Eventide

  No one, except the dead.

  I fight a smile as I walk behind Gabriel’s big self. He takes up every inch of the close, and has to turn slightly sideways to fit properly. I know that irritates him, too. It makes him feel vulnerable, as if he can’t protect me fully, if the need arises. But only I know that.

  I hug the wall and continue to follow, through the narrow close and down one more set of steps before coming to a lone door. The thump of a nearby nightclub vibrates on the air, and laughter rings out. But that’s coming from several streets over. No one knows I’m here except Gabriel. And no one knows what is about to happen except us. Briefly, I think of Sean, that cute cop from Niddry’s. I can’t help but wonder what he’d think if he knew.

  Gabriel stops just before the door and looks down at me with that ever-present profound stare. His long hair, nearly black, is pulled back at the nape of his neck and damp from rain. A long strand is caught on his cheek, but he ignores it. The light from a streetlamp finds an opening through the close and falls on part of his face, casting the other part in shadow. He is magnificent and immortal, lethal, and so sexually charged that the air hums with it.

  No, I’m not used to it yet. Even after a year, I have to check myself. But those are the mannerisms of a Druthan warrior, and it has nothing to do with him being a man and me a woman. He cares for me only because of what I am. He is from a secret sect of ancient Pict druids. There are only three others besides Gabriel.

  And they’re nearly five hundred years old.

  So when I say Gabriel is looking at me with an ancient gleam in his eyes, I really mean it.

  His dark brows pull together into a frown. “Finished?”

  I shrug. Yeah, he can read thoughts. He doesn’t stay in my head twenty-four/seven, but when he thinks I’m straying from task, he’ll do it in a heartbeat. Anything to keep me safe. I suppose I should appreciate that. “Yes. Let’s go.”

  I don’t even have to ask what’s going on. Standing here, beneath the eave of Pippin’s Close and by the door of an empty flat, with rain spitting and sputtering against my already damp cheeks, and the cold October air freezing my skin, I know. And if I hadn’t known, the nauseating stench from behind the door would be all the warning I’d need.

  One of them is in there. And it’s feeding.

  I slide in front of Gabriel and press my back to his front, and his body goes rigid, still, with just the smallest movement of lung expansion as he breathes. Goddamn, it’s hard to concentrate in such an intimate position—

  “Steady, lass,” he whispers against my ear.

  As if that helps the situation.

  “I willna be far behind. Now go,” he commands.

  I take a deep breath, withdraw my sword, and I go.

  The door is slightly ajar, so I place my fingertips to the wood and push a space big enough for Gabriel and me to fit through, and I slip inside the dark interior. A tinge of must mingles with the foul smell and nearly makes me gag, but I swallow several times to fight off the urge.

  Reaching into my thigh pocket, I withdraw a small torch. I can hear the familiar gurgling noise, coming from another room near the back, so I feel pretty sure nothing is right before me. My heart slams against my ribs as I sweep the beam of light across the bare floor.

  It falls across a woman’s shoe.

  Jesus Christ.

  As I move toward the back, I feel somewhat comforted that Gabriel is right behind me. Knowing he is there won’t erase from memory what I’m about to witness. That vivid scene, along with the odor, will stay forever emblazoned in my mind.

  My fingers tighten around the sword hilt, and my body tenses as I prepare. I ease toward what I’m pretty sure is the kitchen. The chewing and gurgling sounds grow louder, more intense.

  And then, it stops. Silence.

  It knows I’m here.

  I wait, because I have to have it in full view before I make a move. One wrong step and it’s my shoe on the floor.

  In the next breath, it leaps, landing just a few feet away. It doesn’t see me yet, but I’m pretty sure it can smell me. I can definitely smell it. Vile. There’s no other word for it.

  With the torch off, the room is once again cast into darkness. I can judge where it is, though, and I can hear it, allowing to my vision almost a full outline of its body. Amazing, the senses that have heightened since my death—

  A cold, wet hand closes over my throat, pinching off my air. Its body is close to me now, too close to poke my blade into, too close to punch. So I pull back my leg and shove my knee into its groin, I do it once more, and it finally howls, turns my throat loose, and stumbles back.

  A powerful swoosh slices through the air, followed by a heavy thump. Something bumps the toe of my boot.

  “Torch on, Ms. Maspeth,” Gabriel says directly over my shoulder. “Now.”

  Immediately, I flip on my torch and point it down.

  The head of a Jodis lies at my feet, a nasty, white ooze spilling from its neck cavity.

  Gabriel pushes past me and steps over the Jodis’s body, which is still twitching. He stops at the kitchen, looks in, and crosses himself, and in ancient Pict, gives what once was an innocent woman her last rites.

  I know the verse by heart now. I’ve heard it scores of times over the last year.

  With God, find peace hereafter.

  I can do little but breathe. I feel my knees weaken and I stumble back, rest my head against the wall and swear.

  Gabriel holds my chin and lifts it up. I squeeze my eyes shut, out of embarrassment and to hold in the goddamn tears. Even after a year of training, the monster beats me.

  “Open your eyes, Ms. Maspeth,” he says quietly. “We have bodies to dispose of.”

  “Riley? Wake up.”

  I feel a tight grasp around my shoulder. I’m being shaken. I toss my head a few times, blink, and glance around. I’m back in Castle Arcos. Everyone is staring at me. Sydney Maspeth is standing a foot away. All eyes are on me.

  “What the hell is this?” I say, and back away from them. “Don’t fucking touch me again. Any of you.” I sling my arms as though shaking off water. “Damn it!” I try to clear my head. All I see is Edinburgh, Scotland. That apartment. Sydney. That…thing.

  “I’m sorry,” Sydney says. “I honestly didn’t think…I didn’t believe it could happen.”

  I shake my head. “Well it did. But don’t worry about it,” I say, feeling like someone who has just told a kid there’s no Santa Claus. “No problem. Just…warn me next time.”

  “So ’tis true,” the third big guy of the group, whom I recognize as Gabriel, says. “Your blood survived three strigoi?”

  “I don’t have normal blood to begin with,” I offer. “And if you touch me I will throw your ass through that window,” I say, and incline my head.

  Gabriel’s smile isn’t very noticeable, but it’s there. He simply nods. “Another time, mayhap.”

  “I don’t think so,” I answer.

  I slip a quick glance at Eli. “What’s going on?”

  “My name’s Ginger Slater,” the other young woman says. She maintains her distance, which I sincerely appreciate. I’m in no mood to slip into anyone else’s body just right now. “We”—she glances at the man beside her—“we need your help.”

  “All of us,” Sydney adds.

  I exhale and glance at Eli. “Again. What’s going on?”

  Eli inclines his head to the sofa near the hearth. “Sit.”

  With a quick glance at the small group gathered, I concede. I sit.

  And wait.

  Part Seven

  REJUVENATION

  There is something incredibly different about Ginger Slater and Sydney Maspeth. I’m still so busy trying to let my brain wrap around the fact that Victorian was right—one little touch put me directly into Sydney’s body. I saw what she saw. But she felt what I felt. Weird.

  Ginger I’ll keep at arm’s length. Haven’t touched her. I can tell, though, that she is dying to g
et her little fingers on me. I’m ready for it. I still have processing to do.

  Darius is definitely a different story. He’s old as dirt, although he looks around thirty, and has some sort of magical powers. That much I can tell. Not a vampire. Neither is Gabriel or the one who has done nothing but stare at me. Lucian. There’s something—I don’t know—feral about him. Unpredictable. Frightening, even. Unlike a vampire. This whole thing is strange. And I’m ready to get the hell out of Romania.

  “These are two of WUP’s most crucial cases right now,” Jake Andorra says. “Ginger just lost her partner.” Jake flashes a warning look at Lucian. “And inadvertently gained another.”

  I shake my head. “Lost her partner?” I ask.

  “I’m a field agent, presently stationed near the village of Dunmorag in the northwest Highlands,” Ginger offers. “Relatively new to WUP, but I’ve been studying shifters ever since high school. We’ve”—she inclines her head toward Lucian—“chased our unsub to the Carpathians.”

  “Shifters? Unsub?” I ask.

  Ginger grins. “Shape-shifters. Those who can morph from one being to another. Say, from a man into a wolf.” She slides a glance at Lucian. “And unsub—that’s the term we give the bad guys.”

  I simply nod.

  “Sydney and Gabriel are knee-deep in shit over in Edinburgh,” Jake adds.

  “So I see,” I answer. I slide a glance to Sydney and Gabriel. She looks like she can handle her own. I admire that.

  Jake chuckles. “Ah, so you have. They have their hands full of the Jodís in Edinburgh. Along with a mortal group who call themselves the Gemini. There seems to be a band of Black Fallens taking over the city.”

  “Black Fallens?” I dare ask.

  Jake nods. “Fallen angels. Bad ones.”

  “All threatened by nine malevolent spirits Darius there tried to take care of centuries ago,” Sydney adds. “They were a little smarter than he anticipated.”

  Darius remains silent.

  Rising from my place on the sofa, I pinch the bridge of my nose, shake my head, then meet Jake Andorra’s gaze. “Fascinating. Really. All of it.” I step closer, tilt my head, and look up at him. “But what’s any of this got to do with me?”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Eli lean closer to me.

  “Well,” Jake continues, and his green eyes all but glow as they stare down at me. “I was hoping to offer you employment once all of your present matters are handled.”

  I gape. I glance at Eli, who shrugs. Then I move my gaze back to Jake. “I’m a tattoo artist. I own an ink shop. I’m raising my little brother. That’s what I do.”

  Jake merely smiles. “You’ve too many…capabilities, Riley. Way too many to waste. You’d be the perfect addition to our team.”

  I open my mouth to retort, but Jake holds up his hand. “Just…think about it.”

  “I’ve thought about it. No.” I move away from him, because, really, I don’t trust him.

  “Wait,” Ginger says, and steps toward me. “Seriously, Riley, think about it.”

  Then goddamn it all, she does it. She grasps my arm before I can snatch it back. The room spins, my eyes cross, and everything goes blurry once again.…

  “So, you think you can handle this one, huh, newbie?”

  I’d glanced at Paxton Tarragon, the arrogant senior field agent I’d been training with for the past three months. He had been in his mid-thirties, had worn white, spiked hair, and had looked like Billy Idol. I’d narrowed my gaze, sick to death of being called newbie. The only thing I’d hated worse than that was being called blondie. Typical straight blond hair and blue eyes had been roadblocks in my career. No guy took a blonde seriously. Then add in the name Ginger? I’d always had to prove myself. Bastards. “Hell yeah.”

  My conversation with Pax replayed in my head more times than I could count. Why had he had to have been so damn cocky? That seemed like a long time ago now.

  Over the course of the next week, Lucian slowly introduced me to my new world, my new body, my new senses. I would not be able to master them all for some time; my hearing was exaggerated and sometimes hurt my ears and insides. My sense of smell was so intense, it overwhelmed me, and I couldn’t determine one smell from another—except for Lucian’s scent. His was unique and solely Lucian’s, and I could detect it a mile away. My strength and speed were immature but growing fast—almost too fast. I tripped, I fell, I hurled myself to speeds which my old body couldn’t handle yet. I busted my ass more times than I could count. But Lucian was right there to help me up.

  Each night, we made intense love and fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms. Each night, I dreamed. Pax pursued me in his human form, always in a heavy mist, always through a dense wood. The white fog slipped through the trees and brush like long, reaching fingers, and I ran hard, stumbling and not in control of my new speed and strength. Pax, for some reason, was. His white spiked hair appeared behind every tree, every rock, as though he was toying with me. And every time, he’d catch me, back me against the base of a tree. “This is your fault, newbie. I’m here, trapped as an abomination, all because of you. I don’t know whether to thank you or rip your throat out.” I’d awaken, shaking violently, breathless, just before Pax shifted into his wolf form and lunged at me, teeth bared. I kept the dreams from Lucian. I thought I could handle them, or that they’d just go away. I was so very wrong.

  My arrival in Dunmora, and the events that had followed, haunted me.

  “So you have a couple of years behind you, and what?” He cocked his head and stared at me. “Think you’re ready?” He’d shaken his head and had popped the hatch. “I’ve been at this for ten years, newbie, and trust me—you’re never ready.”

  I’d met Pax’s stare for a few seconds, had told him to eff-off in my head, had grabbed my pack and shouldered it. Then I’d really taken a good look around at the secluded Highland village. “Desolate” was the first word that had come to mind. A half dozen gray stone and whitewashed buildings hugged the pebbled crescent shore of a small lake—or, rather, a loch. Beyond the village, the Rannoch Moors were even more desolate than Dunmorag. Tufts of dead grass, brown heather, and rock stretched for miles. Far in the distance, dark, craggy mountains threw long shadows and loomed ominously. The skies were gray. The moors were gray. Even the water in the loch was gray. Well, black.

  “Foreboding.” That was the second word that had come to mind.

  “You gonna stand here all day and take in the scenery or what?” Pax had asked.

  I’d given him a hard look, which he’d ignored, instead inclining his head to the pub behind us. “I’m ready,” I’d said. I had shifted my pack, had snugged my leather jacket’s collar closer to my neck, and together we’d crossed the small car park. The wind bit straight through my clothes, and I’d shivered as I’d stepped onto the single paved walk that ran in front of the stores. I’d glanced down the row of buildings. A baker. A fishmonger. The Royal Post. A grocer. An inn and a pub. And absolutely no people around. Weird. Very, very weird. Good thing weird had been our specialty.

  A black sign with a sliver of a red moon painted on it had swung above the pub on rusted hinges, and the creaking noise had echoed off the building. In silver letters, the sign read THE BLOOD MOON. Pax had pushed in through the red double doors—quite befitting, the red—and I’d followed. Inside, it had taken my eyes several seconds to adjust to the dimmer light. A hush fell over the handful of people gathered in the single-room dwelling. “Guess we found the villagers,” I’d whispered to Pax. They had stopped what they were doing or saying to stare at us. No one had uttered a word.

  I’d glanced at Pax, then all around, until my eyes had lighted on the man behind the bar. He had dark, expressionless eyes that reminded me of a shark’s eyes, and they’d bored straight into me. His head, shaved bald, had shined beneath the pub’s overhead light. He’d said nothing. I had walked up to him and had met his gaze. “We’re looking for Lucian MacLoud,” I’d said. “Know where
we can find him?”

  It was weird, mine and Lucian’s relationship. I felt completely at ease with Lucian, as though we’d known each other forever. He’d had nearly three weeks to come to terms with the fact that I was his marked mate; I’d had about twenty-four hours. Still, I accepted it readily and willingly. It felt…natural, as though my life was to turn out no other way than to be here, in the Highlands of Scotland, with an ancient Pict warrior-wolf. It felt even more natural to become a wolf, too. I can’t explain it without sounding like a lunatic, but there you go.

  Lucian and I left the bothy the last day of my transition and traveled north and west to the MacLeod stronghold. Situated on a sea loch, the massive gray stone fortress, complete with four imposing towers, dominated the seascape. It literally stole my breath.

  “You live here?” I asked incredulously. I glanced at him.

  Lucian laughed, and reached over and grasped my hand. “Nay. We live here.”

  My heart swelled at his words. We’d not exchanged the L-word yet; somehow, it just didn’t seem right. But we’d both claimed each other, and the word “mine” sounded nearly as powerful as, if not more than, the word “love.” There would be an adjustment period for both of us. But one thing of which I was absolutely positive: We were meant to be together.

  Lucian pulled onto a single-track gravel lane that led to the massive front doors of the castle, and before we had the Rover in park, five big guys emptied the entrance and made their way toward us. All had dark hair in various lengths and bodies that looked like they swung axes and swords and kicked ass for a living.

  Lucian glanced at me and laughed. “They won’t bite.”

  I looked at him and raised a brow. “Doubt that.”

  I climbed out of the Rover, slammed the door, and faced the MacLeods.

  “Gin, my brothers. Arron, Raife, Christopher, Jacob, and Sean.”

  Arron walked up and embraced me; the others followed. “Welcome,” Arron said, his eyes flashing quicksilver.

  “About time we had a lass around the place,” Jacob said, and the others laughed.