Trevor took her hand. “I can teleport us. It will save time. Zelik is in the lab.”
Before she could respond, they appeared in the hallway around the corner from the analysis-testing chamber. The odor of fresh blood permeated the area.
How did Trevor know exactly where Zelik was hiding? She wrinkled her nose at the smell.
Trevor emitted a low growl. Hunger.
She placed her hand on his shoulder and whispered. “Do you have a supply of blood in your office? Go eat.”
Before Trevor could answer, an explosion rent the air tossing them to the floor.
Zelik’s maniacal laughter echoed in the empty corridor. “Trevor, I know you’re there with Melania. She’s mine, Kerrin.”
Melania rose. Anger and determination merged with her newfound power. The strength in the air radiating from Zelik’s form astounded her.
She tensed and rocked on the balls of her feet, releasing a special mechanism inside her boot. A small silver shuriken spike and five-pointed star ejected from the side. She carefully palmed the weapons and spoke into Trevor’s ear. “Don’t move unless you want a silver spike in your back.”
With a loud “Yahhhh” she jumped around the corner, tossed the spike. And missed.
Zelik’s force field deflected the weapon. The old vampire raised his arm and blasted Melania into the wall. Her skin burned and her body shuddered from the hit. The star clattered to the floor out of reach. How was she going to kill the old bat now?
She lifted her throbbing head and turned to the floor-to-ceiling window to her left. Her vision was blurred, but the pull of the celestial body’s powder blue illumination calmed her. When the moonlight touched her eyes, an incredible power jolted through her entire being. Sharp, cool. Invigorating.
Melania pushed up from the wall, flexed her arms and her weapons flew into her waiting hands. She laughed and circled Zelik. “Ready to play?”
Zelik’s roar rattled the windowpanes.
Trevor moved toward Melania, but Zelik muttered a phrase and flexed his wrist tossing Trevor to the end of the corridor beneath the window. “You are immobile, Kerrin. Through the years I have perfected this secret talent. My plan will begin as soon as you are dead. Melania, you will become my queen.” Zelik moved to Trevor’s side.
She couldn’t strike Zelik without endangering Trevor. The vile vampire hovered close knowing she wouldn’t harm her mate. She lifted her chin and boldly met Zelik’s gaze. The sleeves of her coat covered the weapons. “I’m sending your hoary soul to roast in Hell.”
Zelik used his supernatural speed and imprisoned her in his arms.
She took a deep breath and pushed with every ounce of strength she possessed. The old one staggered from surprise. At that moment, she tossed the shuriken spike. It pierced Zelik’s heart. Blood seeped through the wound, a crimson blossom against the stark white shirt. As they would’ve said in the twenty-first century—oh shit! She did it!
Zelik’s pale skin became ashen. Hate twisted his features.
She narrowed her gaze on the slimy wormhole. “Let … Trevor … Go … Now.”
Zelik released an inhuman howl, breaking the window.
Melania wanted to run to her injured mate, but she couldn’t. The sound rendered her immobile. “Trevor, he’s calling for reinforcements!”
She grabbed her weapon and hissed her pleasure at the feel of it against her palm. Her finger tapped the sensor priming the kill mode.
Her senses pounded from the Immortal power rushing in like a tidal wave from the broken casement. She thrust her arms out trying to break the dark psychic link.
Zelik growled then released a scream filled with anger, pain and defeat as he lunged for her.
Melania jerked her arm, pulled the trigger and focused the laser on the pulsating wound. Her hands quivered from the concentrated effort. The pungent scent of rotten, burnt flesh hung thick in the air. Bile rose in her throat. Zelik’s scream and curse faded as he turned into a pile of ash.
Chest heaving, Melania swiped her arm across her brow. Every curve of her body spoke defiance. “No one, and I mean no one, tells me I’ve failed my mission for the CGIA.”
She popped the laser into the holster and ran to Trevor. She swallowed hard. No man, uh, vampire ever looked better. It was the expression on his face, which made her breath catch. She sensed his pride in her accomplishment. Now that Zelik was dead, his hold on Trevor was broken.
Her soulmate walked toward her with calculated grace and pulled her into his embrace. “You could have been killed, but I’m impressed with your warrior skills.”
She pushed out of his hug just enough to look at him and smile. “Trevor, this is my job. I love what I do.”
“Can we negotiate on just how much you love your job?”
They strolled back to his office, arms around each other. She tightened her grip around his waist. “Now will you explain to me the history of bloodlines, chosen ones and the significance of the Blue Moon to vampires?”
Trevor laughed. “We will discuss everything later. Much later.” He bent and touched his lips to hers.
When he released her, they were back at her home, in her bedroom. The glowing orb shone through the lace curtains dappling the floor. Pure magic. Blue Moon Magic. Melania knew she would never think of the phrase ‘Once in a Blue Moon’ in the same way, ever again.
* * * *
Visit Keelia’s website at
keeliagreer.tripod.com/
Rider in the Storm
by Deborah MacGillivray
Pressing her foot down on the gas pedal, Ciara MacIain braced for the series of sharp S-curves up ahead. She was driving too fast on the dark, rain-slick road. Didn’t give a damn. Hadn’t given a bloody damn since that stormy, autumn evening seven years ago.
Her eyes glanced to the clock on the dash. Strange, she hadn’t planned it, but she would reach the exact spot … almost precisely to the minute. A shiver shuddered up her spine as she half expected to see Rod Serling step from the shadows.
Portrait of a woman who thinks she has nothing to lose. Driving home too fast on a lonely, country lane one rainy night, she’s about to find out she just took a turn onto a road … that leads straight to The Twilight Zone.
Life bizarrely had come full circle. Did that mean something would finally happen to break the pall that held her in suspension? She’d read that every cell in your body is replaced within the passing of seven years, that you’re really a new person at the end of the cycle. If only that were the case.
She thought back on the folly, which brought her to this point in time.
Blue Moon Madness. Had she really hoped a simple, heartfelt wish on a moon would work magic? Folklore said a rare enchantment could happen on the night of a Blue Moon. Too bad, she stopped believing in faerytales seven years ago this night.
The night Derek died.
She fought back the black depression that always came with the anniversary of his death. Friends assured her time healed, she’d let go of her grief and move on. Part of that was true. The raw ache, the crying jags, hysterical laughter edging toward madness—all that had faded, leaving a deadness inside. For years, she embraced that numbness, preferable to the pain. She just did her best to get through one day at a time.
The nights were the hardest. When she was alone—except for her cat, Sinnjinn. In the long hours of darkness, she’d cradled his huge, dark grey body to her chest, a purring, fur-covered life preserver, and simply endured until another sunrise came.
Now, she sensed the time had come to live again. She wanted a life, a home, a family. Only Derek’s memory wouldn’t let her go. She couldn’t conjure that shimmering vision and not see Derek’s beautiful face as a part of that future.
This morn she’d awoken to the pain of being thirty-seven, the years passing her by. Time to break the chains of the past. She’d hoped to shatter that hold, the suspension of her life, by visiting his grave.
What an eegit she’d been.
&
nbsp; On impulse, she’d gathered the bottle of champagne and come out to the cemetery, intent on wishing Derek a final farewell. Harebrained idea. Instead of a goodbye toast, she’d foolishly railed at the injustice of life, so furious Derek still haunted her … that she hadn’t followed him into the grave. An utter dolt for dashing the bottle against the headstone when none of it—tears, pain, frustration—would change anything.
The warm autumn sun had filtered through the tall oak trees as she sat beside the grave and toasted their lost love, the beautiful life they would’ve had … the child they’d never create from that love. She ended up drinking the whole ruddy bottle, then hurled it against the gravestone in anger. Unable to stop herself, she’d flung her body across the grave and cried until she slipped into a stupor.
Coming to, she’d been cold. Small wonder. How stupid could you get? She’d fallen asleep on a grave in a cemetery. No, not a grave—Derek’s grave. Fearful, she’d glanced around, but no one was about.
Just the Blue Moon overhead.
She couldn’t have slept long. Maybe an hour or two. Deep dusk had settled over the silent landscape, but with the full moon up early there was enough light. Her eyes had taken in the shards of the broken Moet bottle, where she’d smashed it against the marble headstone, then to the oozing blood on the inside of her left arm. Evidently she’d cut herself on the glass. And bled. The blood upon the grave appeared black in the moonlight.
She looked at the huge blue orb in the sky. Gathering storm clouds worked to shroud it from view as the first droplets of rain hit her face. If only one could wish on a moon, to turn back the clock to that point in time where her life had been shattered … just like the wine bottle.
“I wish…” The words died in her throat.
What did she expect? There was no wish that could mend her life, her heart. No Faery Godmother. No putting Humpty-Dumpty back together again. Just her and the Blue Moon … and the body of the man she had loved more than life.
Blinking against the tears, she stared at the marble headstone bearing Derek’s name. “Goodbye, my love.” Choking back a sob, she’d run to her car.
The deluge hit, pounding on the metal roof. Outside, the tires made a soothing, whooshing sound as the car sped down the winding narrow road. The sound was hypnotic, lulling. It’d be so easy to close her eyes and let Fate take control of her life … or death.
Not a coward, Ciara fought to stay focused instead of letting the memories suck her into the past. Eschewing the brake, her left foot shoved in on the clutch while her right increased the pressure on the gas. She downshifted and roared into the S-curves, losing no speed as she took the hairpin turns. Two more winding bends were up ahead, then the final one—the hardest of all to face.
Named the Devil’s Spiral, the locals had laughingly called it Dead Man’s Curve, after the old Jan & Dean song of the ‘60s. Her stomach did a small roll. They were right on that account. It was, indeed, a dead man’s curve.
The spot where Derek had died.
Suddenly, that night was alive in her mind. The police calling … there had been a wreck—her fiancee, Derek Adams, was pinned in his shiny red Jaguar X-J sedan. A drunk driver had rear-ended Derek’s Jag, slamming him into the path of an oncoming cement truck. The engine of the sports car was driven back, causing the steering wheel to pin him. They were using the Jaws of Life to get him out, but it would take time. An ambulance was already on the scene to transport him.
The female voice had been so kind, so solicitous. The words she’d spoken sounded like she was talking under water. As gently as possible, the officer suggested Ciara might wish to be at the hospital waiting. It chilled her blood.
Since the accident scene was closer, she’d raced there instead. The lights were the first thing she’d seen—the blue and red of the police cars, blocking off traffic. Their glare and flashing seemed to lash out and fill the rainy autumn dusk. Trembling, edging toward shock, she’d pulled off the pavement and jumped from her vintage Triumph. The officer had caught her about the waist as she ran toward Derek’s car.
A scream tore from her throat when she saw the horrible wreckage. The red Jag looked like some bizarre accordion; the long, sleek sports car was neither long nor sleek.
“Miss … miss…” The officer’s steel embrace dragged her back. “There’s nothing you can do, Miss. He’s gone. His femoral artery was sliced by a shard of metal. He bled to death before we could get to him. I’m sorry … so sorry.”
She saw them pulling Derek from the wreckage, an IV attached to his neck. “But they’re giving him fluids.”
The EMT glanced up as they hoisted the stretcher to the back of the ambulance. “He’s an organ donor, Miss. So sorry.”
She nearly lost it. She recalled how laughing, beautiful Derek had signed his driver’s license, designating in the event of his death his organs should be donated to help another to live. I want my passing to count for something, my love.
Blackness had claimed her, though the words echoed in her brain. So sorry … so sorry … so sorry…
Oh, how utterly obscene.
The memory never left her. Awake or dreams, it was always there. Odd. To this day, she couldn’t recall the face of the man who uttered the words that had destroyed her world.
So sorry.
Like a robot, she heedlessly sped into the steep S-turns, downshifting and increasing the rev of the engine. Her foot never touched the brake pedal. The velocity pulled the car out of the curves.
Ciara blinked again, shocked. A sense of unreality filled her as if she had taken the turnoff into The Twilight Zone. Just ahead was a flash of brilliant red, off to the side of the road. Her heart jumped into her throat, pushing her to slow the speed of the Triumph. She made out it was a car—a red car. She might puke. A vivid red Ferrari was off the pavement and nearly to the creek.
Right in the spot where Derek had died.
The engine whined a protest as she downshifted and stomped on the brakes, fishtailing on the wet road.
Ciara could barely see as the rain poured in sheets, cascading down the window screen and preventing the wipers from keeping it clear. She hesitated. Too far from the relay tower, the cell phone was useless. Common sense warned getting out and checking wasn’t a good idea on this lonely road, yet she couldn’t just pass and not ascertain if someone needed help.
She batted her eyes to blot away tears, straining to see through the rain lashing against the car. There was movement in front of the other vehicle, as if someone tried to push it from where it was mired in the mud. Suddenly, a figure—a man— straightened and came jogging toward her TR-6, waving for her to roll down the window.
He wore a black parka, the hood pulled up over his head. She couldn’t make out the features of his face as he put his forearm on the roof and leaned down. “May I use your cell phone?”
He almost had to shout over the thunder that boomed the instant he’d opened his mouth. Droplets of rain hit her lashes as she stared up at his darkened countenance, wondering what he was doing out here. In a red car. At this precise instant.
Her heart thudded, slow, but it wasn’t fear … precisely.
Ciara shook her head. “No good around here. The hills are too high.”
“Bloody hell. Look, I know it’s not smart to pick up a stranger…” he hesitated, frowning and then glancing back toward his car, “but I really need to get somewhere to fetch a tow truck. I’m stuck. There’s no getting that baby out of this mire.”
Ciara liked the sound of his voice, a deep, sexy British accent that had an underlying hint of Irish brogue. A shiver crawled over her damp skin in reaction. It wasn’t fear. Her fae sense whispered this man would do her no harm.
He was a total stranger, yet she found herself saying, “Come on, I’ll give you a lift.”
White teeth flashed, almost boyishly. “Thanks. Let me shut the ‘rari off and lock up.”
He trotted toward the low-slung sports car, the vivid red almost obscene in her car�
��s high beams. Swinging open the driver’s door, he leaned inside and cut the lights. When he pulled back, his hand held a black leather duffle. He locked the Ferrari, then pocketed the keys into his black slacks. Playfully male and about to be parted from his baby, he patted the car’s roof, sighed and then jogged back.
Jagged lightning flashed, washing everything in brilliant blue-white.
Ciara’s breath caught. Couldn’t expel it. Bathed in the luminous glow, the long legs, the general shape of his torso evoked the memory of Derek. Then darkness fell and he was just a shadow moving in the rainy night.
He opened the passenger door and started to get in. “Tight fit,” he complained, using the lever to scoot the seat all the way back. The long legs pushed in, his body followed, then he chuckled, “Very tight fit.”
Her heart slowed at the seductive cant of the British accent. She forced words from her mouth, lest he think her an eegit. “I don’t have a problem.”
He leaned toward her, so he could stuff the duffle in the back. “That’s because you have shorter legs.”
She swallowed hard. Derek had always said the same thing when forced to ride in her vintage TR-6. “Why … why would you say that?”
The beguiling scent of male hit her full force, clouded her brain. Her heart jolted and beat fast, irregular. She tried not to breathe, to inhale his heady scent. Not a cologne, just a faint hint of soap and pure unadulterated sexy man. Heat rolled off his body and buffeted her senses.
Shifting, he reached up to tug back the hood. He sounded as if he wasn’t sure. “Actually … it just popped into my head. I guess you being female, you’re shorter than me, so…”
Feeling silly, she shrugged and reached to put the car into gear, but he dropped the hood and turned to smile.
Ciara flinched. His hair was blue-black, thick and wavy, not the white blond lion’s mane of Derek. Derek had a lean hungry look, where this man’s jaw was squarer, stubborn. But there was … something about him … a faint resemblance in the bone structure that evoked the poignant image of Derek in her mind.
“Roarke…”
Blue Moon Magic Page 28
