“Yes, I’ve lost them for the moment,” Aiden said. “But I can’t stay in this hedge forever. How’re you going to find me?”
“Do you still have the whistle?” he asked.
Aiden muttered a muffled curse at her own stupidity and grabbed for the sterling silver chain around her neck. She jerked it free of her shirt and wrapped her hand around the small steel dog whistle.
“I’ve got it,” she said, rising from her crouch. She peered around the edge of the hedge and down the pathway. It was clear in both directions.
“Good, I’ll be there in a couple minutes.”
“Kay, bye.” Aiden snapped the phone shut and shoved it into her pocket. Then she darted out onto the pathway and doubled back. She kept low enough to use the surrounding foliage as cover. She broke into a jog which made her purse bounce against her side with every stride. The heavy weight served as a grim reminder of the gun in her bag.
A shout from behind her signaled that she’d been spotted. Giving up on staying low, Aiden straightened and sprinted down the pathway toward the Admin Building. Unfortunately, it wasn’t dark enough yet to lose them, but with any luck, she could evade her pursuers long enough for Magnus to arrive.
The irony of turning to Magnus—a proven killer—for protection wasn’t lost on Aiden, but she couldn’t afford to indulge idealism at the expense of practicality. Magnus had committed at least one terrible crime in his questionable past, but that didn’t change the fact that Mariah’s murder had been five hundred years ago.
Living in the here and now, Aiden desperately wanted to believe that the Celt had changed. She wasn’t going to allow herself to forget what Magnus had done, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and she was about as in-over-her-head-and-in-need-of-help as they got.
Ahead on the path where the vegetation ended, a man stepped out from behind a hedge and blocked her path. Realizing with renewed fear that there was more than just two men after her, Aiden stumbled and missed her stride.
“I see you’ve been leading those two on a wild goose chase, but I’ve caught you!” The man in front of her sprouted an irrepressible grin and spread his arms as if they were playing tag.
The large man in his early twenties had red hair and gold-flecked hazel eyes. A smattering of freckles like scattered paint covered his nose and cheeks. His wide grin showed off even rows of gleaming white teeth, and the mischief in his eyes gave the impression of an unfailing good nature.
He appeared to regard their current situation as a game, but Aiden lacked both his perspective and his cheerfulness. She was frightened, angry, and inclined to inflict some bodily harm.
The voices of the men behind her grew louder and closer, and Aiden reached a hasty decision. She had better odds against one opponent than two. Rushing forward, Aiden attempted to dart past the man in front of her.
Of course, it was a long shot, and she wasn’t surprised when an arm wrapped around her waist. Laughing, the man lifted her off her feet and maintained only a loose hold. Obviously, he didn’t regard her as a physical threat. Either that, or he was a careless idiot. Maybe both.
“Calm down, I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.
“Really? Cause I’m gonna hurt you,” Aiden gasped.
Twisting cat-like in his grip, she slammed her fist into his face and scored a clean hit on his nose. He gave a pained yelp and his hold on her released as he threw up his arms to protect his face. She followed through, bringing her knee into his crotch. Wearing a classically funny face—an Oreo mouth and arched eyebrows—the man slowly dropped to his knees, clutching his private parts.
A howl of laughter greeted Aiden as she turned and came face-to-face with a carbon copy of the man she’d just downed. She performed a double take and then realized they were identical twins.
“Oh, Rory, you’re getting your ass kicked by a little girl! You’re just killing me, man!” Rory’s twin chortled but retained enough presence of mind to keep his guard up against Aiden. He had apparently learned from his brother’s mistake.
Pounding feet and heavy breathing announced the arrival of the two men following her. Thinking fast, Aiden released a wounded moan and sank to the ground, making sure that her purse was beneath her as she knelt.
“What happened?” one of the new arrivals demanded. He assumed command, his voice deep and powerful, so Aiden labeled him the leader.
“We caught her,” Rory gasped through gritted teeth.
“And she kicked Rory in the balls,” Rory’s twin supplied, hyena hawing.
“Shut up, Culkin!” Rory snarled.
Aiden took advantage of their distraction to thrust her hand into her purse. Groping for the .45, she writhed and moaned to disguise her movements.
“No, what happened to her, you idiots?” leader-guy asked. “You weren’t supposed to hurt her.”
“We didn’t, Kieran. Honest,” Culkin replied, adopting a defensive tone. Then he cackled. “But she sure hurt Rory!”
Once Aiden’s hand made contact with the gun, she slid her fingers into position. She drew back the hammer and groaned loudly to disguise the click. Leader-guy, Kieran, muttered a curse and bent over her. He gently touched her shoulders.
Both of his hands were empty. Good.
“It hurts,” Aiden whimpered pitifully, summoning tears as she toggled the thumb safety.
“Damn brutes,” Kieran muttered, furious. “Here, let me help you.” He circled around to face her and made an effort to pick her up.
“No, I want to stand,” Aiden protested. She struggled weakly, increasing the volume of her “hurt little girl” noises until he ceased trying to carry her in his arms.
“Okay, okay, stop fighting me! Here, I’ll help you stand.” He placed his hands on her upper arms and lifted her experimentally.
Aiden allowed him to take all of her weight, contributing nothing to the effort. She kept her arms folded against her abdomen, the gun concealed, until she was upright. They were practically hugging.
When she could no longer keep her weapon concealed, Aiden grabbed hold of the man’s belt with her left hand and shoved the gun into his stomach. He became deathly still as he recognized the cold metal barrel for what it was.
“Do you know what this is?” Aiden demanded. Staring up into his face, she got her first good look at him.
He towered over her at six foot something, so she had to crane her neck in order to examine him. He was handsome, which was really a shame, because it seemed like only really cute boys she met anymore were bad guys.
Unlike the twins, Kieran had thick black hair worn short in a crew cut that boasted military precision. He had bright blue eyes and a generous mouth. At the moment, the corners were turned down into an unhappy pout. Judging just by the hard abs beneath the .45’s muzzle, he was in great shape.
She secured her grip on his pants and made sure that the muzzle of the weapon remained right up against his stomach. If he got the chance, he could easily overpower her, and if she was forced to pull the trigger, then her ruse was blown.
Kieran nodded, solemnly and slowly. “Guys, she’s got a gun. Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”
An answering chorus of assent seemed to affirm that the other three would attempt to refrain from further stupidity.
“Smart boy,” Aiden drawled, even though he had to be at least twenty-five. “I’m betting that you’ve already been to the Archaeology Building and seen the bodies, so you know that I can and will use this. Now, I’m a lot shorter than you, so at this range I’ll be blowing off something a lot lower than your head. To quote my favorite pirate, savvy?”
Dark lashes swept down and then up in a slow blink over intelligent blue eyes. “Savvy,” he confirmed. “But before you start shooting, how about just listening to me for a minute? We’re not your enemy. We’re the good guys.”
“That’s not how it looks from my perspective,” Aiden said. Tugging at Kieran’s belt, she forced him to walk with her, moving several paces so that they were no lo
nger surrounded. “So, chasing women around in the dark is just your idea of fun? Talk, you’ve got one minute.”
By backing up, she got a better look at the other three men. The bunch of them were six feet tall, at the shortest, making Aiden feel like a sapling in a forest of redwoods.
“We’re Of the Blood - House Armaros - and we were sent to help. My name’s Kieran.” He gestured toward the twins. Rory had finally gotten back on his feet, but still wore a grimace that was distinctly at odds with his brother’s grin. “That’s Rory and Culkin, whom you’ve already met, tho’ don’t ask me which is which.”
“Not like it makes a bit of difference. They’re both equal idiots,” intoned the fourth man, speaking for the first time. Up until then he’d lurked near the back of the pack and done nothing to draw attention.
“Oh really?” Aiden drawled, glancing in his direction. She wasn’t relinquishing the gun just yet, but her posture relaxed marginally.
Culkin’s unwavering grin was damn infectious.
“That’s Tristan,” Kieran supplied grudgingly.
“Hey,” Tristan muttered. Of the four, he was easily the youngest, barely out of his teens, and the shortest at a mere six feet. Tristan was also the best looking, drop dead, movie star gorgeous, as opposed to merely handsome. He had shaggy blond hair that hung to his shoulders and fell forward into his face.
Aiden felt her breath catch as stormy sea green eyes bore holes in her soul. “Are you Niall Talcott’s son?” She had the distinct pleasure of thoroughly surprising him.
Tristan’s eyes widened. “Grandson,” he corrected. Anger and shame darkened his gaze at the admission.
Aiden noted his reaction. Hmm... Interesting...
Scowling, Tristan moved forward a pace so Aiden could get a better look at him. His proximity made her want to jump out of her skin. While she looked at him, he gave her a thorough once over at the same time. Not a one of the men were hard on the eyes, but Tristan set her nerves to tingling.
“Are all of you related?” Aiden asked, dragging her gaze from Tristan. Aside from their physical differences, they gave the distinct impression of shared kinship. The lot of them reminded her of a group of boys, full grown, but boys, and possibly brothers.
“Brothers,” Kieran supplied.
Making a quick judgment call, Aiden released her grip on his belt and withdrew the .45 from his stomach. The simple fact was that the four of them were almost too goofy and good-natured to make her feel threatened.
With the withdrawal of the gun, Kieran released an audible sigh of relief.
“But only half,” Rory, or maybe Culkin, said.
“We had different moms,” the other twin added.
“But not Tristan,” Kieran continued, ignoring the interruptions.
“Actually, those two had the same mom, but they’re not so bright, so don’t expect too much from ‘em,” Tristan said, throwing out the sarcastic barb with a smirk. He drew dirty looks from the twins.
“He’s a second, third?” Kieran frowned. “Cousin. Somethin’ like that.”
“Third,” Tristan interjected.
“Okay, that’s established,” Aiden agreed, laughing. “What about your dad?” Different mothers implied that at least Kieran and the twins shared the same father.
“Do you mind if I borrow this?” Kieran asked, indicating the .45.
After a hesitation, Aiden thumbed the safety into place and handed him the weapon. Since he had deliberately avoided her question, she wondered what was up.
The twins exchanged a wordless glance before one of them spoke: “Jonathan McLachlan,” he said. “Father heard threw channels that Watcher Bunson had died, so he sent us to fetch you home.”
Aiden’s jaw dropped. Her mind halted, drawing a perfect and complete blank. “Brothers?” she squeaked. Niall Talcott had only mentioned one. “As in my brothers?”
“Look at that. She’s speechless,” Culkin cackled.
“Hardly surprising,” Rory agreed sagely. “Going from being an only child to part of the McLachlan clan will do that to a person.”
Past Kieran’s shoulder, she caught a glimpse of Tristan’s face split in a wide grin as he too reveled in her bewilderment.
Kieran was the only one of the four who wasn’t laughing at her. He opened the chamber of the .45. Visible relief showed on his face when he discovered the weapon wasn’t loaded.
“You three are my brothers?” Aiden repeated, indicating Kieran and the twins while excluding Tristan. She had to be sure she’d heard right.
“Yep,” said one twin.
“Yup,” drawled the other.
“That’d be right,” Kieran agreed.
Dry mouthed, Aiden swallowed. She felt like she’d been led to a dessert buffet and then told she wasn’t allowed to sample anything on the menu.
“Damn,” she muttered, her disappointment vast and obvious, sending the twins into howling hysteria.
“I’m still available,” Tristan volunteered with an amazing arrogance, an outrageous self-confidence that defied both gravity and modesty.
“I doubt that Aiden is interested in cradle-robbing,” Kieran reprimanded, drawing an angry glare from Tristan.
“I can decide that for myself, thanks,” she said, feeling a touch snappish. Not that she necessarily wanted to date Tristan, who was only two or three years younger than Aiden, but she disliked having her “older brother” speak for her.
Kieran shot her a knowing look, and Tristan smirked, obviously assuming that her protest signified more than it actually did. Aiden veiled her exasperation behind a sigh and rolled her eyes. Men!
Kieran had the .45 in his hand and was in the act of tucking the gun into his jacket. Aiden opened her mouth to protest when a shadow passed overhead and an oh-so-familiar aura of power spilled over them all like a fine, thick mist.
Oh no! She’d forgotten about Magnus, and the Celt moved too fast for Aiden to intervene on the young men’s behalf. The Celt descended straight out of the sky, his leather cloak billowing like great black wings.
“This is mine,” Magnus announced, snatching the .45 from Kieran’s hand.
Aiden’s heart leapt into her throat, and her mind raced, shouting warnings, but her voice was frozen. The Celt’s boot caught Kieran in the side of the head with a kick that looked powerful enough to break a man’s neck. The force sent the young man flying into a hedge.
Exclamations and curses tore from the throats of the men who spread out to surround Magnus. “Vampire!” shouted one of the twins. “He’s undead!”
“Don’t hurt them!” Aiden shouted, finally finding her voice, but her plea fell on deaf ears. She hurried to Kieran and checked for signs of life. She found a steady pulse, and sweet, blessed relief flooded her.
Rory and Culkin rushed Magnus, tackling the Celt from opposite sides. Arms outstretched, Magnus stood his ground and intercepted a twin with either hand. He rammed the pair together, creating a head on collision that slammed the twins’ skulls together. Aiden cringed as the red heads dropped to the ground and landed in limp heaps. Thankfully, both were still alive but out cold.
Arms stiff and extended, Tristan moved forward holding a Ruger, a .45 caliber firearm, aimed at Magnus. A burst of muzzle flashed and a booming succession of shots were fired. Magnus jerked in response to each bullet drilled into his torso. Tristan aimed for the Celt’s heart as he tried to destroy the vital organ which even the undead needed to survive. He could’ve aimed for the head, but Magnus’ hood obscured his face, making a precise shot impossible.
Magnus took a full clip of bullets into his heart, and the Celt didn’t once try to evade. He didn’t lose his footing either. Tristan’s gun clicked empty, and Aiden released her held breath with an explosive exhalation.
“My turn,” Magnus drawled, sounding both vicious and amused. His tone terrified Aiden, because she knew that he meant to kill.
Aiden leapt forward and placed herself between the two men. The act was the height of stupidit
y and bravado, but she couldn’t stand by and watch Magnus murder the boy.
“Magnus, do NOT hurt him, or I swear to God I’m going to…” Aiden left the threat hanging and turned to glare at the Celt with her hands on her hips. Behind her, she heard a distinctive click.
Tristan had taken advantage of the opportunity to reload. Hardly reassuring, because now she had weapons aimed at both her front and back.
“I might point out that you called me. You can’t just change your mind in the middle of a cry for help,” Magnus replied, irate with her inconsistency and illogic.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, it violates the damsels-in-distress code,” Aiden muttered. “So sue me.”
“Aiden, what’s going on?” Tristan demanded. “You know this thing?”
The insult struck the soft underbelly of Magnus’ ego, and a low snarl issued from the Celt.
On a gut level, Aiden sensed Tristan was testing Magnus. Her newly learned spellcasting abilities allowed her to perceive the mystical energy crackling in the metaphysical miasma about them. Tristan’s power was solid and rooted in the earth, an immoveable and unyielding force. What Tristan lacked in flexibility, he made up for in sheer, stubborn cussedness.
In contrast, Magnus’ distinctive power swelled through the alley, constantly shifting, swift and supple, never fully revealing his entire ability. The fog obscured the true extent of the Celt’s power. He was darkness and mystery, both beautiful and terrifying.
Electrically charged currents streamed through the air as their auras clashed, and the entire cloud roiled, a building storm hanging above their heads. And she stood in the center of the tempest, trying desperately to prevent the psychic conflict from escalating into further bloodshed.
“Jesus, he’s ancient. I’ve never seen one this old,” Tristan murmured in the distant, dreamy whisper of reverie. “Thousands of years, centuries crushing centuries, chaos and creation...”
“Your young friend has a bent for the poetic, Aiden,” Magnus observed with an amused chuckle.
Struggling to shake off the weight of the enchantment enshrouding them, Aiden stared at the Celt. “What’s with this ‘thousands of years’ stuff? I thought you were a millennium max?”
Phoenix Contract: Part Five (Fallen Angel Watchers) Page 5
