She opened her mouth to argue just as the pilot buzzed through the intercom. “We begin our descent in five minutes, Prince Kayrs.”
“Well. I guess we’ll table this discussion. For now.” Conn sighed, rolling from the bed. “Get dressed, Moira. We need to fetch your cousin before going home.”
Sliding to her feet, Moira reached for her bra. Something in his tone provided warning. “Home is Ireland, right?”
He yanked up his jeans. “No. Home is now the west coast of the States. Period.”
Great. Let the next battle begin.
Chapter 10
Sometimes being the heir apparent to the Kurjan throne became so boring he wanted to cut his own head off. Kalin lounged in Franco’s office, his gaze on the depths of the sea outside the wide expanse of windows. How far underground were they, anyway? A silvery fish swam by every few moments, capturing hidden light to find the way. Quiet and mysterious, the fish kept returning, as if seeking dinner. Silly creature—unaware of the predator watching him.
The Kurjan leader slammed down the phone. “Damn it.” Franco swept a broad hand across his desk, knocking papers to dot the ancient hand-knotted Persian rug. “The witch got away. Again.” Throwing his reddish hair over his shoulder, he gulped air, his eyes a wild purple, his skin whiter than death. “One of the Kayrs men showed up ... my source couldn’t tell which one.” He paced over to lean against the window.
“My guess is Connlan. Considering the witch is his mate.” Kalin stretched out long legs. He was only fifteen, but he understood the call of a woman. A different one called to him every other week or so. Of course, they all died.
“More than likely.” The Kurjan ruler sat in his desk chair, regaining control. “Well. I promised my brother a witch to experiment on, and I want that one. Taking a Kayrs mate would cement our place. Even now allies are fleeing from the Realm.”
Kalin scratched his head. “That witch is a fighter. She’s the Seventh.” He appreciated spirit in a woman. Made it more exciting to break her. “The demons must want her even more than we do.”
“Yes. But she’ll sense them coming. They can’t block their brain waves from witches like we can. We should be able to get to her.”
“No.” Why fixate on that witch? There are many to choose from. Kalin brushed invisible lint off his jeans. “She’s with Kayrs now. That means underground and impossible to reach.”
“Not if she’s an enforcer.” Franco flipped open a file on his desk. “I wanted her for several reasons, but you’re correct, any witch will do—male or female. It’s time for more animal testing on the virus.” Yellow teeth flashed in a parody of a grin. “In addition, your uncle Erik has a line on a weakness in the witches.”
Erik and Franco were actually his second cousins, but the “uncle” designation just made things easier, and Kalin liked things easy. “What kind of weakness?”
“I don’t know yet.” Franco shrugged. “But my brother was very excited about it. You know how he gets with new discoveries. Science is everything to him.”
“I’d rather be a warrior.” Kalin snorted. “It’s odd we haven’t captured one witch to test the virus on.”
Franco hissed. “They’re all on guard. Frankly, we’ve been concentrating on shifters so we could make a werewolf fighting class, and vampire mates ... well ... to fuck with them.”
“Yes. I’m glad you enjoy the game. Any plans to ally with the demons or rogue shifter clans to take down the Kayrs family?” Any alliance would need to be temporary. The Kurjans would eventually rule the entire world.
“No.” Franco clasped his hands behind his back. “The demons can’t be trusted and the shifters are merely front-line soldiers. Just animals. We don’t need any of them.” He stretched his neck, the vertebrae popping. “We may sit back and let the demons weaken the Realm even further before making our move—once we get the werewolf class under some control.”
“I think I’m feeling ready to head out on a raid or two.” Capturing a shifter for the experiments might be a fun Saturday night. Before he moved on to vampires and demons. “Getting my hands on a witch might prove exciting as well.”
The ruler studied him. “All right. Next time we go on a shifter roundup, you’re in. But I’d stay away from witches until you’ve completed more training. They have weapons you can’t foresee.”
The warning heightened Kalin’s curiosity to find a witch and play. He stretched to his feet, checking his pocket before zipping his leather jacket. His wallet felt light. He’d need to hit the safe on the way out. “Night has finally fallen—I’m heading out for a bit.”
“No.” Franco straightened his posture. “The plane is down for maintenance and you can’t play in my backyard. I like ruling from here ... nothing can make the locals suspicious. I believe I’ve been more than clear on this subject.”
“You have.” Kalin only hunted women away from home. Though why Franco liked the cliffs of Baffin Island in Canada bewildered him. The area screamed remote and chilly. “But I need to get out. Don’t worry, I won’t hunt tonight.” Probably.
“Fine.” Franco sighed. “If you hunt, the plane privileges will disappear.”
“Whatever.” Kalin flashed sharp canines. So might the ruler disappear. He hustled from the office, through the underground fortress, taking the elevator to his new F-10 extended cab waiting on the wet road. No one bothered him on the way.
Thunder rolled overhead as he drove into the small town and parked by the gas station. He pulled a baseball cap from the seat beside him and put it on his head. Colored contacts weren’t necessary for his odd green eyes, though he should’ve darkened his skin some. He would have to stick to places with little light.
He exited the car and tugged the ball cap low, shadowing his face.
The sidewalks were deserted. Clouds opened up, throwing rain against his leather jacket. He hustled down the street, shoving his way into the movie theater. His only intent had been to view a new comedy, but he liked to keep the old man guessing.
He paid for his ticket with his eyes down, grabbing a soda on the way in. The previews had started in the mostly empty room. A couple necked in the front row, the guy’s hand under the blonde’s shirt ... probably thinking no one could see them in the dark. Kalin turned to find a seat, then gave a muffled “oomph” as an elbow collided with his gut. Popcorn spilled.
Roses. The scent of fresh roses wafted up before pretty blue eyes squinted through the darkness.
A human teenager.
“Sorry. Can’t see.” She reached out, grabbing his arm with her free hand. “Are you all right?” The soft tone of her voice slid over his skin like lotion.
She barely came to his shoulder. How the heck did she think she’d hurt him? “Yes. Um. Are you all right?”
“Yes.” She glanced around, stumbling again. “But I can’t see anything.”
“I can.” His hand moved of its own volition, grasping hers. Small and fragile in his, her skin was softer than butter. He tugged her to the seats, putting her in the second one, taking the aisle seat.
She sat with a relieved sigh. “Thanks, um ...”
“Kalin.” He glanced toward the door. “Are you meeting someone?”
“Nope. I was meeting my friend Joe, but he had to work. I’m Peggy.” She tilted a box of popcorn toward him. “Are you meeting anybody?”
“No.” How impressive. Most teenaged girls wouldn’t venture to a movie by themselves. He shook his head at the popcorn and then realized she couldn’t see. Confusion thickened his voice. “No thanks. I don’t like popcorn.”
She grinned, the flickering lights from the screen dancing across her features. “You’re not eating it right.” Digging into her purse, she yanked out a box of chocolate-covered caramels to dump into the popcorn. “Now try it.”
He did, savoring the taste on his tongue. The salty sweetness spread down his throat, warming him. Finally warming him. “You’re right.”
The screen began to hitch and shak
e. The video burned away, and the lights flipped on.
He blinked at the sudden glare, then turned to the side. Pretty. Very pretty. Her brown hair, blue eyes, and balanced features were striking. He sensed her spunk and spirit. “Hi.”
Even her smile was cute. “Hi.” Then she frowned. “Do you live here?”
“Yes.” What was it about her? He hoped the movie came back on—so she wouldn’t leave.
“Go to high school?” Her gaze traced his features in an almost physical skimming.
“No. Ah ... I’m homeschooled.” Something heated in his chest. Worry filtered in his brain. He should get out of there. But something kept him firmly in place. He’d never smell another rose without thinking of her stunning smile—or the spark of intelligence in her eyes.
She studied him with her head tilted to the side.
God, he hoped he passed for human.
“How old are you?” She scrunched up her face. Her lips were pink and moist.
“Fifteen.” He wanted to kiss her. Gently. He didn’t think he’d ever kissed a girl gently. “How about you?”
“Seventeen.” She glanced at the blank screen. Almost on cue, a voice came over the loudspeaker, announcing technical problems and that they could all get a refund at the front door.
“Shoot. Oh well.” She stood, leaning a hand down to help him up. No fear or hesitancy showed in her face. The girl was actually unafraid of him, even though he was twice her size. “So. Want to go bowling?”
His head bobbed up and down.
They walked outside, Peggy chattering about her math class.
How odd it felt to be treated as a normal person by such a fragile female. Even his own people steered clear of him, the air often scented with sulfur and the stench of fear.
She shivered in the cold, and he dropped his jacket over her shoulders, like the guys did on television. Her smile made him feel taller than Franco—which someday he would be.
The rain began to pepper harder. She grabbed his hand, tugging him down the street. “Let’s run.”
As he wrapped his hand around hers, something shifted inside him. He loosened his hold, careful not to bruise. No hint flowed from her of the possibility she was an enhanced female, a possible mate. No whisper of psychic ability. Yet, as she tangled her small fingers more securely with his, he angled his body to protect her from the rain. He’d follow her anywhere.
Chapter 11
Simone Brightston’s New York penthouse screamed sensuality in tones of deep red and purple—much like Moira’s, but without the touches of whimsy. Soft light filtered around the apartment, and twinkling lights from the city below filled the sweeping windows. Nighttime had fallen and Moira’s senses whispered the moon would be full. She shifted on the velvet couch, hiding a wince at newly discovered intimate muscles.
The council should’ve sent all three enforcers to retrieve Simone from New York. But no, Moira was facing her cranky cousin all on her own. “What do you mean you’re not sure you should leave?”
A delicate shrug lifted Simone’s bare shoulder. Her wide sweater slid down both arms. “I have a winter holiday planned. I can still be reached via the net, however.”
Moira kept her focus on Simone, ignoring the heat pouring off the vampire sitting next to her. “The Nine has requested your presence at headquarters, and I’ve been ordered to escort you.”
Simone arched a dark eyebrow, pushing thick black hair back. “I’m part of the Nine.”
“I understand your job, cousin.” What in the hell was going on? The painting behind the couch caught Moira’s eye; an early watercolor from Brenna—painted during her teenage years.
Simone followed her gaze, a pretty flush scattering across her face. “I like the colors.”
The soft palette contrasted with the rich tones of the rest of the room. Not Simone’s taste, but the work held a place of honor.
Interesting.
Running water echoed in the distance and Moira sighed. “You have company?”
“Yes.” Not by a tick did Simone’s smooth face change. The blush receded. “I’m not vacationing alone.”
“Your mother—”
“Irrelevant.” Simone’s black eyes flashed. “As part of the Nine, I make my own decisions, Moira. A fact you’d understand better if you accepted the invitation to join.”
Moira lifted her chin. She doubted Simone would appreciate sitting next to her behind the wide stone bench. “Unlike you, I’m not convinced the missing members are dead. Unless I issue a challenge, there isn’t an opening.”
“I always thought you’d challenge me.” Simone shifted her gaze toward the hallway when the water cut off, returning her focus to Moira with a slight tilt of her head. The words sat as a statement, but the tiniest hint of question hung heavy in the room.
“No.” Moira hoped the current beau remained unaware of their world. That’s all she needed, more people learning the witches had problems. She hoped the man was a human, one on his way out the door. “We’re family, Simone.”
“So?”
A fluffy stuffed elephant sat on a cushion by the fireplace—old, yet in excellent condition—a prize they’d won together in a three-legged race during a family festival, decades ago. They’d drawn names, and had done surprisingly well together.
“So, I’m starting to think family holds more meaning than you’ve let on.” Moira wondered how well she knew her cousin.
“I don’t understand what you mean.” Simone brushed raven dark hair away from her face, her eyes veiled.
Enough of this crap. “I thought you didn’t like me.” A sad fact Moira had come to terms with years ago, it was one she might reconsider. Simone had always been critical, and downright snotty sometimes. But in New York, she had surrounded herself with reminders of family.
“I’m not sure why. Even so, I wouldn’t challenge you for a seat.” Moira stared at her cousin. Once challenged, the member could conceded the position or fight for it. Unfortunately, a fight meant one of them would lose all ability to control the elements—to practice magic.
Conn shifted in his seat to look at Moira. “Since your laws are so damn secret, I don’t comprehend the protocol here. Do we make her go?”
Simone’s smile flashed white teeth in pure warning. “Careful, Kayrs. I might turn you into a chipmunk.”
Moira bit her lip against a smile. “This is unprecedented. When the head of the council requests someone’s presence, they go. Especially if that head is someone’s mother.” She emphasized the last word with a glare at Simone.
Simone rolled her eyes. “So you’re going to tell my mother on me?”
“I’m sure Aunt Viv will notice you’re not in Ireland, dumbass.”
“You know”—Simone crossed long legs under a filmy black skirt—“that temper of yours might keep you from being an effective member of the Nine.”
“Yeah, because us witches are so famous for being coolheaded,” Moira retorted.
Conn snorted. “Right. Okay, so we’re off, then?”
“No, Conn. We’re not off.” Moira had a job to do, though she couldn’t force a member of the Nine to do something they didn’t want to do. The heavy scent of patchouli oil choked the air, making her twitchy.
Simone focused on Conn. “How’s your brother?” She had dated the king eons ago. Things had not worked out, and the relationship had ended badly.
“Ah, fine.” Conn cut his eyes toward Moira.
She shrugged. Let him deal with that quagmire.
“Good to know.” Simone’s jaw hardened.
Moira scrambled for a kind thought. “It’s nice you’ve remained friends with Dage, Simone.”
They hadn’t remained friends. The king had recently taken a mate he appeared to adore.
“Right.” Simone’s crimson painted lip curled in almost a smile. Light footsteps echoed on the marble tile in the hallway, and she turned toward the sound.
Only long-learned practice kept Moira’s jaw from dropping at the
man who entered the living room. “Trevan.” A member of the Nine for the last five hundred years. “Kellach is looking for you in Greece, as we speak.”
“Maybe he should have called first.” Trevan smiled, even teeth in an aristocratic face. His dark silk shirt and pants emphasized a long and lean body. His tapered fingers brushed down Simone’s hair as he strolled by to take the overstuffed chair next to hers. The scent of expensive cologne permeated the room in layers of lime and ancient wood. “I assume Viv issued the order after communications cut off?”
A blush of pleasure exploded across Simone’s high cheekbones from his caress.
“Yes.” Moira fought the urge to squirm. Unease tickled her nape, and the vampire stiffening to attention next to her didn’t help.
Trevan steepled his fingers under his chin, his onyx ring flashing in the dim light. “I do wonder about such faulty equipment. In this day and age.”
Moira frowned. Surely he wasn’t suggesting the members in Ireland left him out on purpose.
Conn cleared his throat. “I find your presence here interesting, Demidov”—although congenial, a thread of warning edged his tone—“considering you failed to mention your location to the Nine during the conference call yesterday.”
Trevan’s smile didn’t reach his dark eyes. “They didn’t ask, now did they?”
Moira stilled. Conn was right. Trevan hadn’t mentioned his location during the meeting. More important was why the council members hadn’t zeroed in on his status. Or had they?
Simone plucked an invisible thread off a jeweled pillow. “I thought it prudent to keep my life private, Conn.”
Moira’s shoulders relaxed. Good explanation. “I understand.”
No way would her aunt Viv appreciate her daughter dating Trevan. The guy was five hundred years old, a scholar, not a warrior. He was a genius, but a researcher kept in the back room. One who’d produce excellent results, but lacked social skills—a bit of a wimp.
“Thought you might.” Simone smirked, eyeing Conn like a cat with cream. “The world has been privy to your business for far too long.”
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