The Dracove (The Prophecy series)

by N. L. Gervasio

  He missed his dogs greatly and wished they hadn’t been killed. When he came back after his death, they acted differently toward him. It was Cianán who’d slaughtered them when they tried to attack him.

  Another reason to hate Cianán—the man took everything he ever loved away from him.

  His mind shifted back to checking on his love.

  He treaded softly through the kitchen. He had to be quiet, even though Siobhán was most likely sleeping.

  Grantlund entered the foyer from the side. His senses told him something was askew. He passed his large painting of The Morrigan and went to smile at her, but something caught his attention from the corner of his eye. He snapped his head around to fully view the horror before him.

  Crying out, he ran over to her, dropped to his knees, and slid on the carpet, the force behind his speed bunching the large rug between them. He stared at her in disbelief, afraid touch her. The wound on her neck looked like a slash, but someone had definitely drained her. He reached out with a trembling hand and touched her arm. Her cold flesh had him withdrawing his hand in the space of a heartbeat. She’d been dead for some time. He forced himself to touch her again, to be sure. Feeling the coldness once again made him cringe and nausea struck.

  He cradled Siobhán’s lifeless body in his arms. Tears ran down his cheeks. He rocked back and forth with her, clutching her head to his chest. Finally, his screams echoed to the heavens, and redoubled when he looked at her pallid face. He brushed her lifeless cheek, touched her still lips with a light grace of his fingers, trying, hoping desperately to bring life back to them. In his torment, he thought he might be able to save her. He cut his wrist and poured the stream of blood into her mouth. But she’d been dead too long.

  Now she would never be with him, even if Cianán’s lies had been true.

  “Who did this to ye, my love?” he whispered. “I swear I’ll hunt ‘em down.”

  He carried her to the parlor and laid her down on the davenport, placing the locket in her hands. It belonged with her and not on the floor. Holding her hands in his, he knelt beside her and sobbed, his face buried just beneath her bosom. His sorrow subsided. He stared at her, the memories flashing through his mind—the time he’d spent with her, danced with her, stolen a kiss from her when no one was looking.

  Rage pushed sorrow out of the way.

  He stood and stormed out of the room, out of his home—a place where she should have been safe.

  He flew to Cianán’s home, and entered with a wrath the gods would envy. He kicked the door open. The few people lingering in the entry quickly moved from his path, save for a tall blonde woman. She blocked his path to Cianán.

  “Let me pass, Shealynn.” She was Cianán’s Amazon guard, and perhaps his lover. She’d been with him a long time, longer than he had. Grantlund tried to step around her, but she moved again.

  “You seem to be upset, Grantlund. What troubles you?”

  “You trouble me, now let me pass,” he growled.

  “I don’t think Cianán wishes to be disturbed by anyone right now. There is the gathering. Mayhap you can see him later.”

  “He’ll see me now!” His yells echoed around them.

  Shealynn stepped away from his anger and let him pass.

  He stormed through the archway into the parlor. All of Cianán’s guests turned to look at him. Some of them mortal, some of them not; only he and his brethren could tell the difference. Sometimes the mortals knew why they were invited, but most of them had no idea. They’d heard his yells, but didn’t see his eyes. He changed them back before he stepped in, knowing there were mortals inside. Though it was a subtle change, they still would have noticed it. Cianán might have killed him for something as small as letting his control slip. He’d seen it happen before.

  Cianán smiled and looked over to him, but his smile quickly faded. He walked over to Grantlund and placed his arm around his shoulders.

  “What troubles ye, my son? I sense somethin’ amiss.” Cianán walked him out of the parlor and into his study.

  “It’s Siobhán.” Anger lingered in Grantlund’s voice.

  “Siobhán? What of her, did she see ye?”

  “She’s dead.”

  “WHAT?” The glass in his hand exploded in his clenched fist.

  Other vampyres gathered near the door behind Shealynn, hoping to hear what their Master was yelling about, or possibly catch a glimpse of one of their own die by the Master’s hand.

  Grantlund stood, glaring at him.

  “How’d this happen?”

  “I don’t know, father. I wasn’ present when it ‘appened. But it had to be one o’ us.”

  “Why d’ye say it?”

  “She was murdered. Her blood drained.”

  “Who’d do such a thing?”

  Grantlund glared at him. “I was hopin’ ye could tell me.” A gasp came from the doorway at the accusation.

  Cianán returned the unforgiving glare. His eyes turned red. “How the feck would I know?”

  With a wave of his hand, the heavy oak door to the study swung shut. The door clipped off a young woman’s fore and middle fingers. Her nose shattered against the solid oak. She screamed. Someone covered her mouth to stifle it.

  “Had to be a vampyre,” Grantlund replied. “I can only assume this not by the cut on her neck, but by the lack o’ blood in her body.”

  “We do not cut to drink,” he replied. “We bite.”

  “Regardless, ‘tis done.”

  Cianán drew in a deep breath and paced his study. “I don’t know what ‘nother clan’d have to gain by killin’ her.” He looked at Grantlund. “Why do ye think they did it?”

  “I don’t care. I want to know who it was so I can kill them.”

  “Grantlund, what have I told ye ‘bout killing others of our kind? It’s not to be done by any of ye, no matter—”

  “If they killed her simply to kill her or upset you, they are not our kind. That rule no longer applies. Siobhán is dead, an’ I want the head of her killer . . . On. A. Platter.”

  Cianán walked over and placed his hand on his shoulder. “This’ll not go unpunished. We’ll find them, I promise ye,” he said softly. “You may have their head, after the trial.” He gave Grantlund a curious look. “Stay here. I’ll return shortly.” He left the study.

  Grantlund paced. He hated waiting, especially when Siobhán’s murderer could be getting away.

  Cianán ended his gathering. Grantlund waited for him to return to the study. It seemed an eternity before he opened the door . . . .

  They’d searched for a long time. The years passed like minutes, but they never found her killer. It didn’t make Grant feel any better knowing the bastard was out there, but he knew he’d someday run into the monster . . . and then he’d have his vengeance.

  * * * * *

  Present day, Ireland

  The rain fell harder. Large drops pounded the weathered limestone markers and earth around him, forming small rivers that rushed past his feet. Grant still knelt beside her, trapped in time, remembering what happened.

  He screamed to the heavens, the pain a fresh wound in his chest.

  He’d yet to face her assassin, and thought about what Cianán said to him in Arizona. It wasn’t my fault. But he started to doubt his claim.

  Grant looked out to the sea. The sun broke through the clouds and the storm would be over soon, just in time for Kylie to arrive. He looked back at the grave.

  Whispering softly, he begged for her blessing, and he closed his eyes. Grant kissed his hand and placed it over her name.

  For a while longer, he stood with his head bowed. The rain continued to strike at him, punishing him. The years of torment and anguish assaulted him with drop after stinging drop. Finally, he turned and walked away. It was time to embrace the beginnings of a new life.

  * * * * *

  Kylie stared out the car window, marveling at the landscape as they drove through the countryside. They’d been driving for some t
ime, but she didn’t mind. The view was amazing. She turned to Grant and watched him with a smile.

  He glanced at her. “What?”

  “Nothing. Just enjoying the view.”

  A large grin appeared across his lips. “The view, huh?”

  “Yes, it certainly is beautiful here.”

  “Would I lie to you?”

  “I hope not.”

  He glanced at her again, his face completely serious. “I would never.”

  “Good because I don’t like liars,” she said. “How much farther is it?”

  “Not much.”

  “Where are we going again?”

  “I have a small place on the coast near Sligo.”

  Not that she had any idea where that was.

  Kylie smiled and turned her attention to the landscape again. She watched the rolling green hills that stretched out on either side of the two-lane road. Before long, they pulled onto a dirt road. After some time, a large structure rose in the distance.

  “Is that a castle?”

  “Aye.”

  “I’ve never seen one before. Can we drive by it? Do you live near it?”

  “No,” he answered, grinning wide. “I live in it.”

  Kylie gaped. “Are you serious?”

  “Aye, ye look surprised.”

  “Well, duh. You didn’t tell me you lived in a castle.”

  Grant smiled. “You never asked until now.”

  “Never asked.” She stared at him. “If I lived in a castle, I’d tell everyone whether or not they asked.”

  He drove through the only entrance in the south end of the curtain wall and pulled up to the main house. The car stopped and Kylie climbed out. Her eyes couldn’t decide where to look first. On the eastern side of the castle stood a pair of massive semi-cylindrical towers, opposite one another from the main entrance. The mainland courtyard contained flowerbeds along each wall with vines creeping up the walls, which were practically green, the vines and moss growing over them for so long.

  “If ye think this is amazin’, wait until you see inside.” Grant took her hand and led her inside.

  Giant windows illuminated the first floor with seats in the embrasures. A large rug led up to the grand stairwell, which split into two smaller staircases that continued opposite one another, turning and stretching to the next floor. Paintings and tapestries hung on the high stone walls. Suits of armor guarded each corner of the floor.

  “I thought you said you had a small place.” She looked around the grand foyer in amazement.

  He put her bags down and smiled. “Well, it’s small in castle terms.”

  She arched a brow.

  “Okay, it’s not so small.”

  “Then you lied to me,” she said, trying to hide the smirk wanting to show itself.

  “You wouldn’t have believed me until ye saw it anyway,” he replied.

  “I don’t know about that. You are—”

  He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

  She laughed. “Okay, you’re probably right.”

  “Ye know I am.”

  Her eyes wandered around the walls. “I feel like I’ve been here befo—”

  He took her hand again. “I want to show ye something’.” He led her through a doorway. Behind it was a long corridor with statues and doors lining both walls.

  “My God, one could get lost in here.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll give ye a grand tour so you have some idea of where you’re at. Right now we’re going back outside. There’s somethin’ I’d like ye to see.”

  They walked hand in hand through the last door. It led down some stairs and to the kitchen, which they walked through and out the door on the other side. He took her down the porch steps and across a private courtyard to the garden.

  It was the most beautiful garden she’d ever seen. There were flowers everywhere; orchids, lilies, annuals, bird of paradise, and so on. Flowers she’d never seen before. Scanning the lovely garden, she came across the passionflower vine creeping up the limestone wall. He led her right to it.

  “You picked the perfect time to visit. These blooms don’t last very long,” he said, smiling. “Not to mention, they usually don’t bloom this time of year. It’s really very strange—”

  “There are so many—”

  “Enough passion to last a thousand lifetimes.” He slipped his arm around her waist, pulled her close, and gently kissed her cheek. “Go ahead and pick one if ye like.”

  She walked over to the vine, found one she liked, and plucked it. She returned to his side and placed it in his hands.

  “Thank you,” he said. “But it’d look better on you.”

  “No, I think you should wear it,” She took it out of his hands and placed it in his hair.

  He laughed and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “How do I look?”

  “Beautiful.”

  “Go raibh maith ‘ad, my lady.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Thank you.”

  “Oh, you’re welcome,” she said, smiling up at him.

  He looked through a large opening in the wall. “See that hole over there? It happened during a battle many years ago.”

  Kylie stared through the giant hole to what lay beyond. The serene sea reflected the sun’s rays. Dark clouds on one side of the gaping hole in the wall; near white-blue sky on the other, with both meeting the glistening waters at the center. Grant gently used his fingers to pull her face back toward him. He stared into her eyes.

  “C’mon, I’ll show ye around inside now,” he said.

  “We aren’t going to get lost in there, are we?”

  “Would that be such a bad thing, to be lost with me?”

  “No, never.”

  * * * * *

  Kylie heard his voice, but wasn’t listening to his words. Her attention was focused on the large painting. The woman in it was nothing like she’d ever seen before. She wondered who she was—

  “Kylie?”

  She spun around at the sound of his voice. He was right in front of her. She nearly lost her balance and let out a surprised squeak.

  He chuckled. “Sorry if I startled you.”

  “You keep doing that to me. Make some noise or something.” She slapped his chest.

  “Ouch! I don’t mean to,” he said, trying hard not to laugh. “What are you doing? I’ve been talkin’ to ye, but you haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”

  “I’m sorry. I just . . . this painting, it’s beautiful.” She turned to look at it again.

  “Aye, I see you’re quite taken with it.”

  “Who is she?”

  “The Morrigan, Celtic Goddess o’ War.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded. “There’re many stories ‘bout her.”

  “I know. My mom used to tell me those stories when I was a child. Is that what she’s supposed to look like?”

  “It’s my version of what she looks like, aye.”

  “Your version? You painted this?”

  He nodded.

  “I didn’t know you were an artist.”

  He slipped his arms around her waist, rested his chin upon her shoulder and whispered in her ear. “There are many things you don’t know about me . . . yet.”

  She turned her head to the side to look at him again. “I guess so,” she said. “When did you paint this?”

  “A long time ago.”

  “Well, how long ago?”

  “A long time ago,” he replied.

  “You sound like a broken record . . . ‘A long time ago’,” she mocked. “Why won’t you tell me?”

  “Doesn’t matter. I painted it. It’s hangin’ on the wall.”

  “Aren’t you quite the little smartass.”

  “An’ your point is?”

  “You’re impossible.” She stepped away from him, turning around.

  “Aye, an’ you love it.” He stepped closer. His breath caressed her cheek.

  “Show me the rest of this
place so I don’t get lost.”

  “As you wish, my lady. This way.” He took her hand, and led her through the rest of the castle, where she got a good glimpse of a portion of his collection he’d mentioned back in Arizona.

  Kylie couldn’t believe some of the items she saw—items that spanned a good six centuries, at least.

  Grant drove to a small town near his castle in the province of Connaught, and the fencing duel he and Kylie just had replayed in his mind. He was completely amazed by her skill. She was the first person in a very long time to truly challenge him. She’d make quite an adversary.

  They strolled down the cobblestone walk toward the market. He watched as Kylie’s eyes wandered, and she finally looked up at him.

  “Why is everyone staring at us?”

  “Don’t know,” he replied. “Maybe it’s because you’re a beautiful woman, an’ they can’t believe you’re with a man like me.”

  She blushed and slapped his arm.

  “Also, I haven’t been home for some time, an’ they don’t know who you are.” He cursed himself for lying to her. Grant knew why they stared.

  It was the same as when he’d arrived the day before and came into town to buy food for her. They knew who he was. Even more so, they knew what he was. He’d heard the rumors and whispers then, and now during their walk. He tried not to let it ruin his mood.

  At one time, the townsfolk loved him. Now they feared him. He didn’t understand why they felt that way; he was always generous to them. For two hundred years, he never once harmed a soul living in the town. He feared Cianán or another had . . . and he wasn’t there to protect them during the last four hundred years. Perhaps they thought that he too would take them as sustenance. It helped him understand their fear.

  “Over here,” he said, pointing out the marketplace.

  They turned and went inside.

  As Kylie picked out some produce, he stepped around the corner to grab something else. When he returned, Kylie stared off into the distance once again. Grant placed his hand on her back and she jumped.