“You dug up black henbane for the gods’ sake.” Gran’s voice grew a little louder, her words more brittle. “You can’t tell me that was research. Magic isn’t something one tries but simply is.”
“I also burned a little of it, and dreamt of dragons, so we know that’s all.”
“The gods were trying to give you a sign,” Gran urged. Of course, since she was a ghost and I human, it wasn’t like I could argue about what the gods had in store for me or what happened after that final breath on this side.
“No, dragons don’t exist. Magic doesn’t exist, and the supernatural world that I’m aware of is present only in my fiction—present company excluded. The dragon had to be from something I was watching. That’s it. Let’s just change the topic.”
Gran wagged her petite finger, the one that held one of the largest jewels I’d ever seen. It was true, though: what you were buried in is what you haunt in, too. “You don’t have to get testy about it. The ritual was still a ritual, and it opened you up. I’ve been telling you for a long time that you are a seer.”
“Just because I see you doesn’t make me anything special. There are more important things to deal with than this supernatural mumbo-jumbo, such as this cruise. If I don’t go, we won’t be able to live in this apartment in the middle of Manhattan—a luxury no one understands how I’m able to afford.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and tried not to scream. When Gran got it into her head that something should be done, nothing less than an exorcism was going to get her to change her mind.
“You should cast the runes. They will agree with me.” My grandmother had a way of being overdramatic.
And it wasn’t because she was dead, a ghost, and I could still see her.
I wiped away the imaginary sweat on my brow. “Myrtle.”
“Stop. I hate when you call me that.” She fingered her black pearls. “Enunciate it, dear. It’s like that beautiful beach. You’re butchering my name.” She pushed herself out of the chair, fluffed her flapper-styled hair, and retrieved a cigarette out of thin air. I wasn’t sure how she still held on to her cigarette holder, and all of the charms from then, but things had a way of appearing around or on her—as though she had an invisible ghostly vault.
“Well, if you go, then I am going, too.” A nice steamer trunk materialized, and she sat on it delicately.
“You can’t just leave this place.”
“I can help with this.” She held out her hand, and therein suddenly appeared a lovely gold and onyx Art Deco mourning ring. “Check in the back of the safe, and you will find it there. Your mother was always one to break tradition.”
When chaos ensued, that meant Gran always had a plan. I could almost swear that her need to make sure her family was okay was why she refused to cross over. She’d been a young mother and watched everyone grow up under this roof and participated as much as she could.
Of course, it helped that some of the females of the family had an opened third eye and could see her. As a kid, it made for interesting playdates.
I opened the safe and reached in the back. And just like she said, a ring was indeed there. I pulled it out and paused. Gorgeous didn’t begin to describe it. A deep purple amethyst rested in its center, surrounded by seeded pearls and diamonds. It bore the inscription: Myrtle Davidson, died June 28, age 23.
“You should stay here,” I cautioned.
“And miss the chance to see the old country my mother always told me about? Nonsense. Our family once served at court, and this was before the insidiousness of social Darwinism rose to prominence and sought to erase history to its liking. Your great-grandmother left behind poverty and persecution for the hope of a better life here. She just didn’t know—”
“She’d have to head to Ellis Island to find her happily ever after,” I finished in unison. “You know that was the basis for my first novel.”
“Yes, minus the supernatural.”
“If I’d tried to tell the story that my great-grandmother ran away from Scotland because of a dragon, I would have been laughed out of Maurice’s office.”
“Sure, but you also would have told the story of your heart. You’ve been laughed out of there now, haven’t you, dear? And you are no closer to being happy with what you write. The story comes from passion—like delicious food. Our history is so rich, reaching all the way back to King James’ Court. Now, that is a story you must tell—that of the trumpeter’s daughter.”
I shook my head. Ever since I could remember, Gran had been telling me stories of dragons and royalty, and how her family had received precious gifts from the king himself.
“I tell you, Scotland is magical.”
“Well, I don’t plan on really making land. It’s a cruise across the ocean with landfall along the East Coast, Greenland, Iceland, and then finally the UK. All I can hope for is that I don’t freeze.” With this in mind, I plopped another sweater into my suitcase and clicked it closed.
“No matter. Put the ring on, and then let’s go. A grand adventure awaits us, and surely, you aren’t going to leave me here to be ignored by the others?”
“The others being my brothers who can’t see you?”
“The others also being those henpecking spinsters who refuse to walk in the light. I told you that old Mrs. Goldstein still refuses to leave until her great-grandson fulfills his promise—a promise of a five-year-old has little meaning, I told her, but she won’t listen. No. She remains, haunting that apartment until he becomes the next pop star. As if scaring the poor child to make him practice his music isn’t futile.”
“Didn’t you try that on Dad, too?” A twinge of grief hit me. He’d been gone only a couple of weeks now. His death seemed so real, although not final.
“Yes, but that was to shut him up. He sounded worse than a cat in heat. And according to your mother, she’d made sure he’d been fixed.” Her eyes crinkled. “See, dear, some things are meant to be.”
I could only smirk. Gran wanted an adventure, and I wanted a paycheck. Plus, what harm could there be in taking an extra passenger with me?
“Before we go, let’s try the henbane again,” Gran said. “I think it will clear your vision.”
“You’re just trying to kill me. Too much of that stuff is deadly. The next thing I know, you’re going to suggest that I drink mistletoe tea, and yes, that’s toxic, too.”
“Well, love, I do have a fondness for death. But if you die, how will we ever take the cruise together?”
* * *
I rolled my eyes, then eased the ring onto my left middle finger. It was a perfect fit. “Come, let us begin before I have to get to the port.”
Gran clapped her hands in glee. “Might as well turn the chanting music on to get an authentic experience. This is going to be the best thing. You won’t regret it!”
She vanished from the room, and I tried to quash my chuckle. Glancing into my suitcase, I spotted an aged piece of paper, and thereon rested a spell in my chicken scratch. Where had this come from? I turned it over to find a letter addressed to me in a handwriting I recognized: Sunflower’s.
Leslie,
Pay attention. Vampires and werewolves are real, and both are after you. Head to my apartment and find my athame. Finish the spell. It will allow you to continue to see everything that transpired. And remember: You must survive.
I squinted at the writing. Sunflower’s penmanship was nothing like her personality—bubbly and feminine. No, it was like she’d been in such a rush to get the words down, she hadn’t had the time to use a pretty flourish or two. This wasn’t a jovial note to a friend, but more of a warning.
Danger? Why would vampires and werewolves be after me?
Chapter Four
Alistair
After another night of making sure the unknowing seer remained safe, Alistair ran his hand over his tired face and exhaled loudly. He tossed his keys onto his bedside table in his makeshift home at Beau’s Wolfs’ Compound, located on the outskirts of New York City, a
short helicopter ride away.
The room décor did not match his natural taste. Rather than heavy antique furniture and exposed rock walls, as his castle had, this room blended well with the adjacent forest. The floor-to-ceiling bi-fold sliding doors brought the nature inside.
He kicked off his boots, which still smelled of burnt vampires, checked the clock, and cursed. Distance kept him juggling tasks, and with him being so far from Scotland to watch over Leslie, he’d left his second in command to take care of his duties there.
Finally taking a seat in a swinging chair, he picked up the remote control, and the cabinet across the room opened to reveal a large monitor. He quickly pushed in the credentials and waited for Killian to pick up.
His nephew’s face appeared more haggard than usual. Lloyd, the groundskeeper, moved around in the screen’s background and gave him a wave before placing a cup of tea down for Killian and hurrying away.
“Is everything all right?” Alistair was tired and wished for nothing more than a few winks of sleep. “I see Lloyd is helping out.”
“He is forever a shadow wandering this place.” Killian took a sip from his teacup. “Nothing I can’t handle. But there appears to be something wrong with the book in the safe.”
“The grimoire? How so?”
“I’ve had to put many into the dungeon, to be honest, and word is that a rogue faction of vampires is recruiting more to join their ranks in New York.”
The rogues, they didn’t have a moral code or follow the laws of the supernatural. Like vermin, the more the Order tried to put them down, the more nests popped up.
* * *
“Hmm.” Alistair knew that no matter what, there would always be those ready and willing to give the supernatural a try, be it with pop witchcraft or now, due to the allure of becoming a vampire. “Let me guess: They’re recruiting in New Orleans?”
“No, if only it was so easy. From what I’ve dug up and read in the online thread, there is some convention coming up that puts them on a transatlantic trip. They are going after a high-valued target. No name. No description.”
Alistair wondered why the rogues would try to move on someone else, as he knew they were after Leslie, and just her. She could use the book which hadn’t been opened in centuries. To be honest, that was why both sides wanted her.
“Do you think they could be making new plans to get to her?” Killian asked. “The risk if they do succeed…” He trailed off.
Alistair knew that risk well enough. It wasn’t only that she was his fated mate, as that made things more difficult than he’d have liked. All of this meant their lives were tied together. Yet, more than that it meant he needed to be emotionally ready for all this implied. If he were honest, accepting someone into his life, allowing her to be close could be the worst of his nightmares. He’d not let anyone near in such a long time.
He clenched his jaw until a knot formed and his skin puckered in scales. Emotional overload.
“Alistair? Are you okay? You look like you’re about to make the room explode.”
He ignored the question. With what he’d faced tonight, he couldn’t risk losing control of the situation. He had to see this through. In for a penny, in for a pound.
“We move to phase two tomorrow. See if you can reach your brother, Leif, and find out what intel he has on the vampires on the East Coast. He might still be down in Virginia, but New York City is only seven hours away. He may have a finger on the pulse of this coming disaster.”
“Fucker.” Killian chuckled. “I hate my brother.”
Their family overflowed with drama, and vampires always brought more of it.
“If he has nothing,” Alistair carried on, “reach out to Vlad. He might have a way of making contact.”
“What about Rose?” Killian asked, and all of the energy Alistair had just pushed away came back with an uppercut. He flinched. “Has she arrived yet?”
“What?” The last thing he needed to deal with was the woman he’d mistakenly had a relationship with to land here and potentially screw everything up.
“She said she had a vision that you’d need her help.” Again, Kilian chuckled. “I warned you not to get involved with her.”
“That was decades ago. How was I to know I’d still be dealing with the fallout?” Alistair knew Rose Campbell was damn good at her job as a Detective Inspector for the Order, but still, he could only hope she’d not stir up problems here as he needed to focus on keeping Leslie safe.
“That woman forgets nothing.”
As if on cue, a knock resounded on Alistair’s bedroom door. “Alistair, it’s Rose.” Her silky voice came through, muffled by the bamboo door.
Killian must have heard it, too, as the haggard wolf-shifter cackled like a drunk hyena.
Flipping off the screen without saying goodbye, Alistair padded to the door and opened it. “Rose, I didn’t expect you here.”
“Well, you should be so lucky to have me in the Order as I’ve come to save your ass.” She moved past him. Her aqua-green-colored hair flowed behind her. “I’ve had a vision, and while casting the runes, I saw the green light of the grimoire, the one Freyja had Killian retrieve, and the seer.”
“How do you know—” Alistair started. Everyone associated with that mission was to be wiped.
“Because your magic doesn’t work on me. Fae blood has different rules, and our magic is still strong.” She spoke the words like they were enough of an answer. “The vampires will find another way to get to her. You will need to move on the seer immediately.”
“I know. This could have been handled in a call.”
“Yes, but you will also need my assistance when this all goes terribly wrong.” She reached into her satchel and removed the fated green glowing grimoire.
“What the hell are you doing with the deadly book?”
“Her memories are tied to this book. Soon, they will need to be reunited. But, I must forewarn you. There is nothing you can do, for Leslie will die.”
“Nay, not on my watch.” Why would the gods give him the promise of love only to strip it away?
“She will die, and you will have to save her. To bite her.”
It was one thing for Freyja to say that he and Leslie were fated to each other, but if he gave her his blood, not only would she be turned into a vampire, but she’d be forever tied to him.
“If you don’t do it, the gate will open. The rogue faction will break free, usurp the Order, and humanity will pay for your inaction.” Rose flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Now, get your ass up, and be ready to hit the subway to have your meet-cute with Ms. Cutlass.”
“How are you able to open it?”
“Do you trust me? If not, then you need to.”
Chapter Five
Leslie
Every romance novel demanded a hero. Tonight’s heist required lowlights and people watching. No one needed to know that the subway provided me with undeniable creative fodder, and I took my time finding just the right specimen. The lights flickered.
Seated on the subway with one bag clutched on my lap, and in between my legs, I allowed the subway’s noises to soothe me. The whooshing combined with the rocking of the subway cutting through the tunnel. Farther away, at the other end of the car, low voices contemplated the negatives of the Enlightenment Age, while college students scrolled on their phones, heads down, only their respective blonde, brunette, and black hair moving.
But I couldn’t help myself from secretly staring at a well-dressed man. His golden skin complimented by the sapphire-blue tailored suit, a strong clean-shaven jawline, massive and muscular. He wore power and confidence well. Killer instincts? Maybe.
The things he could do with those massive hands—oh, gawd. I fanned myself. My gaze ran the course of every part of him, from the wavy black hair to the dimpled chin and broad shoulders. My scrutiny continued all the way down to his large feet covered in polished leather shoes. Strong, powerful, and sexy as hell. Stolen glances would have to satisf
y my curiosity. A piece of me wanted to cast him into the playboy category, but another part of me wanted to know if he was bad, and if it would be good.
Not average good, but that toe-curling, let-me-worship-at-your-temple kind of good. Images of our bodies tangled in silk sheets flashed before me. Pulling a curl between my fingers, I twirled it around and let those thoughts grow.
My breath caught. I crossed my legs and shifted in my seat.
He could have been a superhero—oh, to imagine him in spandex. I couldn’t help the slight smile that spread over my face. He would look amazing in anything, honestly. I bit my lip. Finally, my eyes landed on him again and found him staring at me—smoky titanium-colored eyes with flecks of blue from his blazer. And a sexy black eyebrow cocked in question.
Busted.
In the middle of the night, the last thing I needed to do was find a connection with a man on the subway. At my age, playing games wasn’t on the table. The last time I’d been attracted to someone, they’d suddenly ghosted me. I swear, I had no idea what had happened to Jordan, the food delivery guy I’d had a crush on. He’d had a warm smile filled with promise. I’d even recently ordered Nigerian food in an attempt to see him again, but he’d never showed up.
Nothing good ever came from hooking up with someone on the subway. Still, my throat went dry, and I tried to ignore this idea of kismet that only Gran would plant in my head.
I cleared my throat to be done with the discomfort. Whammed by being caught, I quickly cut my gaze. Heat rushed my face.
Men like him didn’t go for women like me. He’d broken many hearts along the way, for sure.
The subway came to a stop, the doors slid open, and a new bunch of people moved in, blocking my view of Mr. Unattainable, while the college students exited.
Once Bitten Page 3
