The Last Danann (Titanian Chronicles, #2)

by Victoria Saccenti

  She nodded slowly, her brain full of unexpected information and exciting revelations.

  “Which brings me back around to the theory that your parents, likely descendants of Frigg’s line, were ambushed, their precious baby snatched in a moment of careless complacency or in the midst of a traveling ceremony. By whom and for what reason, though?” He sighed. “We’ll have to go back in time and investigate.”

  “But…I have memory magic. How come I’ve never seen them in a vision or intuited their presence in my life? Doesn’t make any sense.”

  “My guess is the kidnapper blocked the memory of your origins. How far back can you remember?”

  She blinked, sifting through her thoughts. Vivid snippets of recent moments flashed first, then as others followed, details and colors faded until only a void of endless blackness surrounded her. The one vibrant exception was the image of the wounded warrior, Earth’s last Danann in Khnurn’s hut.

  “My memory trail begins in Egypt,” she murmured miserably.

  “Damned old wizard,” he muttered. “Once again, I’m surprised Khnurn hasn’t released your mind. We have to ask him why he hasn’t and how you ended up under his care. A grave sin against you and your parents has been committed, a stór. The universe abhors such acts of violence. The balance of justice is tilted because restitution and penance haven’t been fulfilled. I intend to do something about it.”

  “You’ll help me?”

  “Mm-hm. Right after this.” He rolled on his side, and the movement brought her down on the bed.

  His deep eyes bore down on hers, and she trembled with renewed desire. His mouth came nearer, parted, and brushed her cheek. Quickly, she turned and captured his lips. He chuckled under the tight caress, and, holding her close, he rolled again and she ended on top.

  “Mine,” she murmured, lacing her arms around his neck. Taking advantage of her position, she straddled his hips as she plunged to invade his mouth. Hunger for him drove her. He opened the way for her further explorations. Arousal and need struck, and desperate to satisfy her desire, she ground her sex on his stiffening member.

  “Will you spank me now?” She winked.

  In answer to her suggestion, he thrust up his hips. “Don’t tempt me—”

  Her phone vibrated and rang at full volume.

  “What?” She turned to the nightstand.

  From inside the pocket of his pants, Kailen’s phone went off immediately after.

  “Ignore it. The call will go to voicemail,” he said.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

  The rings ceased. A silent minute passed, then both phones rang at the same time. Louder, it seemed to her.

  “It’s pretty insistent. I can’t ignore it.” She scrambled off him and reached for the phone.

  “All right.” He sat up, reached for his pants, and dragged them closer.

  “It’s Soren,” she said.

  “Yes. He wants us back, now.”

  “I have the same message.” She scratched her temple.

  “Don’t you love it? We don’t get the decency of an explanation.”

  “We can’t just teleport. What about Brysys and Malcolm?”

  He eyed her intently. “Honestly? At the moment, my capacity to worry about Brysys and Malcolm is limited. I’m royally pissed off at the interruption, and leaving you unsatisfied burns my gut. The werewolf is almost healed. His mate and Bromm will take care of him. And Brysys? Well, you heard Eachann—she stays, she dies. We have to take her. Soren and Maya can figure out what to do with her. Sorry, a stór. Get dressed. As soon as Brysys is up and ready we leave.”

  As Talaith began to dress, the naughty bed called her back, whispered seductively, offering promises of sweet love and delicious intimacy. She winced. Separating from Kailen after their romantic interlude was painful. She was grateful when her phone chimed again.

  Kailen, still frowning, let his phone ring on.

  “New instructions.” She read the screen. “We’re to teleport directly to Hillsborough in North Carolina. Soren texted the location.”

  “Is that right?” Kailen grated out as he slipped on his Henley. “Despite my texts, they have no clear picture of what’s transpired in Scotland. Wait until I get ahold of Soren. We’re not on a casual tour of the Highlands, sipping high tea at four and playing card games.”

  “What are we to do?” she asked, wide-eyed.

  “Soren’s text sounds urgent. We have to split. There’s no other choice. While I teleport to Hillsborough, you take Brysys to New York.”

  “No, we can’t!” She was at his side in two steps, grabbing his forearm as forcefully as her strength allowed. “You said we’re a team. More like insisted. I remember the moment and the long speech. Now you’re going off alone? No. I won’t let you.”

  “Easy, sweetheart.” He cupped her cheek. “I don’t want us apart either, but we don’t have control of the circumstances. It’ll be a short separation. The minute you drop Brysys off in Soren’s lap, teleport to Hillsborough. I’ll scout the area, learn what’s going on, and figure out a strategy while I wait for you.”

  “You won’t take any chances without me.”

  “I won’t. You’re my backup and my right hand.”

  “Promise?”

  She stared into his endless irises. There was no hesitation or the slightest hint of evasion. Nevertheless, an undercurrent of tension hummed through her. She wasn’t entirely at ease; an unexpected event could upset the most careful plans.

  “Okay, let’s get this over with. The sooner I take Brysys, the faster I can catch up with you.”

  As she followed Kailen toward the door, she bid farewell to this wondrous bedroom full of surprises, magic, and love…

  The niggling sensation at the back of her neck returned.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Pinpoint accuracy was the number one rule in teleportation success. If one’s coordinates or physical address were off even by a number, one could end up in a different country. For someone who teleported as frequently as Kailen did, verifying directions should be second nature. But hell no, he hadn’t double-checked Soren’s text. So he got what he deserved. The portal dropped him off on the corner of Corbin and McAdams, two minor streets a block west from Churton, the main artery feeding Hillsborough. And, going by his sense of direction and his phone’s GPS, he was about a mile away from his intended destination, the town’s history museum and the home of Gustaf’s shifter friend. A supernatural creature who, sight unseen, had kindly opened his home while he finished his business in town. The hospitality of supernaturals knew no bounds.

  He was grateful for the early morning darkness. A strange pedestrian with silver-and-aqua hair and slightly pointy ears, ambling all by himself in the middle of the day, could raise a few curious eyebrows. On the other hand, the police presented the same problem in reverse. A lone stranger at night would definitely get their attention.

  Using glamour became the internal debate. It was a tricky device and, for him, a tool of last resort. Deploying the spell hid you from humans, but to every supernatural around, the glimmering camouflage was like a neon arrow pointing at your head. He might as well carry a sign that read: I’m here, daemons. Attack now.

  Kailen walked to Churton and scanned the length of the solitary, hilly road ahead. After a satisfactory second inspection, which revealed no enemies in the vicinity, he draped the spell around himself and walked on.

  Twenty minutes later, he passed the Orange County Historical Museum, a gracious arts-and-crafts-styled structure, with a curious Greco-Roman columned portico, dormers, and an attractive stone facade. Tucked off to one side, an ancient burial site showed scattered marble headstones, relics of a bygone era, their faded engravings impossible to read. From his vantage point, the grounds appeared unmolested and peaceful. Considering he’d come because of suspected daemon and Dubtach activity, Kailen planned to investigate right away.

  As he continued walking, a sign set into the surrounding stone fence
dated Old Town Cemetery’s origins to 1757. Perhaps Hillsborough was small in acreage, but its history was huge. Kailen’s knowledge of American history was as cursory as most supernaturals’. Still, the atmospheric setting elicited visions of Regulators demanding fair taxation, and later, the colonist militia fighting for independence against a tyrant king. If only he had time to explore the museum at length.

  By the time he turned right on West Tryon Street, a faint light rose from the east and two cars flew past him. People were hustling toward work. A man and his Labrador crossed the corner to his left, while a lady and her cute dachshund took the opposite path. They nodded and smiled at each other in a familiarity that came out of routine. Humans were engaged in the dealings of a new day.

  When he reached the middle of the block, he pulled out a skull cap from his side pocket, covered his hair and the tips of his supernatural ears and shed the glamour. His destination was within sight, and even if a human questioned his presence, he’d be forgotten when his host received him. As he prepared to cross the street, Kailen checked the address and tapped a direct text to Talaith. Why give Soren a chance to mess up again? The Titanian was handling several issues at once.

  A series of flowering trees hid the cottage’s front porch. Some varieties he recognized from Soren’s garden, others he’d never seen before. He made it past outstretched branches and knocked on the door.

  Through the years, he’d come across hundreds of shifters. Their lifetimes, when compared to other supernaturals’, were shorter—around three hundred years for smaller species, while bears, wolves, and larger groups lived anywhere from six hundred to a thousand years tops. Wolf scientists blamed the hardship and stress the phasing process inflicted on a shifter’s body for said life span.

  The smiling male who opened the door mystified Kailen in every way. Lanky and around six feet tall, his angular features were…unfamiliar as he couldn’t place the shifter’s origins, attractive, and ageless. The only sign indicating a possible long life was a single silver streak running down his sandy brown hair.

  “Hello. Come in. Kailen, is it? I’ve been expecting you.” He moved aside, and a short foyer opened before Kailen. “Welcome to my home. I’m Vallen. I’ve heard a lot about you from Gustaf. We’ve known each other for many years.”

  Kailen detected a faint accent. If his listening skills were still as perceptive as he hoped, the male was born in the Sarajevo valley or close by.

  “I’m grateful for the hospitality, Vallen. Especially, since you don’t know me. These days, we can’t be too careful. I hope to return the favor one day.”

  “Nonsense. A friend of Gustaf’s is a friend of mine. Although we haven’t seen each other since I moved to America, he’s kept me apprised of the situation. I can’t believe daemons and elves have joined forces against the alliance and the council. Terrible situation. Just terrible. Wait, where are your things?” Vallen glanced around Kailen’s legs, evidently looking for a bag or suitcase.

  “Actually, this is all I have.” He laughed, pointing at his wrinkled clothes. “I’ll have to hit the stores later. I was in Scotland handling some issues when the order to transport here came. Because of the urgency, I didn’t stop by my place.”

  “That explains it.” Vallen studied him. “Looks like we’re close in height and weight. I may have a few things you could use. That is, if you don’t mind borrowing a stranger’s clothing.”

  “Not at all. Thank you.”

  Kailen followed the male, who turned right into a cozy living area. Two well-used navy-blue sofas faced each other on opposite sides of a plain coffee table. The waning flames in the fireplace struggled to keep the room warm. Sheer white curtains dimmed the rising morning light. Despite the absence of wall adornments and personal items, a sense of peace and comfort floated in the room, and he felt at ease. Nevertheless, his attention remained fixed on the shifter. Something about the male fascinated him, and as much as he mulled it over, he couldn’t figure out why. He wanted to ask, but remained silent as he feared insulting his host with his curiosity.

  Vallen moved to the fireplace, added a log, and stoked it in with the rest. Satisfied with the results, he sat on a sofa as he motioned for Kailen to do the same. “You must be tired. Your room is ready. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “I’m fine, thank you. I would like to get some rest. I need a moment to wind down first. The portal always leaves me tense.”

  “Goodness, yes.” Vallen’s upturned eyes crinkled at the corners with humor. “I experience that myself. I’m also sure you have questions… About me.”

  Busted. Kailen actually blushed. “Well…ah, I am a bit curious. I’ve been in the service of Gustaf and Fritiof for many years, and somehow, you and I never crossed paths.”

  “That’s because I’m a Dinaric lynx, extremely shy and skittish by nature. Although, you wouldn’t believe it now, right? Not the way I’m talking and carrying on.” He laughed. “Living in the New World changes a male’s perspective.”

  New World? Interesting choice of words.

  “I beg your pardon, Dinaric lynx?”

  “Yes. My particular lineage started in the Dinaric Alps. Think of Bosnia and Herzegovina, Serbia, Montenegro. Lynx shifters or werelynx sprang to life when Hades lost control of his magic, about the same time when other earthly species developed supernatural conditions. The fate of the Dinaric werelynx appears to be tied to our nonshifter brethren. As the nonshifter population diminished in the Alps, so did we. In fact, my species came close to extinction. Our mates had difficulty procreating, we lost our territory, our crops…”

  “I didn’t know.”

  Vallen smiled. “Not all is lost. In recent years, humans, the main reason for our decline, have taken an interest in the species. They’ve started reintroducing lynx into poorly populated areas in hopes of increasing the numbers. The experiment must be working, because just like that”—he snapped his fingers—“my kind is flourishing again. The issue of species in decline is a sensitive topic for someone like myself. When I learned about the deadly experiments perpetrated against our kind, I was furious. I offered Gustaf my services to help in any way I could.” As Vallen spoke, his inner race slowly surfaced. In a spellbinding effect, the stunning features of a lynx, eyes, nose, facial lines, and even the amazing dappled coat floated just underneath the human facade.

  “Forgive me.” Kailen held up a hand. “I’ve lived long years in this dimension, and I’m forever learning something new. Magic and supernaturals never cease to amaze me.”

  “I gather you haven’t seen many lynxes.”

  “You’re the first.” The need to yawn surged unbidden, and he covered his mouth. “Goodness, I apologize.”

  “You can’t hide it anymore. You’re exhausted. Let me show you to your room.”

  Kailen followed Vallen to a connecting passageway. The werelynx opened a door and smiled.

  “Make yourself at home. The bathroom is directly across. Towels are clean, and so are the sheets on the bed. I have T-shirts, sweats, and field pants in the closet. Use anything that fits. Get some rest. It’s still early. I’ll wake you around noon. When you’re more alert, we can talk about the visitors and strange events I’ve observed in town.”

  Talaith had wasted enough time listening to a never-ending question-and-answer session between Soren, Maya, and Brysys.

  “You say Dubtach released you sometime in late April, after our mission to the lab in Alaska, right?” Soren, comfortably seated on a club chair, one leg crossed over the other and sipping on an iced tea, asked for the umpteenth time.

  Why does he keep asking? Her story hasn’t changed one bit.

  “She did,” Talaith blurted before Brysys answered. The sorceress, with a pretended naïveté Talaith couldn’t stomach, delayed her answers to the point of exasperation.

  Arching an eyebrow, Maya sent her a warning glance. Ignoring the message, Talaith lifted her chin in silent defiance.

  What is wrong with you? Don�
��t you care about Kailen? She wanted to argue, to remind them of his situation.

  His text had arrived hours ago. He was alone in Hillsborough, dealing with who knew what. And when she announced she was teleporting, Soren ordered her to stay put until further notice. She should’ve left. Now she was sitting in New York twiddling her thumbs and close to losing her temper. With a loud huff, she stood and began pacing.

  Maya turned toward Brysys and asked, “But isn’t it true that Tenebrarium is locked tight? No one gets in or out without Astarot’s consent.”

  “Um… Yes…that, that is correct,” Brysys stammered.

  What’s this? Peering at the druid, Talaith stopped pacing.

  A strong push in her consciousness startled her.

  “You caught the hesitation, didn’t you?”

  Maya’s voice came loud and clear in her mind. Talaith, bewildered by the strength of the phoenix’s power, glanced at Soren’s mate. She nodded, then continued the mental communication. “Be patient, please. Give us a few more minutes, and you’ll understand.”

  Irritation faded under renewed interest. Studying the druid’s body language, Talaith returned to her chair. Brysys had pretended nerves and fatigue affected her, but in reality she was evading. Why?

  “Tell us.” Talaith used her sweet, childlike tone. “How did Dubtach bypass the mighty Astarot’s wards?”

  Wide-eyed, Brysys turned to her. Her mouth slackened. “I…”

  “Weren’t you present when he conjured the breakaway charm?” Smiling, Talaith continued the pressure. “Didn’t you and Dubtach appear together on earth? You’re a powerful sorceress. Enchantments and spells are your domain. What did he do? Any information you give us, no matter how small, helps the cause. Think, Brysys, please.”

  The trapped-animal expression signaled her defeat. Brysys’s blue eyes brimmed with unshed tears. “You don’t… You don’t understand.” Her face turned white.