The Darkest Day

by Britt Bury

  “Going to shower now,” she said loudly over her shoulder, snatching up her fresh clothing and heading into the bathroom. The door shut quickly behind her. He eased out of his own pack, rolling his shoulders, thinking of the next step.

  He wanted her to stay here, out of town and away from others, who were probably residing at the local tavern just a block down the street. Keeping the human away from a rickety bar shouldn’t be that difficult. Acquiring food and bringing it here before she got out of the shower was an easy way to keep her in the cottage.

  He snatched the key the hybrid had left and locked the door from the outside. A pizzeria was right across the road, and he recalled it being a popular once. It looked to be still running strong.

  He hurried across the street, thankful this town was so small he could keep eyes on the small cottage while placing the order.

  Drumming his fingers on the counter, waiting for the pizza to bake, he told himself he wasn’t eager to get back to her. Some unexplainable force of nature was at work here. Kelvin couldn’t be in his right mind. He didn’t want Izel Campbell. He could resist and dismiss her as easily as any other female that walked this realm: a concept he needed to start practicing.

  Izel moaned loudly. The warm water felt wonderful streaming down her shoulders and back, unknotting her tight muscles. She sighed and stood, unmoving, for long, long moments, slowly relaxing in the rising steam. She finally popped the top of her travel-sized shampoo bottle, lathered her hands in her hair, never appreciating the scent of strawberries so much.

  Her soapy hands trailed down her body. When her fingertips skimmed over her tight nipples, her mind drifted to the ruggedly handsome Pookah. She massaged her breast, amazed at the pleasure her own touch brought. She thought of Kelvin’s strong hands, his intense eyes, and her hand snaked lower. Grazing past her flat belly, her legs parted of their own accord, and her eyes slid closed at the touch.

  She lightly stroked the small bundle of nerves between her thighs. Little shudders pricked her skin from the inside out and a hot rush of lust coursed through her. She was on the brink of… something. Never had she touched herself in this way before. Up until a couple days ago, she’d never felt desire, never had these kinds of needs. Since her change, she’d been trying to rein in her emotions, or at least get back to reasonable thinking. Despite her efforts, she felt frantic, held captive by the raging feelings that bombarded her.

  Twenty-five years of emotions never felt and experiences never known had come crashing into her, and she was caught riding out the aftershocks. Part of her was uneasy about all this internal chaos. However, the more dominant part of her thinking was excited to finally live… to feel. All creatures, especially humans, needed emotions, and she’d fight to the death to keep hers. But in this moment, with fingers on her sex and hot water on her breasts, she was eager to explore the feeling process.

  The door boomed open and Izel screeched, scrambling to cover her private parts.

  “You’ve been in there nearly a—” Kelvin cut off his own words. Through the transparent shower curtain, she saw him raise his head, looking as though he was sniffing the humid air.

  “Get out!” she yelled. She had too many ample curves to hide with her small hands.

  “You’ve been in here an hour,” he said, finishing his previous statement, although his tone was rougher than it had been before. “I’d like some water there, too, princess.” Without another word, he left, slamming the door shut.

  She looked at the ceiling and groaned. Shutting off the water and reaching for a towel, her skin tightened around the movements and her belly knotted painfully. Another failed attempt at gratification. If she wasn’t sure before, she definitely knew now that she needed some space. Needed a chance to regain perspective. Between her grandfather’s disappearance, the Pookah’s attentions, and still no real answers in sight, a touch of freedom seemed just the thing to set her mind right.

  There’s a bar right down the road and I’m going in for a drink.

  Chapter 8

  Kelvin had nearly come undone at the sight of Izel in the shower. Being immortal, one of his many strengths was his eyesight. And that poor excuse for a shower curtain left little to the imagination.

  He’d originally burst through the door because he was worried her scent was returning. When he’d returned from getting the pizza, he could distinctly scent Izel. Although it wasn’t her human scent, it was just as intoxicating.

  It wasn’t until he threw open the bathroom door, inhaling the dewy mist, that he knew what such a scent was… her arousal. It was like walking into pure bliss. Then, to see her delicate fingers at her sex? It took all the willpower he had to not rip down the curtain and charge for her.

  The thought of pressing her wet body against the tile and driving into her. Wrapping her legs around his waist as he fucked her hard. Her nails in my back and moans in my ear. Kelvin shook his head and cursed his body for once again responding so easily to her. He had just spent the last half hour in that damn pizza parlor, focusing on not responding to her.

  What was he going to do? He’d never felt connected to a female like this before. It was almost eerie, because he could perceive her like he had a sixth sense. He scented her above all others, and his whole body was screaming to take her. To make her surrender to him and only him.

  Worse than that, the thought—let alone the sight—of her hurt or in danger had his rage on a constant upswing. She was so fragile. So innocent.

  Goddamn it! He needed to get hold of himself. “Campbell” and “innocent” didn’t go together. Kelvin had warred against the Fionns for hundreds of years. They had killed his loved ones, weakened his clan. He hated them. They were anything but innocent. And Izel was one of them.

  He raked a hand through his hair. His mind was little better than a scrambled mess. Not to mention that he was both exhausted and hard up. It’d been months since he’d bedded a female. Between the darkness, the approaching Solstice, and the sleepless nights, it was little wonder he was confused. Of course he was more susceptible to his lust for a woman. That was the reason he was reacting the way he was. Her scent, beauty, and the night were a heady combination, along with all the other factors. Yes, that was definitely the reason he was responding to her the way he was. And he needed to start believing in those reasons. For the alternative—Izel Campbell, the last known mortal and his most hated enemy—his fated female? No, not an option. She’s nothing more than a means to an end.

  His thoughts were interrupted when Izel sauntered into the living room, wearing the shortest skirt and the highest heels he’d ever seen. Or maybe he’d just never seen such things on the right woman before.

  Her hair was loose, drying into thick curls that wound down her back. Her green eyes were bright, and he could barely see the exhaustion behind them. Lass was fighting bedtime, eh? Gaze roaming over his body before lifting to meet his stare, she smiled, and he sucked in a breath at the lovely sight.

  Christ help me.

  “I pay you for your magic and foresight, no’ for vague clichés and riddles,” Ian growled, stomping into the large dining hall. Ryo sat at one end of the massive table, glass in one hand, twirling a lock of blond hair in the other.

  “Is that…?” Ian squinted as he approached her. “That’s my Dalmore Trinitas whiskey!”

  Ryo nodded and took a long swallow. “Yeah, it is. Sit down, Pookah; we need to chat.”

  “That’s why I came here.”

  Judging by the look on Ryo’s face she already knew that. Knew Ian had sought her out for answers and had been expecting him.

  “This is goooood,” she sighed, looking at the amber liquid.

  “Aye.” Ian poured himself a glass. Of course she had brought two. “This whiskey should be better than good. It’s five times your age, witchling.”

  She finished her drink in one gulp.

  “Look, you need to understand that just because I’m an all-knowing, super-amazing witch doesn’t mean I can ju
st babble on and on about things.” Her blue eyes bore into his. “Sometimes ‘knowing’ causes more harm than good.”

  “I doubt that.” Ian sat back in his chair, stealing a drink of whiskey. When he’d first hired the witch, he had been certain she was half mad. Every day it became clearer that this was the case. Being able to prevent a negative outcome was not only useful but allowed Ian to make better decisions for all involved.

  “And what if the decisions you make unravel not only the past, but the future as we know it?”

  He glared at Ryo. “You never told me you could read minds.”

  “I can’t… didn’t I say I was all-knowing?” She smiled, then sighed when his expression didn’t match her own. “Not everything is within one’s power, Ian. Even my hands get tied and I must simply allow fate to play out as it should.”

  Again, he doubted that. She was being difficult and Ian didn’t have time for games.

  Ryo held up her palms. “Calm down.”

  I didn’t say anything!

  “Are you ready to listen to me now, or do you want to continue throwing a tantrum in that stubborn skull of yours?”

  Ian took a deep breath and grappled for control. Taking another slow swallow of whiskey, he let the liquor soothe his throat all the way to his gut before he motioned for Ryo to continue.

  “Many vows over the last hundred centuries have been made. Problem is, when a magical being makes a vow, sometimes they pack a little more punch than your typical threat.”

  Ian nodded. Witches, warlocks, even Mystic Fionns could weave their magic and wreak havoc on others. “Euan Campbell,” he stated as if the answer had just physically hit him in the face. Although currently missing, Euan was easily the most powerful Mystic in the realm.

  “What did he do?” Ian growled.

  Ryo flipped her hair over one shoulder. “It’s not what he did, it’s what he set in motion.” She shook her head. “Males and their vengeance.”

  Ian knew more than enough about vengeance. His hatred for the Campbell Fionns alone fueled the majority of his.

  “When one gets so consumed by hate, one may accidentally, oh, I don’t know, curse their own flesh and blood.”

  Ian frowned. “Euan cursed his kin?”

  “Sort of… when Kelvin killed James Campbell, Euan vowed that he would one day lose—” She snapped her fingers. “Ironically this curse is what will save Kelvin’s life.”

  “One day lose what?”

  “Umm… that part’s a little fuzzy.”

  “Great. You mean to tell me that sod Euan placed a death curse on my brother, one you don’t have all the details on, and I’m ta no’ worry about this?”

  “Exactly! You see, Euan’s magic is some heady shizz-nit. This little hex of his held up over the last quarter century, meaning nothing and no one can stop it, so why worry?”

  “I can’t believe you expect me to sit by and—”

  “This is one of those moments where you need to just trust what I’m saying, and let the next several days play out as they should.”

  Ian rolled his eyes.

  “You shouldn’t be so focused on Euan’s curse, but instead worry about whom he sired.”

  “You mean his son James?”

  “Yes. James Campbell was born a powerful male Fionn just like his father, Euan, and the father before him.”

  “Aye. I know only males are bred to Campbells. Which is why the McCall turning up female makes no sense.”

  “God, you men!” Ryo rolled her eyes. “The McCall is a term to describe what?”

  “Son of the Battle Chief.”

  “No!”

  Ian frowned. “Aye!” Obviously this witch needed to brush up on her Scottish history, because this was how it always had been for Pookahs and Fionns alike. One of the only things they had in common with those sods. Ian would produce a male heir, future chief to the Kerr clan, and Kelvin would produce the Kerr McCall, son of the Battle Chief. And so on and so forth. Unless unexpected death of several key hierarchies died at once, this was how it was.

  “The McCall title was given to describe one with a unique heart and great power. It was you all who thought the only powerful creature must be male.”

  “So this mortal female is said to have a unique heart and great power?”

  “Yep! Just like all the other McCalls.”

  “James was the McCall, and he was no’ powerful, else he’d still be living.”

  Ryo tsked. Ian was getting seriously annoyed. “Look at you. Measuring success by brute strength.”

  Was there some other measurement tool Ian was not aware of? If so, it must calculate only pussies, because what else is valuable beyond power and vitality?

  Ryo smiled at him. Not a happy, friendly sort of look, but rather an eerie, sinister gleam that screamed, I know something you don’t know…

  “James fought and died for something beyond himself.” Ryo told him.

  “His heir.” Yes, Ian knew. When word spread that the Fionn McCall had been born, and with her a prophecy that worried even the devil himself, hell rained down on the Campbell clan. Ian was not without a heart. Could understand fighting and sacrificing yourself for your young, but now James wasn’t here to see to the safety of his family or clan. In the end, he had made the wrong choice. A choice Ian would never have made. His clan came first. Always. And they needed him to thrive.

  “After James’s death, Euan fled with the girl and cloaked her with his magic. And now?”

  “Now the spell has run its course. Euan is on a plane where he cannot see to Izel and protect her as he has all these years.”

  “Yes. And she must remain protected.”

  “I trust Kelvin and I know he will see to her survival. He’s capable and travels smartly. Unlikely he’ll take the girl anywhere she can be harmed. They’re probably weaving through the countryside as we speak.”

  Ryo’s eyes went vacant for a moment. “Yes. I’m sure he is.” She grinned. “And yes, he will see to her survival… for now.”

  Ian could think of no stronger immortal than his brother.

  “Not because of his strength,” Ryo said, as if reading Ian’s thoughts again.

  Christ, if she was about to say that Kelvin, the Razorback who had killed thousands of immortals and kept a woman no longer than a single eve, had a “unique heart,” Ian wouldn’t be able to keep himself from laughing. Not that his brother was a bad man; he just wasn’t tender, so to speak.

  “No, no, no, I’m not talking about Kelvin. Do you really think Euan would have left the welfare of his only heir, his precious little granddaughter, to some random immortal?” Ryo asked sarcastically.

  “You’re talking of a betrothal?”

  “Very good, Pookah!”

  “To who?”

  “Why, none other than the meanest, strongest, fiercest Fionn of all the realm!” She gave an exaggerated laugh as if a villain in a cartoon.

  Mad as a hatter, this one. Still, Ian could guess who she was referring to.

  “Andrew Thompson,” he stated in a bored tone.

  Her eyes gleamed. “The one and only. Battle Chief of the Campbell clan, Andrew is said to be as ruthless as he is gorgeous.”

  “I get it, Ryo.” Clearly the witch enjoyed toying with him and bloating his enemy’s appeal just to goad him.

  “You sure? Because I can go on. I’m president of the Andrew Thompson Is a Hottie Fan Club, you know.”

  Ian scowled. Surely she was kidding.

  “So the human is set to wed Thompson,” Ian said aloud. This made sense. Although the female was the Campbell clan heir by right, binding her to a male of stature and power was a smart move on Euan’s part. However, this also meant Thompson was most likely privy to the girl’s change and surely on her trail.

  Kelvin could handle him. If Thompson did catch Kel and the mortal, Ian had full faith in his brother’s warring skills. This little betrothal detail was nothing more than a nuisance.

  “Ryo.” Ian leaned fo
rward, setting the glass on the table. “Tell me of this prophecy. What these powers are.”

  “As you know, the Court of Contention takes place every four hundred years. It is the four days when all four realms open up. Beings from Hell, Heaven, Earth, and the Cypher pass freely. It is a brutal, warring four days to endure. We still have several months before the Contention begins. But many have been preparing for centuries.”

  Ian knew this all too well. He had lived and fought through three Contentions. To say they were brutal was an understatement. The Hell realm was the worst to fight. They tried at every opportunity to take over not just the Earth realm, but the Heavenly one as well.

  Tell me something I don’t know, witchling.

  She sighed. “What you don’t know is that the underworld is upping their game this time. They’re picking off souls to take to Hell and harvest their powers. And if Izel’s powers get into the wrong hands…”

  “What are these powers, though? She’s mortal.”

  “Izel is human, but she carries the three breeds of Fionn in her.”

  Ian shuddered at the thought. If he carried the instincts of all three breeds of Pookah within him, he’d go insane. But Fionns had traits, not instincts—traits like persuasion, magic, and strength. To harbor all three?

  “If this were true, it still doesn’t make a difference. She’s a frail human.”

  “Ah.” Ryo held up her finger. “That’s where mommy dearest comes in.”

  Ian scowled.

  “Izel’s mother is none other than Cualli de Quetzal.”

  Ian’s eyes went wide. The Aztec queen and last-known full-blooded human to have lived.

  Ryo continued. “Though the queen wasn’t immortal, she carried the blood of strong magical ancestors that make my whole coven look like a nuclear waste plant. Unfortunately for the queen, her power didn’t rise in enough time to help her, but she did pass it on to her daughter.”

  “You don’t mean…?”