The vehicle slowed before stopping a short distance ahead and a young human male emerged. He looked down at himself and realized his clothing was nothing more than rags, eroded away by time and he was covered in blood that had begun to dry and flake. Not exactly attire fit for a fae prince and especially not for the only son of Lir.
"Hey," the man exclaimed, jogging down the road toward him. "Are you okay? Do you need some help?"
He looked the man up and down and decided he was a good match. Same height, similar build. Grasping the front of the human's shirt, he pulled him close and snarled, "Give me your clothes."
The man's expression slackened into a vacant stare and he began stripping. Curious. He didn't know he could make the humans do things. That was an unexpected boon. It reminded him of Isolde and her ability to control people's minds. They'd had the same reaction to her power, though he suspected she had to cast some kind of spell. He'd just willed it and so it was.
Gathering up the man's clothes, he began to walk away down the road, but as an afterthought turned back. "Now, forget you ever saw me."
The human nodded and while the going was good, he disappeared into the field, leaving the man to wonder why he was naked on the side of the road. The thought amused him more than it should.
The sounds of a fast flowing river reached him long before he found the source. Stripping his ancient shirt and trousers off, he waded into the water and ducked his head under, washing the dirt and blood away with a handful of gravel from the bottom. He scrubbed until his pale, dead skin was pink. As the carnage he'd wrought underground washed away, swirling in the whirlpool of the swift current, he wondered how he was going to get to Briton. Boat or one of those airplane machines. Taking one of those ferries from the city called Dublin seemed the less likely to cause him annoyance. The humans were so suspicious of one another that they needed pieces of paper with their photographs to go anywhere.
Letting his fingers trail in the icy water, he thought about his family. What had happened to his sisters? Fionnuala and the twins, Fiachra and Conn… He had no idea where they might be hidden or if they were still alive. They hadn't deserved their fate, none of them did. And what of his father, Lir? His wrath would have been extraordinary when he realized what Aoife had done. He hoped his father had killed her and made a spectacle out of it.
Wading out of the river, he tossed his filthy rags away, watching them float downstream while he dressed in the modern clothing he'd stolen. The material felt strange against his skin, coarse and heavy and he wondered how he would get something a little more refined. Perhaps he'd find out when he reached Dublin.
He was going to have a lot of fun in this new world and he found himself wishing Siobhan was here to share it with him. But his love was long dead and another he wanted to avenge. He never got to say goodbye, but he never got to say it to anyone.
Making his way back across the field to the road, he followed the directions he'd gleaned from the witch's blood and began his journey. Revenge was best served with a healthy dose of planning.
CHAPTER TWO
It all started with an image of death.
Blood, screaming...and eyes. Red eyes.
Gabby sat up sharply, gasping for breath, trying to shake off the disorientation from her dream. Her skin was clammy and sweat trickled down her face as she clutched the covers around herself. The dream had seemed so real…almost like a vision. It took a while before she realized where she was and even then her heart still raced.
The door slipped open a crack, letting in light from the hallway and the biggest pain in the ass she'd ever had the pleasure of meeting.
"Gabrielle?"
Clutching her head, she'd hoped he'd leave her alone, but of course he'd heard her heart racing and she'd probably called out in her sleep. He could hear everything.
"I'm fine, Regulus."
He inched the door open, his bulky frame blocking most of the light. "Your heart says otherwise."
She'd rather be a million miles away from this place right now. After Regulus manipulated her into faking his death, she thought that might be the end of it. Aya had destroyed the Coven and any chance of them awakening whomever it was they were trying to find. Mental, corrupted witches descended from the Original Witch, made with Celestine blood. Coraline had been one of them, but she had been willing enough to help in their cause. She'd given Zac her power so he could kill Regulus and it was all a ruse.
Zac, Aya…their friends Nye and Tristan, they all thought the Roman was gone for good. When they found out the truth, shit would hit the fan. He was mortal enemy number one. After she'd resurrected the founder, he'd brought her to a house on the outskirts of London. A safe place, he'd called it. Safe from what?
"I'm fine," she said again. "It was just a vivid dream."
"Vivid dreams are usually precursors to something else," the vampire said. "Have you heard from the witch?"
She shook her head in the darkness, knowing full well that he could see the gesture.
"Perhaps you should try and recall the dream. They've had more than enough time to figure out if the Coven's spell succeeded."
"You seem to know who it is," she said. "Why won't you tell me?"
"Because it's pointless unless the spell worked."
Regulus would tell her nothing. That ass and his schemes and threats had manipulated her into faking his death and he had nothing but silence in return. He'd made threats against her family and wouldn't put it past him to make good on them if she tried anything. She had no cards to play and he knew it.
"What was the dream about?" He sat on the edge of the bed and she was overly conscious that she was wearing nothing but a tank top and shorts. He was wearing little else and she found herself looking him over. She was so used to seeing him dressed in crisp business shirts and slacks, not form fitting T-shirts and boxers. "Gabrielle?"
"Eyes," she whispered, looking away.
"Eyes?"
"Red eyes and blood."
He frowned, his gaze wandering over her. "I know you don't want to," he said, his fingertips grazing over her hands. "But, it might've been a message from the witch."
She pulled her hands back, the gentle gesture making her uncomfortable. Nodding, she rested her forehead against her knees and closed her eyes, trying her best to focus with Regulus so close. He really was handsome in an asshole-ish way.
Letting go, she felt her mind slip back into the dream, recalling each scene. It came back in startling clarity and she realized that Regulus had been right. It was a vision.
There was Coraline and Max together in a strange blue tunnel. She felt the witch's panic and desperation as if she was living inside her skin. They were being pursued by something…someone, running, heart pounding and skin prickling. Max's horrified screams ripped through her and she stopped, spinning on her heel.
"Max," she screamed. A man was bent over him, ripping into the flesh of her love like a rabid animal.
"Run," he gurgled through a mouthful of blood and she realized he was beyond saving. She had to warn them.
Spinning on her heel, she kept running down the tunnel, back toward the wards, but cold hands were grasping her arms. Cold, like death. Red eyes stared down at her, a face covered in blood. A monster had her in his grasp. A monster from the Hell of Max's religion. This overwhelming feeling of defeat washed over her as she called on her power one last time. Then nothing but white-hot pain.
"Gabrielle?" Regulus' strange eyes came into focus and she realized his hands were cupping her face. He was frowning, like he was worried about her.
Pushing his hands away, she rubbed her temples.
"Are you okay?" he asked. "You were crying out…"
"It was Coraline," she sighed, shaken up by the vividness of what she'd just relived. "Max was there and he tried to save her. They didn't stand a chance."
"Coraline? Ah, yes the Coven defector that the Six kidnapped at that Halloween party. Can't say I'm sad, never got the chance to meet he
r."
"How can you be so flippant about it?" she cried, wanting to slap him.
"Death is part and parcel with being a vampire. I've seen so much of it it seems little to worry about. As for the priest…well, there aren't any gods. Just men and monsters."
How could he just sit there and not care? He must have lost someone he'd cared about…surely? Maybe he really was dead inside.
"Did you see what ended them?"
"A man with red eyes."
He let out a long sigh and shook his head like he'd made a decision and as usual, he didn't let her in on it. Reaching up, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Can I do anything?"
She gave him a look.
"You seem rather shaken."
"Why do you care?" She was just his toy after all. A source of power to be used and abused for his own gain. He didn't have a right to care.
"I've seen many horrible things in my long life," he said. "You're young. Vulnerable. I remember the first time I had to kill and it wasn't…" He stopped himself short, his jaw hard. "Get some rest," he murmured, standing sharply. "We'll talk more tomorrow."
Gabby frowned as the door closed behind him. She'd thought Regulus was nothing but a cold-hearted predator. A master manipulator. But there was something soft underneath the surface and it confused the hell out of her. Because if Regulus could actually be nice and give a crap about someone, then the world was more screwed up than she ever thought it could be.
Sinking back into bed, she didn't have the strength to think about it anymore. The vision still lingered and sleep wouldn't be on the menu. She thought about the man with the red eyes and understood that the Coven's spell had worked. Who was he and why did they want to wake him up?
There was nothing she could do about it now, so she let herself slip back into some semblance of sleep and her dreams were plagued with red eyes and blood until the sun rose.
CHAPTER THREE
Zac stood in amongst the sea of tourists lining up to gawk inside one of London's most famous medieval prisons, the Tower of London. Of course it wasn't an active prison anymore, the guards that lingered outside were more a draw card for all the visitors and latent ceremonial status than anything else. Nothing more than a photo opportunity in their regalia. Still, he wondered how many of these humans cared about the history of such a place. Not many.
Nye stood beside him, glaring at the occasional human who turned to stare at the ugly scar that marred his face. It ran from his left temple, across the bridge of his nose, over his right eye and ended just past his cheekbone. Four hundred and twenty-seven years ago, he'd been a spy in Queen Elizabeth the First's court. The Tower of London was still at its terrible peak of executions and incarceration then, Golden Age of Britain or not. When the Spanish Armada attempted invasion off the coast in 1588, he'd been lucky enough to have his face hacked open by a broadsword. It was only later that he'd been turned, so he was stuck with the scar for his eternity.
"Why do we need the Three?" Nye asked with a groan, shoving his hands into the pockets of his heavy coat. "I don't like it."
"Because if the Coven managed to complete that spell, then we need manpower. Preferably in the vampire category. Who knows what we might face."
"I could do without it."
Zac glanced from his friend to the Tower. "Not keen for a trip down memory lane?"
"Nope."
The Three had started out as the Six, Regulus' trusted thugs for hire. They did the difficult jobs that he'd trust no other with. Aya had killed Rob and Holly not long after Zac'd joined them, making them the Four, then Nye had defected to Zac's cause. Now they were the Three. When Regulus had died his last death, they'd splintered and disappeared. Rebels without a cause. Zac needed to convince them that their cause was the one worth fighting for.
The Three were the kind of men, in life and death, who needed a master to serve. Maddox had been an assassin, taking orders from a higher up. Rix had been a bodyguard to the Kings and Queens of England and Pyke had been party to the many executions that took place here in the late 1500s. There was a reason behind his nickname and it was exactly how it sounded.
Zac had been under the command of others at one stage or another, but he'd quickly risen to the rank of Captain in the Confederate Army. He'd been a leader in his human life and a mess in his vampire one. His human life was the one he was trying to connect with and finding the Three and convincing them to come with him was hopefully his ticket to finding a way for his two halves to exist together. That was the reason he felt he should leave Aya.
Thinking of her, he wondered if it was the right thing to do, leaving her like he had. The morning before he'd stood with her in the hotel room Tristan had gotten them in The Ritz, the whole world at their feet and he'd denied her.
She was shaken, but free from her two thousand year old war for revenge. The Romans had killed her family and turned her into a hybrid and now they were dead, too. She had nothing to avenge except her mission to guide the witches. The Witch Hunter was who she needed to be now. Zac needed to find the man he was meant to be before he was worthy of her love. Always unstable, always in agony, always a hairs breadth away from utter horror. That's who he'd been since the day he was turned, but it wasn't how it was meant to be.
"You can stay up here if you want," Zac said, looking Nye over. "Just give me a few directions and I can deal with it." A trip down memory lane wasn't his idea of a good time, either.
"It's fine. That place is like a maze down there. Besides, Pyke isn't your greatest fan."
"True." He did crash a car with him and Maddox inside on purpose. Little to no regret on that one.
They walked the length of the bulwark, alongside the Tower to the Tower Bridge and back, weaving amongst the tourists, scanning the walls.
"They built this bulwark a few hundred years ago," Nye said as they walked. "The wall of the Tower used to go straight into the Thames."
"How do you propose we get into the dungeons?"
"There's an aqueduct at the foot of the wall in the river," the spy said, leaning over the edge of the wall and looking down into the murky water. "The tide lines have changed somewhat in the last four hundred years, so I reckon that the tunnel will be flooded at some point."
"Tunnel?"
"Yeah, they used it to bring prisoners to the dungeons. If they were brought by boat, they had less of a chance to escape. Once they were inside the tunnel, it was game over. The guards used to call it the River Styx."
"Sounds cheerful."
"The river of hell, mate. There was no such thing as human rights back then, not for prisoners. They were fair game."
Leaning his back to the wall and scanning the crowd, Zac asked, "What chances do you think he's actually hiding in there somewhere?"
"Pyke was apprenticed to the executioner at a young age. I suspect it was as good a home as any that he might've had otherwise. Like most of us thugs, he was a bottom-feeder in the slums until chance brought him out. He might've had death shoved in his face, but he was being fed and had a semblance of a bed. For a child, that would've been living like a lord. If I were him, I would've gone home."
"Then," Zac said, "we try for this aqueduct once night falls and look until we find him."
"Best option."
They went to a pub across the street and drank until the sky darkened and the crowds dispersed. Nye became more restless as the hours wore on, but he didn't say anything.
When the crowd started to thin, they left the pub and wandered across to the Tower, which was almost deserted. The tide had dropped to the point where a few yards of sandy riverbed was exposed along the edge of the bulwark. Satisfied that no one was watching, Zac dropped over the side and landed with a thud. A soft splash next to him revealed Nye with one foot in the water.
"Shit," he hissed.
"We have to work on your landing," Zac said with a grin.
"Shut up."
"You're more antsy than usual."
"Bad juju in
this place, mate." The spy pointed towards the opening a little further up. "We should be able to get in there. It'll be locked with a grate of some kind."
Zac was at the entrance a second later, scanning the bars. "No door. Here, take one side."
Together, he and Nye used their strength against the steel bars, prying them open enough so they could fit through. The tunnel within was damp and smelt like rotting earth and trash, but they pressed on, their boots sloshing in the sludge. the further they went, the more signs of the Tower emerged. The concrete turned into the brickwork of the original foundation, and things started to become a lot more medieval looking.
The tunnel slanted upwards and they were suddenly inside the dungeon. Pitch black, sense of foreboding and all of that.
"It's changed more than I thought," Nye whispered, his voice echoing. "This is where they received prisoners in my day. That tunnel we came through is new."
The eerie silence was broken by the ding of Zac's cell receiving a text message. Raising his eyebrows, he pulled it out and looked at the screen. It was from the witch, Coraline. She'd only written one word and it made his already cold blood run colder.
Awake.
He held up his cell so the spy could see.
"Blimey," Nye exclaimed. "Well, we're in the shit, hey?"
"Not much we can do about it right now."
"What I'm more worried about is how you got it," Nye waved his hands around. "There's no bloody reception down here."
"Witches," Zac shrugged.
"Bloody witches. What did I tell you? It's always witches."
"I guess we better hurry the fuck up." He didn't know who was awake, if it was the Original Witch or something else, but any option was a bad one.
Turning the torch on on his cell, Zac scanned the walls looking for the way forward, but Nye was already moving towards a passage further up.
"Follow me," the spy said, disappearing into the darkness.
Putting his cell away and casting his senses out, Zac followed behind as closely as he could. Nye had his cell out, shining the way forward, the harsh white light illuminating centuries old prison cells. It stunk like human filth and damp earth from the thousands and thousands of souls that had seen incarceration here. A place that had seen such pain and torture would never stink like anything else, no matter what anyone did to scrub it clean.