Die By Night

by Kaitlynn Aisling

  I avoid the cup, because the cup seems to be a promise that he’ll return, while the book is almost evidence that he won’t. I’m tempted to chuck the old book at him. I restrain myself because of his obvious reverence for the thing.

  He flinches, just barely, then the movement is lost amid the stone of his solemnity. How can I penetrate that steely facade? Logic isn’t working, persistence hasn’t worked; nothing is getting through to him. He’s unmoved by my outburst, so I attempt something else.

  “Please, Gavin. Don't go. We can run.”

  I crawl toward the foot of the bed where his stiff and tense form is waiting. I’ll lower myself, I’ll surrender my pride, because this is much more important.

  He turns his head from me, not acknowledging my begging. Then, still without looking at me, he says, “Connor is ready for whatever happens. Listen tae everything he says.”

  With that, he turns on his heel and leaves me alone in our bedroom.

  That night we endure a strained dinner, none of us willing to discuss what the next day holds. We go to bed, Gavin holding me tightly until I fall asleep, as if our tense conversations never happened.

  When I wake in the morning, Gavin is gone.

  Chapter Twenty

  The bed is cold on his side when I reach out. I already know what he’s done, but if I stay in bed, I can pretend Gavin’s still here. I can pretend he’s in the bathroom brushing his teeth, or downstairs teasing Glenna while she cooks breakfast. He could be just outside wrestling with Hawke, or he could be chopping firewood, the Highlander’s form of stress relief.

  My eyes shut tighter, and I turn to his side. His pillow smells like him—musk, and man, and danger.

  “You should get up. Walking is good for the baby, and you need to eat.”

  The voice has me jolting out of bed. I ignore the fact that my nightgown is all askew from sleep and showing cleavage and glimpses of bare skin. None of that matters right now, not with Gavin’s personal guard standing in front of me rather than protecting him.

  “What are you doing here? You should be with him!”

  I lunge forward and smack his chest; he doesn’t retaliate.

  “He left before dawn. He went alone.”

  The stubborn man did the opposite of what I wanted. Instead of taking everyone for protection, he left all of them here for me.

  Hawke’s eyebrows, just a shade too dark for his brown hair, look stark against the pallor of his skin. He may be almost as upset as I am.

  “And you let him?” I ask, incredulous.

  I was upset before, but this changes everything. There’s nothing to stop the witches from ambushing him. There’s nothing to prevent betrayal.

  “Never mind. Go. Go now and catch up!”

  “He doesn’t want that, and he’s still my rìgh.”

  “You idiot! They will kill him! Then what? He won’t be your rìgh then, will he? He won’t be anyone’s rìgh then!”

  I pummel Hawke’s chest some more, just because hurting him makes me hurt a little less.

  “Lass—”

  “Don’t call me that,” I hiss at him.

  Tears have begun to stream down my cheeks, but it’s just one more thing I can’t care about right now. Hawke reaches out a hand toward my head, but draws it back, likely remembering the fact that I’m a marked woman. I wonder if that mark will fade after Gavin dies.

  “Please,” I try again

  Begging didn’t work on Gavin, but maybe it will on Hawke.

  “Come eat breakfast.”

  “Hawke.”

  “Now, please,” Connor interrupts from the door.

  That’s right; keep me safe from myself while your rìgh sacrifices his life for all of us. They’re a bunch of spineless cowards.

  “Fine.”

  After I brush my teeth and run a brush half heartedly through my hair, they both escort me downstairs as if worried I’ll make a run for it. It’s ridiculous, and my anger is rising as fast as my despair.

  I can’t stomach the thought of the pancakes in front of me. Glenna cooked my favorite breakfast food as if it would make a difference. There’s even a cup of decaf coffee next to my plate.

  “How long will it take?” How long before we hear news?

  “Eat,” Heather growls from across the table.

  She’s soldier and midwife today. But again, the whole thing is ludicrous. Missing one meal won’t matter much to me, or even to Liam. Missing Gavin? That’s going to matter. A lot.

  I take a few bites, just to get them all to shut up. It takes swallowing down half my serving to get them to leave me alone. Then I sit back in my chair and watch Glenna clean off the table.

  They won’t talk to me about Gavin and the treaty, but maybe they’d be willing to discuss the history of it. Maybe I can wrap the conversation to what I really want.

  “Why March 20th? It seems so specific.”

  I turn to Hawke, knowing from Gavin that he is one of the most educated people here, schooled by Gavin’s own mother.

  “It is the day of Alban Eiler, otherwise known as the Vernal equinox. The solstices and equinoxes receive special reverence from witches. It is believed that the boundaries between the realm of the Tuath Dé and our world are thinnest during these times, leaving magic at its most powerful.” Guessing my question before I ask it, he explains, “The Tuath Dé are the Celtic fairy gods. But don’t mistake the word fairy for anything small or whimsical. They’re less Tinkerbell, more evil beings swapping people’s infants with changelings.”

  His explanation is mechanical. We’re pretending. We’re pretending that this conversation is worth our time. We’re acting as if today is a normal day, and this breakfast is a normal breakfast. I can pretend too.

  “Wow, that’s just creepy. And forgive me for sounding like an uneducated foreigner, but I’ve always considered St. Patrick’s Day to be the holiday of these parts.”

  “Not so. There are many Celtic festivals we celebrate. Nearly every month of the year holds special significance. There’s Samhain, which is during your Halloween, there’s Beltane which is usually the first day of May, and just recently Imbolc was celebrated on February 1st.”

  “February . . . ” Why does that—“Wait! What is Imbolc a celebration of?”

  “It is a time of awakening and new birth, the celebration first began when Brighid, a member of the Tuath Dé was pregnant with the seed of the sun. It’s celebrated as a time of fertility and growth of the earth.”

  “Hawke, I was abducted on February 1st. That’s when the vampires took me.”

  “What? You’re saying . . . And you were pregnant . . . ”

  “The witches have been in league with the vampires all this time! That has to be why they took me that day. It has to mean something!”

  “No, there’s a treaty . . . they couldn’t, they wouldn’t be able to—”

  “Hawke, you’re saying the witches are the most powerful during these holidays, when magic runs rampant through our world. Maybe they were powerful enough during the holiday of fertility to aid another in capturing a pregnant woman. The vamp’s minions trailed me for days before attempting to grab me. There has to be a reason for that.”

  Hawke is staring at me as if not quite believing what’s he’s hearing. I know I’m getting through to him though, because he’s jumped to his feet, the poor table shifting to the side as if it will fall apart any minute.

  “You have to catch Gavin, because the Wards are going down,” I push.

  “If all this is true, it makes it even more imperative that I stay. I can’t leave you. He’d never forgive me for that.”

  “Connor has this. You have to go. Please, Hawke. They’ll kill him and then come for me.”

  “I-I—I can’t . . . I need—Holy crivens!”

  I try and hold back the tears as Hawke loses it. Spewing a mixture of Scottish curses, he slams his hands against the table. Heather and Glenna look on in shock.

  I’m at a loss, at the mercy of Hawke
’s decision. I can’t stop Gavin myself. I’m not strong enough to overpower Connor, Hawke, and the rest, and the way Connor is on me like white on rice prevents me from sneaking away. Then again, even if I did manage to sneak out, what would I do then? I don’t know the way to this super-secret, ritual laden, treaty negotiation spot. I don’t have transportation. Hawke has to relent, because I can’t let Gavin die.

  “Hawke.”

  “Just give me a minute! OK? Just give me a damn second!”

  His tan skin has paled even more in the face of these revelations; his eyebrows are two lines of stark color above panicked eyes. He turns on his heels and punches a hole through the wall.

  “We don’t have a minute,” I whisper.

  I’m hoping against hope that I can get through to him and that he’ll disobey all the protocol and hierarchy that’s been dictated to him since birth. I’m praying we haven’t run out of time.

  No one else has moved, waiting to see what he’ll decide. I know I’m supposed to be in charge with Gavin gone, as I’m the next in the hierarchy, but no one here will listen to me. Hawke is Gavin’s second. He’s my best bet.

  Then, suddenly, he calms. He runs his fingers through his hair, setting it back to some semblance of order. His lips firm and his eyes become steady, unrelenting, and when he talks, there’s not a trace of tremor or hesitation.

  “Connor, take Natalie, Heather, and anyone else willing to leave, to the Hallow. Murdoch, go and get Robert. You’re with me.”

  With that pronouncement, the dining room becomes a hive of activity. Glenna rushes to the kitchen muttering about provisions. Murdoch, who I didn’t know was even in the room, runs outside, and a minute later I hear an engine starting.

  “Hawke—”

  “I know, Nat. I know. I’m going to bring him back.”

  He brushes the sleeve of my shirt and offers a vague excuse of a reassuring smile. Then he too is gone.

  The front door is open, everyone scurrying about like ants, and the relief is so pressing that I can barely hold myself up. There’s a chance now. There’s hope.

  There’s no time to enjoy the feeling though.

  “Just like old times, huh?” Heather asks, holding up my now ragged duffel.

  That’s something I like about Heather, nothing seems to faze her.

  “Pass that on to Connor and it’ll be almost identical,” I reply.

  She grins.

  “Don’t worry, Rìgain, you aren’t going to be lugging anything in your state.”

  I cup my stomach with one hand. I never forget Liam’s in there, my constant traveling buddy, but it’s been so crazy that I don’t always get the chance to just enjoy my pregnancy.

  Then a random, unpleasant thought crosses my brain.

  “There’s not going to be a hospital birth, is there?”

  She grins, unrepentant.

  “Nope. I’m it for you; your royal obstetric staff.”

  She curtsies with extreme fanfare as she says it, like it’s some sort of royal announcement. The action looks absurd paired with her standard tough chick outfit.

  All the possibilities from my previous research causes visions of complications to dance through my head. It’s enough to make me vomit. Literally. I manage to make it outside to the grass.

  “Is she unwell? We cannot travel if she is unwell!”

  “Can it, Connor. I’m fine. Just let me catch my breath,” I yell.

  “You do that, Rìgain, because in several days I’ll be catching your bairn.”

  “Shut up, Heather!”

  Connor takes over scolding Heather for me, warning her it’s not good for my health and digestion to be upset. I can’t believe we’re doing this.

  “Heather, go to the outer edge and tell them what’s going on. Tell them we’re leaving in thirty minutes and they better be ready if they want any chance of ever rejoining the pack.”

  She obeys. Connor comes up to my side and rubs my back. The touch is foreign coming from him, and though I’ve eased up on my judgment of him, he’s still a male and he’s not Gavin.

  I hunch forward and vomit again.

  There goes Glenna’s pancakes.

  “You should sit,” he whispers.

  I should walk. I should eat. I should sit. Just who is the queen here?!

  “What are you doing over here? We need to leave. Now,” a voice says from behind me.

  I sit up to see who it is. Whoah.

  “Fiona?” I ask, incredulous.

  Fiona, Piper’s mother, has never spoken to me before. I thought for sure she hated my guts. Silas stands behind her in the doorway, his hands resting on her shoulders. Behind him, I see the edges of Piper’s favorite cardigan, her form too small to be visible behind her huge father.

  Fiona nods at me, and I’m not sure what that means, but I take it as encouragement.

  “Silas, load up the vehicles. One bag each, everyone!”

  Silas doesn’t look too happy to be ordered around by me, but he does move to follow my instructions.

  Ten minutes later, there’s a small, ragtag group loading their bags into the all-terrain vehicles Silas parked out front. However, I notice several people missing. I don’t see Athol; I wonder if she even knows her husband went after Gavin with Hawke and Murdoch. Silas and Fiona are arguing off to the side of the main house. Connor is eyeing me, worried I’ll puke again, as if I have anything in my stomach left to purge. Heather is rifling through a bag of medical instruments that I don’t even want to think about, and Piper is trying to be inconspicuous while loading two bags into the back of a vehicle.

  I don’t see Isla, Nolan’s mother. Like Athol, she may not even know her husband has gone after Gavin. Luciah is missing, as well as all of the outliers that Gavin has kept separate from me all this time.

  “Where is everyone? We need to be far away from here by the time midnight rolls around.”

  “They’re not willing to go,” Luciah says.

  Well, that’s one down from my list. She’s standing to my right, fidgeting. She’s always been kinder to me than the others, as if trying to garner favor, or she could just be sweet natured—I have no idea where her true motivation lies.

  “Everyone is going! I order it!”

  If these idiots think they can stay and negotiate or bargain with the witches for their lives, they haven’t been paying attention. Anyone who stays will die. I’m certain of it.

  “Who are you to order anything?”

  And there’s Athol! Why couldn’t she just stay gone? I know she isn’t the only one who hates me; she’s just the spokesperson of the discontent. I just wish they had chosen someone more diplomatic for the role.

  Connor bristles, moving to remove the threat that is Athol, but I slice my hand down in a halting motion. If I don’t take control now, I’ll never gain their respect.

  “I have all the authority. I am the rìgain.”

  “A female has no authority without a mate, even a royal one.”

  Now that’s pushing it too far.

  “Gavin is not dead! Do you hear me, you stupid hag? He’s alive, and he will be coming to meet us with Murdoch, Hawke, and Robert. Anyone who stays here is signing their death warrant. As your rìgain, I am ordering you, all of you, to come to safety with us. Is that understood?”

  I know Gavin will be heartbroken if only a portion of his pack survives. I have to do everything in my limited power to convince these people to flee.

  “Gather the outliers, Luciah. Tell them this isn’t a request.”

  I know they’re waiting just close enough to hear me, even if I can’t see them, but I want Luciah to physically bring them here. I want to see them, look into their eyes, and ensure that not a soul stays behind.

  Luciah scurries off like a scared little rabbit. I let my satisfaction show on my face as I turn back to Athol.

  “Except for you, Athol. My order does not apply to you, because I couldn’t care less what happens to you. Feel free to tell Robert he’s welcom
e to come though; that is, of course, if he stops here first.”

  I reason Gavin can afford to lose one pack member.

  “Rìgain,” Connor says, his voice low and cautious. He should be cautious. I just lowered the boom!

  “Yes?”

  “It is called the Hallow for a reason. Tis a sacred place, not intended for everyone.”

  “Connor, we will not turn a single soul away, is that understood?”

  There better be some understanding up in this joint, cause I’m about to lose it!

  “Aye, Rìgain. And may I say, it’s about time.”

  Pushy guard. He’s more like Hawke than I realized. I hate being manipulated, even if the end result is my taking charge. I may set this mantle back down if the crisis ever passes, but for now, I might as well get used to its weight.

  Athol gets into a vehicle without another word, though I’m not naive enough to believe it’s because of anything I said. She’s only coming along for fear she might miss Robert. Still, a victory is a victory, no matter how it’s gained. She slams her door extra hard though, so I’m not certain her coming with us qualifies as a victory.

  And then, wonder of all wonders, Luciah appears at the top of the rise toward Buchanan, and a team of people are behind her, each holding one bag.

  I don’t know any of them, but I know we need them. They are the future of this pack.

  I acknowledge them with a grim smile and we all load up. Connor brings me round to the green jeep, where Heather is already sitting in the front seat. He loads me into the back, doing his best not to touch my skin. We drive off into the forest, the sun nearing its peak in the sky.

  The Hallow is actually a group of lean-tos and cabins, hidden within a copse in the deep, deep forest. It took us three hours to get here, the final hour by foot.

  I amused myself with morbid Christmas carols of my own creation during the long drive. Things like, “Traipsing through the woods, with a band of crazy wolves, O’re the hills we go, crying all the way” to the tune of Jingle Bells. And, “Over the river and through the woods, to a hallowed house we go, we don’t know the way and have been betrayed, but there’s nowhere else to go-oh”—to the tune of To Grandmother’s House We Go. I made the mistake of singing the last one under my breath. To the tune of The Christmas Song, “Vultures circling o’r the doomed wolf pack, vampires nipping at our heels, tiny tots along for the ride—”