by Shayla Black
Jenna jumped up laughing and grabbed his hand. “No. We’re staying in. Rocky, Devin, Mina, thank you for your hospitality. We’re going back to Sam’s house. Uncle Jamie is busy dishing out Halloween treats. We’re going to be alone for a while.”
Sam jumped up, ready to comply, but noted, “We’ll all head back to Krewe headquarters in the morning.”
And he told them all goodnight. Outside, the moon had risen over a beautiful, brisk, October night.
Jenna rose on her toes and kissed his lips.
“Trick or treat?” he asked.
“I intend to see that on this Halloween, every move we make is going to be one hell of a treat.” She drew a finger down his chest. “Here, there, and everywhere.”
He kissed her.
“I shall strive to make this a happy, happy Halloween too.”
They drove to his house, and then they were alone.
There were all manner of treats…
And it was a very happy Halloween indeed.
Also from 1001 Dark Nights and Heather Graham, discover Crimson Twilight, When Irish Eyes Are Haunting, and Blood on the Bayou.
About Heather Graham
Heather Graham has been writing for many years and actually has published nearly 200 titles. So, for this page, we’ll concentrate on the Krewe of Hunters.
Phantom Evil
Heart of Evil
Sacred Evil
The Evil Inside
The Unseen
The Unholy
The Unspoken
The Uninvited
The Night is Watching
The Night is Alive
The Night is Forever
The Cursed
The Hexed
The Betrayed
The Silenced
The Forgotten
The Hidden
Actually, though, Adam Harrison—responsible for putting the Krewe together, first appeared in a book called Haunted. He also appeared in Nightwalker and has walk-ons in a few other books. For more ghostly novels, readers might enjoy the Flynn Brothers Trilogy—Deadly Night, Deadly Harvest, and Deadly Gift, or the Key West Trilogy—Ghost Moon, Ghost Shadow, and Ghost Night.
The Vampire Series (now under Heather Graham/ previously Shannon Drake) Beneath a Blood Red Moon, When Darkness Falls, Deep Midnight, Realm of Shadows, The Awakening, Dead by Dusk, Blood Red, Kiss of Darkness, and From Dust to Dust.
For more info, please visit her web page, http://www.theoriginalheathergraham.com or stop by on Facebook.
When Irish Eyes Are Haunting
A Krewe of Hunters Novella
By Heather Graham
Now Available!
Click here to purchase.
Devin Lyle and Craig Rockwell are back, this time to a haunted castle in Ireland where a banshee may have gone wild—or maybe there’s a much more rational explanation—one that involves a disgruntled heir, murder, and mayhem, all with that sexy light touch Heather Graham has turned into her trademark style.
* * * *
Chapter One
“Ah, you can hear it in the wind, you can, the mournful cry of the banshee!” Gary Duffy—known as Gary the Ghost—exclaimed with wide eyes, his tone low, husky and haunting along with the sound of the crackling fire. “It’s a cry so mournful and so deep, you can feel it down into your bones. Indeed. Some say she’s the spirit of a woman long gone who’s lost everyone dear in her life; some say she is one of the fairy folk. Some believe she is a death ghost, and come not to do ill, but to ease the way of the dying, those leaving this world to enter the next. However she is known, her cry is a warning that ‘tis time for a man to put his affairs in order, and kiss his loved ones good-bye, before taking that final journey that is the fate of all men. And women,” he added, looking around at his audience. “Ah, and believe me! At Castle Karney, she’s moaned and cried many a time, many a time!”
Yes! Just recently, Devin Lyle thought.
Very recently.
Gary spoke well; he was an excellent storyteller, more of a performer than a guide. He had a light and beautiful brogue that seemed to enhance his words as well and an ability to speak with a deep tone that carried, yet still seemed to be something of a whisper.
All in the tour group were enthralled as they watched him—even the youngest children in the group were silent.
But then, beyond Gary’s talents, the night—offering a nearly full moon and a strange, shimmering silver fog—lent itself to storytelling and ghostly yarns. As did the lovely and haunting location where Gary spun his tales.
The group sat around a campfire that burned in an ancient pit outside the great walls of Castle Karney, halfway between those walls and St. Patrick’s of the Village—the equally ancient church of Karney, said to have been built soon after the death of Ireland’s patron saint. A massive graveyard surrounded the church; the Celtic crosses, angels, cherubs, and more, seemed to glow softly in a surreal shade of pearl beneath the moon. That great orb itself was stunning, granting light and yet shrouded in the mist that shimmered over the graveyard, the castle walls, and down to embrace the fire itself—and Gary the Ghost—in surreal and hypnotic beauty.
Gary’s tour was thorough.
They’d already visited the castle courtyard, the cliffs, the church, and the graveyard, learning history and legends along the way.
The fire pit they now gathered around had been used often in the centuries that came before—many an attacking lord or general had based his army here, just outside the walls. They had cooked here, burned tar here for assaults, and stood in the light and warmth of the blaze to stare at the castle walls and dream of breeching them.
The walls were over ten feet thick. An intrepid Karney—alive at the time of William the Conqueror—had seen to it that the family holding was shored up with brick and stone.
“The night is still now,” Gary said, his voice low and rich. “But listen if you will when the wind races across the Irish Sea. And you’ll hear the echo of her wail, on special nights, aye, the heart-wrenching cry of the banshee!”
Gary—Devin knew from her cousin, Kelly—was now the full-time historian, curator, and tour director at Castle Karney. She’d learned a lot from him, but, naturally, she’d known a lot already from family lore. Kelly Karney was her cousin and Devin had been to Castle Karney once before.
The Karney family had held title to the property since the time of St. Patrick. Despite bloodshed and wars, and multiple invasions first by Vikings and then British monarchs, they’d held tenaciously to the property. So tenaciously that fifteen years ago—to afford the massive property along with repairs and taxes—they had turned it into a fashionable bed and breakfast, touted far and wide on tourist sites as a true experience as well as a vacation.
Gary, with his wonderful ability to weave a tale, was part of the allure—as if staying in a castle with foundations and a great hall begun in the early part of the fifth century was not enough!
But Gary had gained fame in international guidebooks. While the Karney family had employed him first for the guests of the B&B, they’d always opened the tours to visitors who came to the village and stayed anywhere there—or just stopped by for the tour.
“Indeed! Here, where the great cliffs protected the lords of Karney from any assault by the Irish Sea, where the great walls stood tall against the slings, rams, arrows, and even canon of the enemy, the banshees wail is known to be heard. Throughout the years, ‘twas heard each night before the death of the master of the house. Sometimes, they say, she cried to help an elderly lord make his way to the great castle in the sky. Yet she may cry for all, and has cast her mournful wail into the air for many a Karney, master or no. Saddest still, was the wailing of the banshee the night before the English knight, Sir Barry Martin, burst in to kidnap the Lady Brianna. He made his way through their primitive sewer lines of the day, thinking the castle would fall if he but held her, for she was a rare beauty and beloved of Declan, master of Karney Castle. Sir Martin made his way to the
master’s chambers, where he took the lady of the house, but Declan came upon him. Holding the Lady Brianna before Declan, Sir Martin slew her with his knife. In turn, Lord Declan rushed Sir Martin, and died himself upon the same knife—but not until he’d skewered Sir Martin through with his sword! It was a sad travesty of love and desire, for it was said Sir Martin coveted the Lady Brianna for himself, even as he swore to his men it was a way to breech the castle walls. While that left just a wee babe as heir, the castle stood, for Declan’s mighty steward saw to it that the men fought on, rallying in their master’s name. Aye, and when you hear the wind blow in now—like the high, crying wail of the banshee—they say you can see Brianna and her beloved. Karney’s most famous ghosts are said to haunt the main tower. Through the years, they’ve been seen, Brianna and her Declan—separately, so they say, ever trying to reach one another and still stopped by the evil spirit of Sir Barry Martin!”
There was a gasp in the crowd. A pretty young woman turned to the young man at her side. “Oh! We’re staying at Karney Castle!” she said. “And the main hall is just so hauntingly—haunted!”
“Ahha!” Gary said, smiling. “Hauntingly haunted! Aye, that it is!”
“We’re staying there, too!” said an older woman.
“Ah, well, then, a number of you are lucky enough to be staying at the castle,” Gary said. “Ten rooms and suites she lets out a night! Be sure to listen—and keep good watch. Maybe you’ll see or hear a ghost—there are many more, of course. It’s been a hard and vicious history, you know. Of course, you need not worry if ya be afraid of ghosts—while the main tower is most known to be haunted, Brianna tends to roam the halls of the second floor, and that’s where only the family stays.”
Devin felt a hand on her shoulder and heard a gentle whisper at her ear. “You, my love. Have you seen Brianna?”
It was Rocky—Craig Rockwell, the love of her life, seated by her side, their knees touching. And it was the kind of whisper that made her feel a sweet warmth sear through her, teasing her senses.
Rocky was her husband of three days.
But though she smiled, she didn’t let the sensual tease streak as far as it might. Oddly enough, his question was serious; partially because they were staying in the old master’s suite, since they were family, through marriage—Rocky, through her. Devin, because her mother’s sister April had long ago married Seamus Karney, youngest brother of the Karney family.
His question was also partially serious because they were who they were themselves—and what they did for a living, rather strange work, really, because it was the kind that could never be left behind.
She and Rocky had been together since a bizarre series of murders in Salem. Devin owned a cottage there, inherited from a beloved great aunt. Rocky had grown up in nearby Marblehead and had—technically—been part of the case since he’d been in high school. As an adult, he’d also been part of the FBI—and then part of an elite unit within the FBI, the Krewe of Hunters.
Devin had been—and still was—a creator of children’s books. But, she’d found herself part of the case as well, nearly a victim.
Somehow, in the midst of it all, they’d grown closer and closer—despite a somewhat hostile beginning. As they’d found their own lives in danger, they’d discovered that their natural physical attraction began to grow—and then they found they desperately loved one another and were, in many ways, a perfect match. Not perfect—nothing was perfect. But she loved Rocky and knew that he loved her with an equal passion and devotion.
That was, she thought, as perfect as life could ever get.
And, she’d discovered, she was a “just about as perfect as you were going to get” candidate for being a part of the Krewe as well. That had meant nearly half a year—pretty grueling for her, really—in the FBI Academy, but she’d come through and now she was very grateful.
Rocky had never told her what she should or shouldn’t do. The choice had been hers, but she believed he was pleased with her position—it allowed them to work together, which was important since they traveled so much on cases. While the agency allowed marriages and relationships among employees, they usually had to be in different units. Not so with the Krewe. In the Krewe, relationships between agents aided in their pursuits.
While Devin had never known she’d wanted to be in law enforcement before the events in Salem, she felt now that she could never go back. She belonged in the Krewe because she did have a special talent—one shared by all those in the unit.
When they chose to be seen, she—like the others—had the ability to see the dead.
And speak with them.
It wasn’t a talent she’d had since she’d been a child. It was one she had discovered when bodies had started piling up after she returned to live in Salem. The victim of a long ago persecution had found her, seeking help for those being murdered in the present in an age-old act of vengeance.
She still wrote her books, gaining ideas from her work. And being with the Krewe made her feel that she was using herself in the best way possible—helping those in need. She’d never wanted the world to be evil. And the world wasn’t evil—just some people in it.
She did have to admit that her life had never seemed so complete. But, of course, that was mainly because she woke up each morning with Rocky at her side. And she knew that no matter how many years went by, she would love waking to his dark green eyes on her, even when his auburn hair grayed—or disappeared entirely. She loved Rocky—everything about him. He was one of the least self-conscious people she had ever met. He towered over her five-nine by a good six inches and was naturally lean but powerfully built, and yet totally oblivious to his appearance. Of course, he took his work very seriously and that meant time in a gym several days every week. Now, of course, she had to take to the gym every week herself.
Rocky was just much better at the discipline.
Better at every discipline, she thought dryly.
And also so compassionate, despite all that he’d seen in the world. When her cousin had called her nervously, begging her to come to Ireland, Rocky had been quick to tell Devin that yes, naturally, Adam Harrison and Jackson Crow—the founder and Director Special Agent of their unit, respectively—would give them leave to do so. And it had all worked out well, really, because they’d toyed with the idea of a wedding—neither wanted anything traditional, large, or extravagant—and they’d made some tentative plans, thinking they’d take time after and head for a destination like Bermuda.
They chose not to put off the wedding; in fact, they pushed it up a bit. And instead of Bermuda or the Caribbean, they headed to Ireland.
A working honeymoon might not be ideal. Still, they’d been living together for six months before they married, so it wasn’t really what some saw as a traditional honeymoon anyway. And, St. Patrick’s Day was March 17th, just three days away from their landing on the Emerald Isle that noon. Her cousin, Kelly Karney, had promised amazing festivities, despite the recent death of Kelly’s uncle, Collum Karney—the real reason they had come.
A heart attack, plain and simple.
Then why was Collum discovered after the screeching, terrible howl of the banshee with the look of horror upon his face described by Brendan?
“They say,” Gary the Ghost intoned, his voice rich and carrying across the fire, and yet low and husky as well, “that Castle Karney carries within her very stone the heart and blood of a people, the cries of their battles, the lament of those lost, indeed, the cry of dead and dying…and the banshee come to greet them. Ah, yes, she’s proven herself secure. ‘Castle Karney in Karney hands shall lie, ‘til the moon goes dark by night and the banshee wails her last lament!’ So said the brave Declan Karney, just as the steel of his enemy’s blade struck his flesh!”
Devin turned to look up at the castle walls.
Castle Karney.
Covered in time, rugged as the cliffs she hugged, and… Even as Devin looked at the great walls, it seemed that a shadow fell over them
to embrace them, embrace Karney. A chill settled over her as she looked into the night, blinking. The shadow as dark and forbidding as the…
As the grave.
As Gary said, as old as time, and the caress of the banshee herself.
Rendezvous
Renegades 6
By Skye Jordan
One
Keaton Holt avoided the blonde’s palpable stare by riveting his gaze to the ball game playing on the television above the bar.
“They’re looking at bringing a big league to Austin,” he told the newest Renegade, Cameron Riggs, sitting beside him.
“Your chatter ain’t gonna work,” Cameron said, humor bubbling in his voice.
Cam had been Keaton’s fight protégé for the last six weeks. With sixteen-hour days on the same set, doing the same job, and staying at the same hotel, they’d been, more or less, in each other’s face constantly. On the upside, they got along. On the downside, the guy had the opportunity to see the dark side of Keaton’s love life, something he’d been trying to forget for the better part of several months without success.
“Manfred’s talking about expanding the league by two teams,” Keaton continued without taking his eyes off the game, slowly spinning his glass on the bar. “They’re saying Montreal will get the first.”
“You can babble all you want, but it ain’t gonna keep her on the other side of the bar.”
Cam thought it was funny. So did all of Keaton’s other friends. And for years, Keaton had found it amusing too. He could walk into a bar, a party, onto a set, and for reasons he’d never quite figured out, the woman with the biggest tits, the wildest tats, the most piercings, or the most crazy filling the space between her ears would zero in on him. So crazy, the Renegades had collectively nicknamed the women who hit on Keaton “them crazy bitches,” a la Buckcherry’s song “Crazy Bitch.”
