He decided that destroying Black Swan property was the sort of thing that could land him back in Marrakesh. Or worse, on floater rotation. So he decided he’d grit his teeth and leave the damnable thing alone.
All the D.I.T. hunters had been called to the Abbey for the briefing. He was curious how the others would take it.
He hadn’t really thought there was any chance Sher was coming back to the house in Dublin when he’d asked to stay behind, but he’d maintained a vice grip on the sliver of hope that she’d be more trouble than the creature planned.
Torn didn’t have a lot of experience with hope. He’d spent his entire life thinking hope was a silly indulgence practiced by people who’d had such an easy life that they expected, and even believed they deserved, good things. But it only took one instant of holding Sheridan O’Malley in his arms to overhaul his perspective on such things. Occasionally he berated himself for constantly fantasizing that any minute the demon would tire of her and choose to let her go unharmed. But he continued anyway.
With plodding steps, he started up the stairs toward the second floor room he shared with no one, not knowing what he’d do when he got there, wishing he had someplace else, anyplace else, to be. His only reason for going was that the clock noises were a little quieter upstairs, especially if he closed the door and shoved towels against the crack between door and floor.
He was halfway up the stairs when the hairs all over his body began to stand on end. Without any idea what that meant, his intuition informed him that, if it was trouble, he’d rather be downstairs with directional options, than upstairs. Trapped.
He paused for less than a second before reversing direction. Just as his foot hit the old worn and creaky boards of the ground floor, he felt a shift in atmospheric pressure and heard a slight popping sound in the next room. He didn’t have to go look to know it was Sheridan. His mate senses were flooded and filled with her nearby presence.
He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He told his body to move in that direction, but he was frozen in place. When she turned the corner and saw him standing there, she was visibly filled with the joy and relief that was overwhelming Torn’s mind and body.
She rushed into his body, throwing her arms around him and let out a sob followed by a huge gasp of air, almost like she hadn’t been able to breathe for weeks. It was odd for her body to be doing things she hadn’t actively approved. She hadn’t cried since she was a child and had an accident with a fallen tree trunk after being chased by an out-of-sorts badger.
Still unable to make his voice utter a single sound, Torn grabbed onto her like he was alone treading water in the middle of the ocean and she was an inner tube. Sher’s sob resolved into quieter expressions of intense relief. He felt the quick intakes of breath that moved her chest against his. Gradually he became aware of wetness where her face was buried in his neck.
“Sher.” He breathed her name like a prayer to long forgotten gods. Letting go just long enough to put his hands on both sides of her head, he pulled her face up so that he could get a good look at her. Indeed, the changes in her looks were similar to Shivaun. The freckles he’d loved were gone, replaced with skin that was perfection in the evenness of its color. He immediately decided he loved that just as much. The eyes that had been a warm and welcoming shade of mahogany had become a kaleidoscope of color. Flecks of amber, gold, yellow, and… was that orange?… danced in her eyes, enlivening her irises so that they sparkled with light that seemed to move from within. And he loved that just as much.
He methodically kissed every inch of her face including her eyelids, then kissed each corner of her mouth before pressing his lips to hers. Tongues fought for the privilege of letting the other know how much they were missed and how mightily damn pleased each was to have the other locked in an embrace.
When they parted, Torn managed to rasp, “Are you alright?”
She let out a small laugh full of the satisfaction that came from surviving a situation that could have resulted in death or, in their case, mate separation. Which was worse.
“I am,” she said, “now.” She looked closely at his face, her gaze flicking from one of his eyes to the other then upward toward his hair. The hint of a frown formed between her brows. “Do you look different?”
He laughed. “Perhaps a bit. You like it?”
She studied him intently looking from one eye to the other before grinning and saying, “Well, aye. I did no’ think you could be more beautiful. But perhaps I was wrong.” He chuckled as his hands continued to pet her body like he thought that, if he stopped touching, she’d disappear. “Where is everybody?”
“Gone to Scotia. Rosie called the Wild Bunch to the Abbey to talk about, em, things.”
“Wild Bunch?”
“That’s what everybody in Black Swan started callin’ us.”
“Oh.” It took less than a second to process that and move on. “So we have the house to ourselves?”
Understanding the direction of her thoughts, Torn smiled wickedly. “We do.” He began to kiss around the rim of her delicately pointed ear, which triggered an erogenous response. When she squirmed and giggled, he said, “Whate’er should we do with the opportunity?”
“I want to hear what’s happened since I’ve been gone.”
“I want to hear everythin’ about you.”
“But it can wait for ten minutes.”
He looked down his nose with sparkling eyes. “I’ll ignore that barb, but take the challenge. We’ll see if you’ll be story tellin’ within ten minutes or no’.”
Sher turned and went up the stairs so fast that, to human eyes, it would have appeared that she’d vanished. But Torn, having the same newly enhanced abilities, was right behind her reveling in the sheer delight of her laughter and thanking the gods that his good fortune was restored to him.
He filled his hands with athletic curves covered by peaches and cream skin as he backed her toward the two single beds they’d shoved together in the middle of the room when they’d shared quarters.
She raised her arms as he pulled her Henley over her head and, as he was tossing it aside, he leaned in and sucked her earlobe into his mouth. That elicited a tiny gasp that caused his engorged cock to twitch almost painfully.
“Paddy, Sheridan,” he said. “Ne’er leave me again.”
She leaned back to look in his eyes, hearing the pain in that simple statement. And she knew in that moment that she’d had the easier lot of it. While she’d spent her time trying to figure out a way home, he was helplessly waiting. Not knowing if she was well or even alive.
“I’ll ne’er be away from you by choice. It hurts my heart to know you’ve suffered.”
She removed the rest of her clothing quickly and pulled Torn toward the bed, silently signaling her preference to skip foreplay. She was eager to be joined, to feel him inside her, and it was clear that was what he needed as well.
Pushing his jeans down to his thighs she pulled him back onto the bed, into the cradle of her body, and cried out when he entered her in one mighty thrust. Seated deep, Torn made a sound that could almost be described as a whimper.
Taking charge, as elf females were notoriously fast learners when it came to sex, Sheridan rolled them over, straddled her mate and began to ride him with such ferocity and an abandon so wild, so primitively wanton, that both lost the ability to think. They could only feel the exquisite pleasure of being connected in the most intimate way.
“I can no’ hold on with you on top, love,” he said. “Feelin’ you. Watchin’ you. ’Tis too much.”
“Let go,” she said. “I want you to.”
When Sher felt the pulsing spurt of warm liquid, she threw her head back and climaxed in a shudder that almost looked like a seizure. Torn tightened his hands around her waist then abruptly sat up and wrapped his arms around her.
As she slowed, her body seemed to move in the most sensual dance of afterglow and supreme satisfaction. “I missed you, vampi
re slayer.”
They held onto each other, in that position, for a long time, simply grateful to have each other. They needed nothing else. They wanted nothing else.
When Kellareal arrived at Lyric’s door, he stopped and used the doorknocker, which was an iron figure of a Green Man with an open maw that looked forbidding. Not to him. Of course. But he assumed it was intended to frighten would-be visitors who were less powerful than himself.
He could have entered without knocking, but it would have been so impudent and impolite that news of it would be circulating in elemental circles for centuries. It just wasn’t worth it. So he waited.
In a short time Lyric swung the door inward and turned away leaving it standing open, presumably in invitation.
“She’s gone,” he said with a shrug and who-cares attitude before turning his back, walking back toward his conversation space.
“Gone?” Kellareal repeated.
Lyric turned around. “You getting hard of hearing, old fella?”
The two weren’t friends, but both could recognize the other on sight.
Kellareal smirked. “I heard you, demon. I’m just surprised. That’s all.”
“Why?”
“Well…”
“Has something to do with the fact that she didn’t know she’s demon when she came here. Right?”
“First, let’s be honest. She didn’t come here. You grabbed her out of the passes.”
“Tweedle Dee. Tweedle Dum.”
Kellareal squinted, shaking his head slightly to indicate confusion. “What!?!”
“I don’t like word quibble.”
“You mean you don’t like to use language with precision?”
Lyric barked out a laugh and flopped down into his cushy divan. “If you’re staying, close the door. If not, close the door behind you.”
“Why would I be staying?”
“No idea. Yet here you are.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
MADE DEMONS
Rosie waited until everyone was accounted for at the dinner table. Grieve, herself, and fourteen warriors. They were missing only Sheridan O’Malley and Torn Finngarick.
She stood up at the end of the table. “I’d like to ask you if you want the good news or the bad news first, but honestly I don’t know if the news is good or bad. Well, there is some good news for sure. You’re all really good-looking. I mean beyond Abercrombie and Fitch good-looking. We’re talking perfect.”
The hunters glanced at each other with half-hearted attempts at being surreptitious and said nothing, but silently agreed. They were a right attractive lot.
“The dubious news, and I think most, if not all of you have already figured this out; the serum that originated with Deliverance, intended to allow you to travel the passes for a limited time, has mutated and altered your constitutions. You’re no longer elf or human or whatever you were before. You’re either demon or you’re a damn good imitation.”
There was a murmur among the D.I.T. hunters.
“We don’t know if this is temporary or permanent. Monq will be looking into it, but he may not be able to tell. Since we don’t know, you’ll need to continue to keep your homing devices and weapons with you when you’re working.”
“How does this affect us? Exactly?” Fratmos Dracomb asked from the other end of the long table.
“Fountain of youth, Mo. So long as you’re in this state, you’re not aging.” Another murmur grew in a crescendo of sound, but abruptly died when Rosie began speaking again. “Sounds good on the surface, but if this turns out to be a permanent change, you’re going to look the way you look today when your siblings die of old age.”
That was met with stunned silence.
“Did they know this could happen? In the lab, I mean?” The question came from Stokes Wyvern, known to teammates as ‘Y’. He was a twenty-two-year-old first draft round recruit who was exceptionally talented at, well, everything. The vampire hunting division wanted him, but Rosie got him. Thanks to Simon.
Rosie shook her head. Even though she wasn’t a hundred percent sure that Monq hadn’t suspected risk, she said, “Was an accident, Y. Pure and simple. No intention here. Now that it’s no longer a risk, but a result, the serum will be destroyed along with the formula and the research that went into developing it. You’re valued by Black Swan as assets. Yes. But you’re also valued as people. This isn’t something that would have been allowed if we’d thought there was this possibility.
“You fifteen, possibly sixteen, are the only ‘made’ demons in existence. And you’re all there will ever be.”
The hunters looked at each other. It was evident to anyone in the room who was the least sensitive that the air had gone heavy.
“What other changes do we have to look forward to?” Miles Torquezvilla didn’t look especially happy about the news so Rosie took the question to be sarcastic.
She sighed and looked at Miles for a few beats. “I don’t believe there will be more physical changes. As to the rest, personality in particular, I hate to ask this, but I’m going to have to request that you keep an eye on each other. We don’t anticipate anything, it’s just a precaution, because we have no history to draw on. You’re a first. And you’re unique.
“We’re going to spend the night here at the Abbey tonight and tomorrow so that you can get used to the idea and so that we can monitor you as you practice your new abilities. You’re no longer confined to your dimension of origin. You can pretty much do anything you want. So, on that note, we can only hope that each of you has a deeply embedded ethical compass. One that is so much part of who you are that it will enable you to rise above the temptations that await. Let character guide your behavior as you prepare to disprove the notion that absolute power corrupts absolutely.
“You are powerful now. I hope you’re ready to make a commitment to use that to serve the best interest of all worlds, all creatures, everyone everywhere. Because unlike demons, who were designed according to a grand scheme, with a specific guiding purpose, you’re free agents.”
Again, the hunters silently looked around at each other.
“You’ve heard that Black Swan peeps are calling you the Wild Bunch?” That got smiles and nods for the first time. “That’s all well and good. Let’s just make sure they never call us the Crazy Bunch. Or the Evil Bunch.”
“We all took an oath to Black Swan, Rosie,” Deck said. “It’s our first priority and we serve regardless of what form we’re in.”
The swell of verbal agreement crested then waned.
“I’m hoping none of you ever loses sight of that. A demon’s life can be long. Let’s make sure your commitment is strong enough to endure if your life turns out to be centuries instead of years. If you use this turn of events well, I’ll be your biggest fan. If you don’t, I’ll be forced to step in. You do not want that to happen.”
The room fell silent as a tomb while they contemplated the possibility of living for centuries along with the possibility of being ‘corrected’ by Rosie. They didn’t know exactly how powerful she was, but each suspected she was capable of making good on her threat.
Mo cleared his throat. “Is that, ah, likely? The part about living for centuries?”
“If this effect proves to be permanent? Yeah. Definitely.” Rosie cleared her own throat. “Also, and I’m not doing a unit on sex education, but this needs to be said as a side note for the gentlemen. When it comes to female demons, it’s a buyer’s market. They’re rare and in demand. Only the luckiest males end up with mates of their own kind. Point is, you’re going to need to seek out companionship with other species and I’m including people in that. And some, um, adjustments will need to be made regarding, um, technique. Because you’re a lot more powerful now. And you do not want it said that you loved somebody to death.”
A louder murmur rippled through the hunters talking to each other in quiet, but animated ways.
“Questions?”
“Yeah.” Everybody turned to look at Blue Win
terlast. He was part werewolf like Glen. He was also one of the prize graduates that Rosie had snagged out from under the vampire hunting division. “If female demons are that rare, and we have two…” Everyone turned to look at Shivaun, which immediately brought a rosy blush to her vivid coloring. “Are they going to be spending all their time fighting off the boy demons?” He flicked a glance at Shy before saying, “Is that what happened with Sheridan? Some random demon thought she was an available bachelorette? Is it safe for them to be out running around the passes?”
Rosie’s nostrils flared. For a second she wondered if it would be better to let Glen have the too-smart ones. “That’s a lot of questions. I’ll say this. There’s not going to be any elemental party that Shivaun couldn’t get an invitation to if she wanted to go.” There was cautious laughter because the other hunters weren’t sure yet where Rosie was going with that. “She’ll be in demand if she wants to be, but nobody is going to take advantage of her. Part of what we’re doing here for the next day and a half is schooling all of you up on how to take care of yourselves. All of you.
“She’s going to be a curiosity out there, but so will you, Blue. If you’ve retained any werewolf traits, you’ll be one of a kind. We won’t know how this is going to shake out until we start rattling and rolling. Right?”
“One more question,” Blue persisted.
“Sure,” Rosie said.
“You said all the lab info on the serum was going to be destroyed.”
“Yes. It is.”
“What about the weapons that were developed to help us take down demons? They could be used on us.”
“That’s a good point. I’ll have to discuss with Simon whether or not the advantage of having an upper hand is worth the risk of having the technology fall into the wrong hands.”
Rosie watched the hunters give each other looks that said they weren’t thrilled with the idea. “I’m making an educated guess that there will be a lot of questions tomorrow when you start figuring out how to use your new tool kit. Don’t be shy about asking. No matter what it is.
Irish War Cry (Order of the Black Swan D.I.T. Book 3) Page 5
