The Darkest Day

by Britt Bury

  “She’s part Aztec,” she informed him. “Her mama was a pretty big deal, but I’d be more worried about the curse surrounding the human, not the prophecy.”

  Judging by Ian’s perplexed expression, he was lost. So typical for a boar. She rolled her eyes and continued. “She’s cu-rr-ss-ed.”

  “I heard ya the first time, witch. What the bloody hell kind of curse does this human harbor?”

  “Ah, the bad kind.” She wished she could tell Ian more. Unfortunately, this was Kelvin’s problem. And if Ryo dished too many details, she’d alter not only the human’s course of fate, but Kelvin’s as well. “Just tell Kelvin to come see me,” she glanced at the ceiling. “You know what, never mind. He’ll seek me out in a few weeks all on his own.”

  Chapter 3

  Izel felt a presence. A foreign weight surrounded her and a fiery, masculine scent caused the sides of her mouth to turn upward. She could feel his heat engulf her and she loved it.

  Mine…

  Her eyes shot open. It was him. The stranger. Hovering over her body. His face was in the crook of her neck, heavy breaths hot on her skin.

  “What the hell!” she cried, bouncing into a sitting position, clutching the sheet to her chest. He jumped off the bed and stood, looking almost as startled as she was, but he recovered quickly, his glare boring down on her so strong she felt the sting of his gaze on her skin.

  She was panting and confused to her core. She wanted to scream at this man who apparently had never heard of personal space and thought it was appropriate to wake her with his mouth.

  “Where is my shirt? And why—”

  “You ripped it off when you came at me like a sodding maniac.”

  Izel froze. Her eyes widened. The timbre of his voice accompanied by his sheer size was overwhelming. He was so tall that she had to crank her neck up to meet his eye line. She clutched the sheet against her—larger?—breasts. “I-I did no such thing. I… you,” She began to stutter, trying to recall her last memory before passing out. Her stomach twisted in fear, remembering this man shoving his sword at her throat.

  The air in her lungs hurt as she tried to breathe. This stranger had attempted to kill her. Kill her! For whatever reason, he had postponed his intent, but she wouldn’t cower. Not this time. If he was coming for her, she’d sure as hell put up a fight.

  Izel felt like a fire had been lit inside her. Adrenaline raced through her veins. Her blood pumped hotly, her skin warming. Her body was buzzing, vibrating with life. It was as if her soul had finally awakened after a twenty-five-year slumber.

  He hovered near. His ice-blue eyes smoldered with intent. She watched the muscles in his chest flex and release, as if breathing was laborious. Just the sight of his ridged torso, tensing beneath his shirt, stirred her arousal.

  Arousal?

  Izel took deep breaths, comprehension hitting her like a Mack truck. She was feeling. Feeling! Although the emotions were confusing, she happily welcomed them. Finally, she was alive.

  She wanted to cry, to scream. She wanted to do it all. She had almost died a pitiful, poor excuse for a Poet Fionn. Now emotions coursed through her, pricking her skin and searing her belly. And it stung so good.

  She looked at the handsome male before her. Under different circumstances, she might take a second to appreciate his strong body, dark hair, and stunning eyes. But these weren’t different circumstances.

  She couldn’t afford to be distracted, even if this man was ungodly handsome and every cell in her newly ignited body responded to him. No! She’d figure out what was happening to herself later; for now, she needed to fight.

  Izel’s gaze left the gorgeous Scot long enough to find the small dagger lying on the night table next to her. She released the sheet from her chest. Did the stranger just smile? Straining across the bed, she leaped, grabbing the knife.

  “Stay away from me!” she threatened with more conviction than she’d ever used before.

  The man chuckled with amusement and inched closer, far from disconcerted by the weapon she held. “That’s no’ gonna happen, little human. Why don’t you be a good lass and drop the wee knife there, eh?”

  Did he just call me a human? She held the knife out farther, finding the skin of her forearm a lovely olive color, not the typical pasty pale pigment she knew.

  Izel’s heart pounded, her breaths growing erratic as the waves of emotions kept hitting her. Oh, frick, frick, frick! She could not possibly want to tear off his clothes, throw him to the ground, and ride him until she could no longer walk. What the hell was wrong with her?

  Her sex grew wet, body helpless against the rushing desires. Another wave hit. The emotions of fear and survival kicked in. The man took another step forward.

  “I mean it, beast! Get back!” Her hands trembled as she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out. These rapid changes were causing physical pain.

  The blood in her veins ran cold, then hot. Tiny white dots winked in her vision. Pressing the back of her free hand against her mouth, she gulped hard, swallowing back the bile rising in her throat.

  Taking a deep breath and lifting her chin, she looked him in the eye. Finally, she had a life worth living, and by God, she would.

  The stranger seemed insulted by her remark. He took another deliberate step toward her. She gripped the dagger in her sweaty palm, knuckles white on the hilt. Every emotion was coming at her full force with no explanation in sight.

  “Beast?” he scoffed. “If your jabbing skills are anything like your intellect about my species, then I’m right to no’ fear you or your weapon.”

  What an asshole. Izel wanted to challenge him—show him he was wrong and she was strong and knew exactly what she was doing. The truth was, she didn’t know much about her own kind, let alone others.

  “Who are the girls in your pack?” Did she just hear him right?

  “Are you referring to the photo in my bag? You went through my things!”

  He gave a guiltless shrug of his shoulders. “Who are they? You no’ seem so happy with them.”

  “They are my friends back home. My roommates.”

  “Friends?” he tilted his head. “You must have been a pretty poor friend if you were unable ta feel emotion and reciprocate any kind o’ joy or loss.”

  It felt like a thousand wasps stung her. Biting the inside of her cheek, she forced her head to stay high.

  To her, the world was simple: Fionns, good. Vampires, bad. Humans, extinct. Everything else was unknown. Of course there were several species, with various subcategories of lineage. Although, for the most part, Izel never had to worry about these things.

  Her only two friends, whom she currently lived with, she’d known since birth. Lorna and Ava MacAvoy were Fionns, which was about the only thing the sisters had in common.

  “I did no’ see a photo of a man in there. Can I assume—?”

  “That is none of your business.”

  “Aye, so no man.” His faced stretched into a victorious grin as his eyes roamed over her body.

  Is he staring at my breasts? Izel remembered she was shirtless. He slid closer, now only inches away from her outstretched arm.

  “Come now, female, drop the blade,” he said in an amused undertone.

  “Never!” she yelled back, trying not to think about his sexy smirk. She was losing her mind. What sane person was attracted to a killer? A dead sane person, that’s who. Okay, so he hadn’t killed her and he definitely could have. Who knows how long she’d lain unconscious, a total sitting duck. But he hadn’t hurt her.

  Still, she couldn’t take any chances.

  He stepped closer, allowing the tip of the blade to touch his chest. “You gonna stab me then?” he mocked, rather dared, her. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. I don’t think you have it in ya, lass.”

  “If it means my life, I will not hesitate to plunge this into your heart.” This new sense of self was rather enjoyable.

  His bright blue eyes bore into hers, staring at her face with a loo
k of… hunger? He was beautiful. Deadly. She marveled at his large hands, desperately wanting them on her skin. She fought the urge, yet again, to throw herself at him.

  “You donna wanna stab me, lass.” He tilted his head. “In fact, I think you wanna do something else entirely to me.” His voice was laced with such potent seduction it made her knees weak.

  Stupid knees.

  Eyes locking on hers, he closed in, using his large body to surround her. Izel swallowed hard, trying to ignore the emptiness in her stomach as it clenched with need. “That’s where you’re wrong. I do want to stab you.”

  Liar.

  He smirked at her words but didn’t move. “Death blow to the heart, eh? And what will you take my head with, then?”

  The killing of an immortal required a “death blow” and decapitation, which was why many immortals not only carried guns, but heavy blades and swords as well. When she was young, Izel had once asked her grandfather, Why can’t you just take their heads?

  Because, child, you must first kill the last human essence they hold, hence the death blow. In a world of immortals—humanity and mortality extinguished, replaced by superior genes and survival skills—the theory is that we all still have humanity, somewhere buried deep.

  “Without my head, lass,” the Scot continued, “I’d simply heal and be on your arse in no time.”

  Izel choked down the lump in her throat. “I’d… I could outrun you—”

  The man threw his head back and roared with laughter.

  “I can run fast.” She hated feeling stupid. Fionns were renowned scholars. Most had to practice and study to harness and strengthen their abilities. Not everyone could be blessed like the MacAvoy sisters. Lorna, a Poet Fionn, had only to whisper and her lips instantly reddened with persuasive power. Ava was such a strong Mystic that the magic in her blood would actually make her skin glow. Izel, however, had logged countless hours rehearsing persuasive phrases, but unfortunately she still had not come into her power.

  “Ah, lass, you give me a good laugh, but come now, enough games. Put the knife down and let’s get goin’. We have a long journey ahead of us.”

  We? Us? Suddenly this guy wanted to be road-trip buddies? Not in a million years! “Now it’s my turn to laugh, because you must be off your meds if you think I’m going anywhere with you, beast!”

  In a flash, he gripped her wrist and spun her around, clutching her middle. Izel went from pointing a dagger at him to having her back flush against his chest and the blade at her collar.

  “Do no’ call me a beast again.” His lips skimmed her earlobe, and the stubble on his chin tickled her sensitive skin. Shivers ran down her spine. Although she still clutched the dagger, his massive hand was wrapped around her wrist, preventing her from striking. His other hand snaked up her stomach. She felt the rough calluses of his palm sweep across the smooth flesh of her belly.

  His hand continued its slow slide up her torso, finally ending at the base of her neck. He hooked her throat in his palm. She trembled in—fear? anticipation? desire? She didn’t know.

  Fighting against the odd attraction, she clung to her dignity and stifled a small groan before speaking. “Look, I’m not going anywhere with you.” She shook her shoulders slightly, emphasizing her protest.

  Seriously, what was wrong with her, or should she say right? Not long ago she had cowered in a corner and accepted her coming death. Now, locked in this guy’s grip, she was fighting, passionate, determined. This sudden sense of feeling was drugging.

  She closed her eyes, reveling in the warmth of his large body against hers. She loved it! Wait… hated. She hated it. Ugh! She wanted to scream with frustration. But before she could, the man buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply. She barely made out his mumbles.

  “A ghra mo chroi…”

  My heart? Damn, she should have paid better attention in her World Languages class. Obviously speaking Gaelic, he murmured to her in a way a lover might. A shiver rolled over her.

  “Listen carefully to me, female, because I will tell you this only once.” His grip on her wrist tightened. “You will not part from me.” He tilted his head, his minty breath wafting over her skin. “I am ta take you ta the Kerr castle. If you try ta flee, I will catch you, and believe me, lass,” his sharp teeth nipped at her ear, “you will no’ like the consequence.”

  Goose bumps broke out over her skin. She did believe him. She was terrified and turned on all at the same time. Her nipples were so hard they bordered on painful. Yes, she wouldn’t stand by and simply accept a sword at her throat, but she wasn’t stupid. He was deadly. And it would be unwise to anger a wild animal.

  Still, animal or not, perhaps this male could prove useful. He obviously had knowledge about her people, so maybe he could lead her to them, or at least provide her with some answers about her grandfather.

  She nodded her head in agreement and attempted to ease away from him. He allowed her space, sliding his rough palm from her neck, down the curve of her breasts, and over her stomach. Izel slowly pulled away and instantly shivered from the lack of his heat. She crossed her arms over her chest, attempting to hide her lack of clothing.

  Dagger still in hand, she stepped toward her pack, taking her eyes from him only long enough to fish out a T-shirt and slip it on. Apprehension washed over her again. The waves of emotion were unyielding, and Izel had no idea how to handle them.

  She was semi-confident with her words. Knew what information was necessary and, more importantly, how to retrieve it. Obtaining intel and extracting vows was an art. She would just have to ride these waves of random emotions out and rely on her speech. If she was to trek through Scotland with this barbarian, she needed some insurance.

  “Are you going to hurt me?” she asked plainly.

  He met her eyes. “No.”

  Could she honestly believe him? “On your honor?”

  “Aye. On my honor, I will no’ hurt you.”

  “Then why did you try to kill me?”

  “Circumstances were different then.”

  “Really?” Izel raised her eyebrows. “And what has drastically changed since then?”

  The man looked at her as if the answer was obvious. “You, lass. You have changed.” He motioned to a small hanging mirror near the door. She gave him a disbelieving look. Hesitantly, she faced it.

  “Oh. My. God,” she whispered, staring at her new reflection. Long, thick hair so dark red it looked like scorched chocolate laced with raspberries. Her normally bland skin was now a lovely olive color, and her eyes were the brightest green she’d ever seen. Her whole life she had wished to be beautiful, and now she was beyond.

  She must be dreaming. What could have caused her entire being to change? It wasn’t just her looks or her body that was exponentially different. It was her whole self. She felt truly awake for the first time. Like a gigantic invisible magnet was pulling her toward the brute who previously tried to slice her open. She tore her stare away from the mirror and faced the Scot.

  “What has happened to me?” Her hands rose of their own accord to touch the newly defined plains of her face.

  He ran a palm over the back of his neck and shook his head. “I donna know for sure, but you appear to be human.”

  Izel swayed on her feet, disbelieving his words. Anxious tremors boiled just under her skin. Finding a being that had fifty percent mortal blood was rare, but a full human? Impossible.

  “How?”

  “You changed in front o’ my eyes. We think the Mystic had some kinda spell on you—”

  “The Mystic, meaning my grandfather?”

  “Aye.”

  A light sweat broke over her brow. She was going to be sick. Hunching over, she folded her lips together and heaved.

  A hot palm rested on her back. Surprised by the touch, she scurried back, looking up at the towering man before her. He was frowning at his hand, as if it had forsaken him by reaching out to comfort her.

  This whole time Izel had been fighting t
his male for her life, when it turned out she was going to die much sooner than she’d ever thought. Humans lived, what, maybe eighty years? Oh God, how could this be? She had no information about her parents. Hell, she didn’t even know where her grandfather was!

  All the answers he’d never given her had just got thrown into her mortal face. If she had in fact been born human, undoubtedly Euan would have disguised her with magic. She trusted her grandfather, knew her health and safety were his main concerns. But why not tell her? Maybe that was why he asked her to meet him here, in the middle of the Scottish highlands.

  “You said my grandfather was dead.” Izel’s breath hitched and her eyes watered. She fought the urge to wretch again.

  The Scot’s expression was hard. Inscrutable. “I have it on good authority that he’s gone ta the Cypher.”

  A tear danced along Izel’s lower lashes. The Cypher was a realm far worse than Hell, the only realm that truly frightened immortals. “How do you know this?”

  He adjusted his shoulders. Did her tears make him uncomfortable?

  “Ryo the Righteous,” he said. “She’s our witch.” His brows suddenly rose as if an idea just occurred. “Come with me, and you can speak with her yourself. Gain your own answers.”

  Izel absently nodded while debating the offer. Answers. The one thing she wanted desperately. Could she really put faith in this man to make good on his promise? There had to be more to it. No creature ever helped another without motive.

  Another wave of emotion hit. This time, it was tenacity. A boiling confidence burned behind her eyes. She narrowed her glare on the Scot.

  “Who are you and what do you want from me?” Threading her arms together, she felt a rush of boldness flow through her. She was a smart girl, and if given enough time to think logically, she could use people and situations to her advantage. It hadn’t taken her long to figure out this man wouldn’t, rather couldn’t, hurt her. She knew her uniqueness was a lifesaving quality. Who and what she was seemed to be of great importance.

  “I am Kelvin Kerr, Battle Chief and next in line of the Kerr clan,” he said, visibly tense, as if anticipating a negative reaction from her. When Izel nodded with indifference and probed him to continue, his eyes widened. “You have no idea who I am or what my clan is?”