by S. Young
At around eight thirty last night, Niamh appeared at reception and had a ten-minute chat with the female clerk.
He noted the dazed way the woman looked at her.
No doubt, she’d used her powers to make the receptionist forget their conversation.
His fury was a burn in his throat.
Abandoning the tape, he found the one for the office and ripped it out of the VCR. Hiding it in his duffle bag, he got out unseen and returned to reception. He didn’t even look at the guy behind the desk. He just kept walking until he was outside beneath the breaking dawn.
Compounding his anger was the fact that his fingers shook as he removed his cell to call Bran. He hated that he had to make this call.
Never in his life had he failed on a job.
Bran answered with, “It’s my nighttime, arsehole, so this better be good.”
Kiyo bared his teeth, wishing the vamp was there in front of him so he could take his bad mood out on him. He needed a fight. But no one challenged him like Fionn, so what was the point?
“I lost her.”
There was silence. Then, “You what?”
“I woke up this morning and she was gone. I checked the hotel tapes. She had a nice chat with the front-desk clerk last night and then around midnight, the tapes show her strutting her ass out of the hotel.”
“Did you question the clerk?”
“No point. I could tell Niamh had used that mind-fuck thing she does. And I know from watching her do it, she covers her ass. She’d have told the girl to forget their conversation.”
“Did anything happen last night after we spoke?”
The memory of Niamh convulsing in his arms came to him instantly. “She had a vision. She said it was the same one, but …”
She’d asked him about himself and had seemed more disappointed than usual when he didn’t answer. What did it mean?
“She might have been lying,” Bran said. “What about her room? Is there anything that might suggest where she went?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Bran, this is what I do for a living. I have no leads other than Tokyo.”
The vampire was silent for so long, Kiyo thought he might have fallen asleep. He was about to growl his impatience down the line when Bran said, “Do you have anything of hers?”
“What do you mean?”
“An item belonging to her?”
“Yeah. A comb. Can we use it to find her?”
“Preferably, Fionn could come to the bloody rescue and use a tracing spell to find her. But, unfortunately, he and Rose are pretty far away at the moment. And I don’t trust any other magic user to find Niamh. So there’s only one solution.”
“What is it?”
“There’s an alpha in Scotland. He has a rare gift. For tracking.”
“Are you talking about Conall MacLennan?” Kiyo asked, surprised.
“You’ve heard of him?”
“Most wolves have. His is the last werewolf pack in Scotland, and he’s taken down any alpha who tried to win it from him.” Not to mention that once he had your scent, there was nowhere on earth you could hide from him. The wolf was a legend among their kind. “Why would you trust this guy?” Suddenly it hit him. “Wait—Conall is the werewolf who mated with one of the fae-borne and turned her?”
“Yeah, he’s the one. He was hired to hunt Thea. Instead he discovered they were true mates. The man that was after her … his son stabbed Thea in the heart with an iron knife. She was dying, so Conall bit her. Turns out, because they were mated, he could turn her into a werewolf. It’s one of the reasons the Faerie Queen wanted all the supernaturals out of Faerie. When she realized that a werewolf bite could destroy their immortality and turn them to mortal wolves, it didn’t make her happy. But it certainly made Thea and Conall happy.”
“So you think this wolf would be willing to help because Niamh is some kind of pseudo-sibling to Thea?”
“That, and Niamh was the one who convinced Thea to trust Conall. She had a vision, you see. Knew they were mated.”
He remembered Niamh mentioning she’d played matchmaker to not just Rose and Fionn but Thea too. “So I have to go to Scotland and get him to track Niamh using this item of hers?”
“Yup.”
“Wouldn’t it be faster to just call Fionn and get his ass back here?”
“He’s really, really far away.”
“How far?” Kiyo snapped.
“Like Oceania far.”
Dammit. “What the hell is he doing out there ?”
“Living his fucking life, wolf, all right? He didn’t know you were going to be so incompetent you’d lose the luscious Niamh in the first seventy-two hours.”
“You better hope you and I never meet, vamp.”
“Because I’m calling you a failure or because I think your charge is delicious?” He drawled the word delicious like he was imagining sinking his fangs into Niamh’s throat.
Kiyo held the phone away from him, afraid he’d crush the thing in an effort to ram his fist down the line and crush Bran’s windpipe.
“You still there?”
A growl rumbled from deep in his belly. “You’re straining my patience.”
“So I can hear. All right, then. Conall lives in a place in the Highlands called Torridon. We’re going to get Stephen to fly you to Inverness, which isn’t far. I’ll have Conall meet you there. I’ll call Stephen to let him know the change of plans, but you better get your arse to the airport now.”
Kiyo hung up to do just that.
He found the Honda Bran had left for them outside the hotel. As he drove toward the airport, he tried not to dwell on how angry he was. Not just at Niamh.
He was furious with himself.
Because something told him he could have prevented her taking off.
That didn’t mean he wasn’t still raging at the fae.
“She better have a good excuse,” Kiyo muttered.
And more than that … if anything happened to her …
If the Blackwoods or The Garm got to her first—
Don’t think about it.
He’d reach her first.
The alternative wasn’t an option.
9
“It isn’t the nicest place we’ve stayed, but it’ll do.” Ronan flopped down on the L-shaped sofa, his arms spread across the back of it.
The apartment in the center of Munich was somewhat deceiving. It didn’t look like much from the outside, but the inside was ultramodern and chic. Whenever they came to a new city, depending on the circumstances, they usually looked up all the places to rent and found the nicest to take over while it sat empty. They were squatters, basically. Sometimes, though, Ronan was in the mood to be looked after, so they stayed in luxury hotels to enjoy the perks of room service.
“How long will we be here?”
“Long enough to see what’s wrong with Rose.”
“I miss Rome.” He glowered at her.
He didn’t miss Rome. He missed the married Italian woman he was shagging every night. But Niamh had been overcome by the need to be in Munich. She wouldn’t take no for an answer, no matter Ronan’s reticence. She’d told him she’d go alone. But no matter how much he grumbled about it, Ronan wouldn’t let her out of his sight.
So they flew to Munich and within five minutes of landing, Niamh got a vision of Rose Kelly.
She would be at the train station tomorrow, and she needed Niamh’s help.
“You know how I feel about you spending time with these people. It’s one thing to set them on the right path, another to be in their company for more than a few minutes. It’s too dangerous.”
Her brother wasn’t wrong, but Niamh couldn’t turn her back on Rose. Unlike most of the others, Niamh had been born with the knowledge of who they were and even had snippets of the fae history buried in her consciousness. Worse, she’d had visions of alternative versions of the future depending on the decisions certain key players made.
The oth
er fae-borne, all but one, had walked around blind, fumbling to find their way in a human-dominated world, confused by their strange abilities. When three fae-borne were hunted and killed by Eirik before Niamh could get to them, two of them didn’t even know what they were.
It was Niamh’s duty to try to save the others. She’d succeeded with Thea Quinn, now MacLennan. And she’d succeed with Rose, no matter what.
“Are you even listening to me?”
Niamh turned and looked down at her brother. “I need to do this.”
His expression darkened. “I need to be in Rome.”
“I told you to stay.”
“You know that’s not an option.” Something dark flickered in his countenance. “Everything I do is for you. I gave up my life in Ireland for you. I’m not going to let you wander alone now, am I, after all that?”
This life suited Ronan. She knew it did. He liked not being tied down anywhere. Liked the money and the travel and the unknown. He could protest until he was blue in the face, but she knew her brother didn’t care about leaving Ireland. He just liked to remind her that she owed him.
Guilt prickled as she remembered the many times she’d come out of a vision to find Ronan straining to hold her, his face stark with concern.
He did love her, though.
She knew that too.
Just sometimes a traitorous question crossed her mind: Which did he love more? Her or her powers?
“Niamh.”
She looked back at him.
His expression had softened. “I just worry about you. Every time we do this, we put ourselves in the path of the Blackwoods and The Garm.”
“I know.” She felt terrible for thinking badly of her brother. “But we know who our enemies are. We can protect ourselves.”
Ronan opened his mouth to respond but instead of his voice, Niamh heard the roar of shattering glass. She flinched, shutting her eyes against it, and when she opened them, they were surrounded by witches and warlocks. Rose was there. She stood between Niamh and Ronan looking fearful and confused.
“What’s going on?” Niamh asked. She turned to face the unfamiliar coven as they held hands and surrounded them.
And then the image slammed into her head, taking her to her knees.
Ronan.
Losing energy, soul, heart … everything he needed to live.
Leaking out of him and into them.
To the coven.
“No!” she screamed, coming out of the vision.
Ronan held her, his expression pale with worry. “Nee?”
“Run,” she whispered. “Ronan, run.”
But it was too late.
Suddenly, he grew limp, falling onto his back, his eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling.
“Ronan.” Niamh scrambled over him. “Ronan!”
Cracks appeared in his skin. Cracks. Cracks. Cracks.
Until his body crumbled inwards and there was nothing left but a pile of ash.
“No!” Niamh’s eyes flew open, her pulse rushing in her ears, her chest heaving with frantic breaths. Disoriented, it took her a moment to realize she was on a plane.
“Are you well?”
She glanced at the woman to her right. The stranger’s brow puckered with sympathy.
Niamh lifted a trembling hand to her forehead and gave the woman a pained, embarrassed smile. “Nightmare. Fear of flying.”
The woman reached out to pat her hand in motherly comfort. “Air travel is the safest mode of travel.”
Niamh gave her a tremulous smile and relaxed into her seat. She closed her eyes against the bright lights of the cabin interior. She hadn’t dreamed of Ronan in a while. For a long time, she wouldn’t even let herself think his name.
The nightmare never depicted the exact reality of his death, but it was a succinct summation of the event.
Meghan O’Connor would pay for it.
A bing sounded above Niamh’s head.
The seat-belt sign was lit up.
Then the PA crackled. “Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has now switched on the seat-belt sign as we begin our descent. Please make sure any larger items, including laptops, are stowed in the overheard bins. Any smaller items can be stowed beneath the seat in front of you. Please stow away your tray tables and return your seats to the upright position. We hope you’ve had an enjoyable flight with us this morning and wish you a pleasant stay in Paris. And if you have a connecting flight, we wish you a safe onward journey. From all of us at Helm Airlines, thank you for flying with us and we hope to see you again soon.”
Niamh released a slow exhale. She felt twitchy and impatient to get off the plane now that she was so close to Paris. To being in the same city as Meghan.
When the fighting had started, Niamh remembered the witch coming at her. She’d used her magic to blast the girl out of the apartment window. Niamh had assumed that the descent, or rather the impact, had killed her.
But she’d survived.
Ronan hadn’t.
That just couldn’t be allowed.
Obviously Fate agreed with her by sending her the vision.
The hum of the plane’s engines grew louder as they descended toward Paris-Charles de Gaulle Airport. The knots grew tighter and tighter in Niamh’s stomach. Vengeance was a nasty business, not something she’d ever thought her heart would hunger for.
But here she was.
Starving.
Inverness, Scotland
* * *
After leaving New York in 1960, Kiyo traveled. His first stop was Britain. After exploring England and Wales, he’d backpacked north and up through the highlands of Scotland. Even after he’d wandered mainland Europe for the next decade, Scotland stayed with him. Being more mountainous than the rest of the island, it reminded him a little of Japan.
Back in the ’60s, he’d climbed Ben Nevis. It was almost three times smaller than Mount Fuji, which Kiyo never had occasion to climb. Yet the mountain of his home was far from his mind standing at the top of Ben Nevis. All that had mattered was that he was alone up there in a way that finally made sense. Standing on a clear day, staring out at the majestic glory that stretched before him, the panoramic vistas conveyed a lonesome beauty that caused an ache in his chest for the first time in decades. The mountain peaks, the rolling valleys, the glistening, placid lochs, the startling greens and earthy browns and the harsh, rugged rock face. It reminded him there was still unspoiled places in the world. Places that made feeling alone no longer a joyless desert; that aloneness could offer its own bounty. Its own peace.
The contentment he found in the Highlands surprised Kiyo. After he left, the hunger for something that always seemed out of reach returned to plague him.
Over the years, Kiyo had traveled back to the Highlands of Scotland searching for that elusive serenity. The roads there, however, were busier now. Tourists descended in their masses at certain times of the year. But he could still find moments of tranquility standing on lonely, empty golden sands or mountain peaks during the tourist off-season.
If it had been for any other reason than chasing a fae woman who’d abandoned him, Kiyo would have been happy to arrive at Inverness Airport. The airport was surrounded by the Cairngorms and the Moray Firth. It was a sunny, wintry day, the water glistening a perfect blue in the distance.
Kiyo stood outside the entrance of the small airport, the duffle bag at his feet. The humans who passed gave him a wide berth while throwing him looks that veered between wariness, awe, and attraction.
He was used to it.
What he wasn’t used to was the unnerving impatience and urgency that thrummed in his blood.
An old Land Rover Defender rolled to a stop outside the airport in front of him and the hair on Kiyo’s arms rose before its driver even got out of the vehicle.
An alpha.
He pushed off the wall of the building and grabbed his duffle bag as the Alpha and chief of Pack/Clan MacLennan jumped out of the Defender and rounded the hood. His piercing gray gaze se
t stonily on Kiyo.
Kiyo would have known this was Conall MacLennan without feeling the impressive alpha energy emanating from the wolf. He was a huge male at around six foot six, made of solid muscle. A deep scar was visible down the left side of his face, from the tip of his eyebrow to the corner of his mouth, where someone had clearly slashed him with silver. If humans were wary of Kiyo, he could only imagine how they feared this wolf.
But none of that was the reason Kiyo knew who Conall was.
The Scot was the spitting image of his father.
“Kiyonari.” Conall halted before him.
“Kiyo,” he corrected.
Conall gave him an abrupt nod. “You’ve been hired to protect Niamh but she’s run from you?”
The question was asked without censor. “She had a vision … I don’t know what it was about, but I think it’s the reason she took off without me. Had I suspected for a second—”
Conall held up his hand. “You dinnae need to explain yourself to me. They’re tricky creatures, these fae women. Believe me.” He grinned, the action transforming his face entirely. “I have firsthand experience of their trickery.”
“Your mate?”
“Aye.” Conall nodded to the SUV. “Get in.”
Kiyo followed him to the Defender, pulling out Niamh’s comb from the duffle before he stowed it in the back next to a large backpack he assumed was Conall’s. Once settled in the passenger seat, he handed the comb to Conall. The wolf took it, his brows drawn together in thought.
Waiting impatiently, Kiyo watched as the hard concentration left Conall’s expression and he flicked Kiyo a weary look of acceptance. “I assumed we’d be leaving Scotland,” he gestured to the backpack, “but hoped that we wouldnae.”
“But we are?” Kiyo asked, though he’d assumed so as well.
“We are. My mate will be pleased.”
Noting the alpha’s sarcasm, Kiyo waited silently as Conall pulled out his cell and hit a speed-dial button. With his wolf ears, he heard it with clarity as the call connected and a husky female voice with an American accent answered. “What’s happening?”
“Thea, love, I’m heading out.”
“Where is she?”
