The Four Horsemen Series Box Set: Books 1 to 3

by LJ Swallow

  I pick up my glass and stare at the contents. "You're making her uncomfortable," replies Ewan and nods at me.

  His concern surprises me, and I sip my sparkling apple juice. How slowly do I need to finish this before I can leave but not seem rude? Heath sits beside me, and I'm sandwiched between the pair. I hold my breath. God, don't let either of them brush my arm, leg, anything because this effect is freaking me out.

  "Listen, I invited Verity tonight as a thanks for giving me a ride from work tonight. I didn't realise you were in full-blown-arsehole mode." He looks at me apologetically. "I'm sorry if we're making you uncomfortable. We kind of... banter."

  "Or argue," puts in Joss.

  "Long-term friends, I'm guessing," I say. "If you're behaving like this together."

  "A few years, yeah." Ewan drinks.

  "Maybe Verity could invite some friends next time? Make it less uncomfortable?" asks Joss, raising a brow. Of the pair, I can't stop looking at Joss, and not only because he's friendlier to me. His relaxed attitude and stomach-flipping smile draw me towards him. Do they have a magic ability to attract girls?

  If the hypothetical—and a hundred percent unlikely to happen—situation arose, I do not know who I'd choose between Joss and Heath.

  See, crazy hormones?

  “Maybe," I say with a bright smile, knowing full well I don't have any friends I could introduce them to.

  Which means I could keep them all to myself.

  I smirk at my thought. Joss clears his throat, and when I look up, he tips his head and fights a smile.

  My glass empties at what I hope is a respectable pace and conversation switches to general talk about everything from what it's like to live here for years, to the last best meal we ate. I glean little about the trio apart from they've known each other three years, Joss works part-time at a hotel, and Ewan is “something to do with computers,” and that they share a house.

  Now the suggestive comments have stopped, I gradually relax around them, as if I've met with old friends after years. I've missed socialising recently, and the guys are interesting to be around. I'm tired and need to go home, but there's something else persuading me to stay.

  Each guy has a weird, but different, effect on me. I’m curious about the other Ewan hidden behind his taciturn reaction to me. Joss's opposite friendly nature, and how he looks at me as if seeing into my mind intrigues me too. Heath’s effect is stronger as we’ve interacted more, but this doesn’t stop me wanting to do the same with the others.

  Whoa, Vee.

  I grab my hoodie from the seat beside me and stand. "Thanks for the drink."

  Heath and Joss look at each other as I shove an arm into the jacket.

  "Already?" asks Heath.

  "I said just one."

  "Take her home," replies Ewan in a low voice.

  "I'm fine," I say and smile though his comment sounded like a command.

  "The weather isn't great," Ewan retorts. "What if you have an accident? Hit someone again?"

  At this Joss can barely contain his mirth. I shoot a look at him, and he bites down on his lip, then mouths “sorry.”

  "I'm walking," I say through gritted teeth.

  "Are you sure you don't want to stay for another and more of our exciting conversation?" Heath stands. "I'll buy."

  "No. It's fine."

  Nobody speaks and weirdness seeps back into the situation, as I picture the three of them marching me out of the pub and accompanying me home.

  "I'll walk you home, at least," says Heath.

  I agree and say my goodbyes to Joss and Ewan. Joss waves and Ewan nods, and I'm relieved when only Heath walks into the night with me.

  My breath mists as we head back towards my place, relieved the rain stopped. All the way back, I waver between ‘do I invite him in or do I not’? He doesn't speak as we walk. Is he thinking the same?

  "Thanks for an interesting evening," I say as we reach a point outside my flat.

  "I'd wish you’d stayed longer at the pub.” He inclines his head to the building. “But don't worry, I won't ask you to invite me in. I just wanted to see you were safe."

  I nod through my disappointment as he pulls out his phone. "Can I give you my number? In case you want to contact me?"

  "Sure."

  Heath holds his hand out, and I place my phone in his palm. He types, long fingers sweeping the screen and hands it back.

  I stare blankly at the phone. Heath steps backwards into the car park and looks from side to side. What's he looking for?

  My stomach flips as Heath reaches out and takes hold of my jacket collar in both hands and tugs it closer around me, looking down with curiosity in his eyes. For one heart-stopping moment I think I'm about to receive a good night kiss. "Take care, Verity."

  "I will."

  As he walks back into the evening, what sticks with me the most isn't his almost kiss, or the fact he never asked for my phone number, but the earnestness in his voice when he told me I should take care.

  5

  VERITY

  I tread carefully across the moss-covered pavers slippery after the recent rain. There're two doors to reach my flat, one at street level that opens to a narrow staircase and another at the top of the stairs and above the shop. Both are deadlocked, although the doors themselves aren't as sturdy as I'd prefer.

  Initially, I shared this place with Anna. After she left, I expected to be lonely or uncomfortable alone but never have been. I prefer my own space, as did Anna, so our flat share was harmonious. Crime rates are low in town, but two doors between me and the outside world helps with feeling secure.

  I carefully bolt the downstairs door behind me, then tramp up the concrete steps leading to the flat. As I place a hand on the scratched black door handle, the lever moves down.

  Did I forget to lock up?

  I pause, listening for movement inside. Nothing. Heath was on my mind this morning, for a number of reasons. Did that distract me from locking the door? I slowly lower the handle and push open the unlocked door.

  What the fuck?

  Every book that was on my shelf is now on the floor, across the table, or piled on the sofa. I have dozens, and not a single one remains on the shelf. I halt, keys in hand, one pushed between my fingers ready to use as a weapon in case the book-trashing home invader is still inside.

  No sound. There're few places to hide because the living area in my small flat is open plan and the kitchen is at the far end of the lounge area. Front door still open, I tread into the room, pushing books to one side with my shoes. Have they taken anything? The kitchen drawers are closed and the rest of the room appears untouched. I stare at my TV. Why didn't whoever broke in take that?

  I call for my cat, but as usual he isn’t here. Obviously what I feed him isn’t good enough compared to the neighbours. Traitor.

  A door to the rear of the room leads to my bedroom—and it’s closed. Fear coils around my stomach and tightens, my imagination running wild. I should leave.

  Instead, idiocy takes over. I summon the courage to open the door and my shoulders drop in relief when the room contains nothing and nobody, apart from my unmade bed and small nightstand. To be sure, I flick the light switch.

  Who the hell would trash my place?

  Grumbling, I head back to pick up some books while my mind jumps from option to option. First up, call the police.

  The door slams and I spin around, gripping the paperback, adrenaline launching into my blood.

  A man stands between me and the door. He's taller than any I've seen before, wiry frame beneath a leather jacket and tight jeans, older than me. His blue hair is spiked at the front, but the unusual colour isn't what strikes me.

  The eyes staring back at me are violet. Not flecks, but full on violet irises.

  Neither of us moves or speaks, but the man keeps his hand on the door. I run my eyes over him. No weapons. Not visible ones, anyway. I grip the paperback tighter and focus on staying calm as I back towards the kitchen area
.

  "Hello, Verity. How are you?" The man's voice is almost a whisper, with a hint of an accent I can't catch.

  "What are you doing in my flat?" I continue to back up, mind jumping around. Self-defence. Book? No. Sharp knife in kitchen drawer.

  "I came for you."

  Time stills as my chest tightens. Fuck. "Don't touch me!"

  The weird guy steps further into my home, closer to me. "I won't hurt you if you walk out of this place with me, I promise."

  My truth detector tells me he doesn't intend to do anything right now, but after we leave? "I'm not going anywhere with you."

  "You are. Somebody I know needs to talk to you, and it's a matter of some urgency."

  "Who?"

  "Come on, Verity." He beckons me towards him with one pale hand.

  "No! Leave before I call the police!" I pull my phone from my pocket and Heath's number's still onscreen from earlier.

  Heath? I bloody wish I hadn't waited for him to walk out of sight before coming into my flat.

  And doubly wish I'd invited him in.

  I begin to dial, but pale dude focuses his eyes on the phone and the metal heats beneath my fingers. With a yelp, I drop the phone to the floor where it bounces across the tiles.

  A livid burn appears in the palm of my hand. "What the fuck?" I say through gritted teeth.

  "Nice place you have here." I stare in disbelief between my hand and him, as he leans against the door, ankles crossed. "You like candles, I see."

  My confusion grows as he inclines his head to the pillar candles on the table; the scented ones I use to disguise the damp smell in the place.

  "Did you know candles are a leading cause of house fires?" He steps forward and picks one up, as I eye the door for an escape route, caressing my sore palm.

  "Leave my flat," I say in an attempt at a brave voice.

  "Wiring too."

  "What?"

  "Wiring in old homes isn't always up to scratch. A big cause of electric fires." He watches as I shuffle towards the phone on the carpet and steps between me and the phone. "Don't touch that. It's hot."

  Fuck this. I can't get past him to my front door, but no way is he touching me.

  I snatch the phone from the floor, ignoring the scalding heat and charge into my bedroom. Heart pounding blood in my ears, I slam closed, and lean against, the door. Why can't this have a lock too?

  Then I groan. Dumbass. I should've run to the bathroom where I could lock myself in.

  "Verity!" The man's tone switches from mocking to irritated, and the handle on the door moves next to me.

  I push my body harder against the wood and swap my phone from hand to hand as if holding a hot potato. Heat sears again, growing unbearable, and I drop the phone to the floor.

  What do I do if I can't call for help?

  The handle stops moving, and the flat grows quiet for a few moments. My bedroom window overlooks the street and climbing out would be a two-storey drop to the tarmac.

  A loud pop noise and flash of light stutters my heart as the lightbulb above me blows. Another pop and I jerk in surprise again. Scorch marks surround the empty wall socket to my right. The noise repeats all around and with it the smell of burnt plastic.

  "I wouldn't stay in there, Verity," calls the man.

  Before I can answer, flames shoot through the broken light fitting and ignite the curtains, blocking any possibility I can escape that way. The orange illuminates the room and licks the wall, headed towards the floor. When they reach the carpet, a fiery trail paves straight towards me.

  Terror freezes my mind and body as I’m mesmerised by the flames. How long do I have before my whole home ignites? Like a rabbit smoked out of a hole, I fling open the door and head back into the other room, aiming for the front door. The man is back to resting there with a sardonic grin on his face. "Changed your mind? Coming with me?"

  "I need to get out and call 999! My home is on fire!" I shout.

  He sneers. "Hence, it will be a good idea to leave. With me."

  My instinct is to rush him and the door, but in my panic, I can't move. There's a strange aura around him, and I might be insane, but I'd swear he isn't human. The slant to his violet eyes, the unnatural paleness of his skin.... Alien? I've come across enough conspiracy theories in my digging to believe in alien life. Is he about to beam me up to the mothership? Omigod, are insane thoughts the best I can do in this situation?

  "Do you need some extra persuasion?" He lifts one hand and clicks his fingers, stepping away from the door. "My friend is waiting outside to help, in case you didn't cooperate."

  The man's mouth twists, and I hear thudding behind him as somebody climbs the stairs. The violet-eyed guy steps away just in time for him to avoid the door as it's flung open.

  Someone fills the entrance, head almost touching the frame, as he looks at me with stone cold eyes in a face that looks like someone hit him repeatedly with a frying pan. His broad shoulders and muscles make his neck seem non-existent, torso solid and the widest I've seen since being grossed out watching body builders on TV.

  I don't have time to register anything else before the hideous man advances towards me. I back up again, ass hitting the wall. I gasp as his cool fingers curl around my neck, long fingernails pressing into my skin. Grey eyes stare into mine, and his scent turns my stomach and dizzies me, pungent like rotting flesh, mingling with the burning smell emanating from my bedroom.

  I choke against his hold as he squeezes my neck, and I flail my arms in an attempt to get a grip on and pull him off me. As if I'd have the chance against him.

  "You can't drag me out of here unconscious," I rasp, turning my face to the tall man, standing with his arms crossed.

  "Nobody will see."

  "Of course they will! My flat's above a shop in the middle of the town. There’re people passing close by."

  "Nobody will see,” he repeats, voice firm.

  My attacker's face changes, shimmering the way a channel on TV does when trying to bring a picture into focus. I choke a scream as, instead of a human face, a nightmare visage almost touches mine. His skin reddens, the grey eyes blackening, spreading from the irises into the whites of his eyes. The hold on my neck is joined by a stinging sensation, as if I'm being stung by a hive of bees.

  My strangled scream erupts as his mouth opens and stars cross my eyes, accompanying an inky blackness as the grip tightens. The door behind him flings open and a figure appears.

  "Fuck!" the figure shouts.

  Heath.

  Eyes on me, he extends a hand to the right and flicks his fingers. A flash of white light shoots from the tips, hitting the tall guy square in the chest who stumbles backwards. His eyes glow brightly, body stiffening before he falls to the floor without a sound.

  Heath launches himself at my assailant, who hasn't reacted to Heath's arrival, instead focused on choking me. The man's eyes, still on mine, widen for a second, his reflexes not fast enough to counter the attack from behind. Mouth parting, a gasp escapes his lips, fingers loosening on my neck. As his hand slips along my skin, he crumples downwards to the floor, with an inhuman yell.

  Clutching my neck, I stare down at the carved wooden handle of a knife stuck into his back. Heath immediately yanks the knife from the guy's back and approaches the man on the floor. He kicks him with a booted toe and swears again under his breath. Bile rises in my throat as Heath lifts a knife and plunges it with force into his chest.

  I slump against the wall and stare ahead, dizzy from the shock and pain, as Heath crouches down and extends a hand to touch my neck. I wince as my skin stings beneath his fingertips.

  In my head, I scream “what the fuck?” but my body involuntarily shakes, throat too tight to speak, as Heath withdraws his fingers.

  "You'll be okay," he says and strokes a hand down my hair. "I told you, we should've stayed at the pub." He looks around, unflustered for a guy who just brutally murdered another guy. Two guys. Were they guys? Oh god, please let me wake up. “Are
you okay?"

  I blink at him, watching the knife, momentarily worried he'll use it on me too after I witnessed his murderous rampage. "My flat is on fire," I croak out.

  My words jerk him out of his concerned look. "What? Shit. Where?" I point towards my room with shaking hands. "Bloody fae arsehole." Heath opens his jacket and slides the knife into his front pocket. "Right. Let's go."

  "With you?"

  Heath holds out a hand to help me to my feet. "Unless you want to hang out in a burning flat." I hesitate. "Verity? Seriously? Fire will hurt you a damn sight more than I will."

  "Right." I grab his hand. Strong fingers curl around mine, and he pulls me to my feet as if I weigh nothing more than a small child. A strange strength buzzes into my limbs, fuelling energy and soothing some of the panic. I sway and steady myself against his chest.

  "Get out. There're more coming," he says, stepping away from my touch.

  I stiffen. "More who? Where?"

  "Demons. Fuck. Leave now."

  "What do you mean d—" I'm interrupted as Heath half-drags me out of my splintered front door, and I trip down the stone stairs behind him. A white SUV is parked next to mine, and the lights flash as Heath unlocks the door.

  "Get in."

  "Where are we going?"

  "Please, just get in before more of the fae's buddies arrive." He yanks open the passenger door.

  "My flat...."

  He huffs and drags out his phone. "Don't worry, I'll sort this. Just get in the car. We need to go. Now." Heath jumps into the car as he dials; I climb into the SUV and belt myself in.

  I don't know what the hell is going on here, but the orange glow in my bedroom window and two men dead on my lounge floor isn't a good end to my day.

  6

  VERITY

  The lit town streets switch to darker country lanes as Heath speeds away from my home. For a few minutes, neither of us speaks. I sit on my cold hands, attempting to catch up to what's happening.

  Heath's phone rings and he answers over speaker.

  "Did you find her?" asks a voice. "Is she okay?"