she could find. How dare he keep her locked in here against her will? It wasn’t the worst place to be held prisoner, but considering she was stuck with a bunch of vampires, it kinda sucked. Pun intended.

  Tearing around the kitchen, she made herself at home like she’d been instructed, whipping up batter and heating a frying pan on the oversized stove. She twirled and danced as she flipped the pancakes, cooking them until they were golden on both sides and all the batter had disappeared. Better to make some supplies incase these vampires forgot her again.

  As she turned around and picked up the plate, her gaze collided with Nye. She cried out, sliding the plate onto the bench before she dropped the lot on the floor, and clutched her chest.

  “Nye!” she screeched at him. “Don’t do that.”

  A lazy grin spread across his face. “But I was enjoying the routine.”

  She glared at him and turned on her heel, switching off the stovetop. “I’m not all super hearing like you, so please keep that in mind unless you want me to die of a heart attack.”

  He materialized next to her, and she yelped again. “Your wish is my command.”

  “Asshole!”

  “I’ve been called much worse,” he said with a shrug.

  Isobel picked up the pan and dumped it in the sink, the water hissing as it hit the hot steel. “Oh, I’m sure you have.”

  “Pancakes?” he asked, ignoring her quip.

  “Yeah. You don’t have much in the way of food.”

  He watched as she sidled up to the island and blew on the hot pancakes. She would be lying to herself if she said she had not been attracted to the vampire, but that was when she’d first met him in Oxford. Now he was a major asshole. It was like the power had gone to his head.

  “What do you need?” he asked after a moment. “Make a list, and I will make sure you get it.”

  Isobel rolled her eyes. “That’s it?” she asked.

  His eyebrows rose.

  “Oh, don’t give me that look.” She dumped a pancake onto a plate and opened the lid on the butter, digging a knife into the spread.

  “I’m not sure I get your meaning.”

  She waved the butter-laden knife at him. “You get my meaning, you four-hundred-year-old smartass.”

  Nye grinned, leaning against the bench. “You’re perceptive.”

  “You know it’s creepy watching me eat, right?”

  He laughed, and she hated how handsome he was despite his scar and how much he irritated her.

  “You’re trying to make me like you, Nye, and I’m not giving in.”

  “But you already like me,” he said with a wink, some of the vampire she’d originally met coming back to the surface.

  “Let me go home,” she said through a sigh. “I can’t imagine how much of a drag it must be having me here all the time. I mean, I walk in on your super secret vampire meetings…” Her cheeks began to heat as his words came back to her. She belongs to me.

  His expression changed from inviting to…nothing. All emotion ceased to exist. “I cannot let you leave, Isobel. You know that.”

  “Nye—”

  He held up a hand to silence her. “Your life is at stake.”

  God, she was so puny and weak next to him and her brother. A strong mind wasn’t enough in this world. At best, she was a dead weight, nothing but an insignificant human being and utterly defenseless. She hated that he kept reminding her with his refusal to let her go.

  She dropped her head and rubbed her eyes, knowing that she wasn’t going to convince him anytime soon. “I’ll make a list.”

  She felt him shift as he pushed off the bench and backed away. “I’ll make sure someone gets it to you by this evening.”

  When she finally glanced up, she was alone.

  Chapter 5

  Nye was rather pleased with the men he’d selected to become the new Six. Every king needed to have his elite guard, after all.

  Wainwright, Fox, Farmer, Judd, Felixstowe, and Reed—all varying ages from eight hundred to as little as a few decades—were the men who would be able to carry out his orders and see they would completed with enthusiasm. When presented with the opportunity to pick up where Nye’s group had left off, all had jumped at the chance.

  Tristan had done his research well, and only time and a few missions would tell the real story of where their allegiance lay.

  He’d set them up in the original Six’s old apartment in Camden, making sure they had everything they needed. It was one of the things that had made his time with the group more comfortable, and if anyone knew how to keep men like these pleased, it was he.

  Isobel had almost derailed the meeting at the mansion by turning up right in the middle of it. Six—or was it seven—pairs of hungry eyes had latched onto her, and he’d had to make a bold statement he knew she’d be offended by. Her reaction was clear in the kitchen yesterday morning. Anger, frustration…it was ruling her actions, but it was to be expected.

  Nye stood in the foyer of the mansion and breathed deeply. Her scent was everywhere, and it filled his senses to the brim. Seven pairs of hungry eyes, then.

  He listened to the sound of her furious tapping on her computer keyboard and cursed to himself. Turning, he opened the front door and disappeared out into the night in case temptation drove him to her bedroom door.

  As Nye walked, he allowed his thoughts to drift to the tasks requiring his attention—pinpointing areas of the
city that were still on tenterhooks, squashing the gangs of vampires who’d taken up residence in the council flat areas of Brixton, and the witches who’d begun congregating on the outer limits of the city. He’d have to coordinate with the Six to handle some of these threats before the week was out.

  Nye had ventured all the way into the heart of London before he realized. He’d automatically stopped at the pedestrian lights at Tottenham Court Road and Oxford Street with a group of humans waiting to cross. Breathing deeply, he caught the scent of a woman standing to his right. Glancing at her, he saw her shock of red hair, which was almost the same copper as Isobel’s, and found himself drawn in her direction.

  Sensing his gaze on her, the woman turned, and their eyes met. Her lips began to curve into a smile, but then revulsion flickered across her features as she beheld the jagged scar running across his face. Nye scowled as she hastily turned away. Isobel didn’t recoil when she first saw him. She’d stared right at him with a curiosity that had taken his breath away, and she’d asked, ‘What happened to your face?’

  The lights changed and the woman who was a poor substitute for the real thing moved off with the group of people waiting to cross, and he followed at a distance, thoroughly annoyed at her shallowness. He walked down Charing Cross Road, past theaters and restaurants—all of them packed to the brim with human blood bags and wondered how her blood would taste. Spicy or sweet?

  Finally, the woman seemed to reach her destination as she weaved through the throng of people waiting outside the Palace Theater. The facade was lit up with signs for the musical The Commitments, and Nye stopped at the edge of the group, watching the redhead as she greeted her friends.

  His phone began to ring in his pocket, the vibration irritating his skin. Without breaking his gaze away from the woman, he pulled it out and answered.

  “What is it?” he asked, allowing the pretty redhead to disappear into the crowd milling around the entrance.