Lightning In Sea (CELTIC ELEMENTALS Book 3)

by Heather R. Blair

  A shadow holding Jenny in one long, dark arm.

  “You!”

  The vampire Declan didn’t say a word, only bent his head with a cruel smile. He didn’t bite Jenny’s throat so much as tear at it, more animal than man. His bright, glowing eyes mocked her all the while. She stood there, frozen, paralyzed with horror until Declan pulled his lips away from Jenny’s skin, licking his lips like a cat that’s been at a bowl of cream.

  “Now, I really don’t want her.” Declan shook Jenny’s limp body once. “But if you insist…” His head lowered again.

  “No,” she pleaded. “Please don’t hurt her anymore.”

  The vampire extended one hand, still holding Jenny around the waist. “Come to me, and I won’t.”

  “Let her go inside first.” She knew from all Heather had told her vampires couldn’t enter a private dwelling without permission. No way in hell had Jenny invited him into the flat. He must have grabbed her straight off the bus.

  Declan’s lips twisted. “Clever girl. All right then, open the damn door. But”—he lifted one long finger, wagging it back and forth—“you so much as twitch like you’re going to run inside and this one dies.” He shook Jenny again, the gorge rising in Sloane’s throat as her friend’s blood splattered onto the cobblestones. “I rip her goddamn head off right here and now. Understand?”

  She nodded, moving numbly to the door. With the vampire’s unsettling eyes watching her every move, Sloane reached out and touched the knob, turning it carefully with just the tips of her fingers. She pushed it open, then moved back hastily.

  “There.”

  With a grin, the vampire tossed Jenny at the threshold like a bag of trash. Sloane winced as she heard the crumpled thump. Jenny was as safe as she could make her for the moment. Sloane only waited long enough to see that every part of her friend’s body was within the flat before she turned and sprinted away.

  Not toward the door as Declan had obviously expected, but for the beach two blocks away.

  “Little lying bitch.” The vampire’s words sounded more amused than angry as he turned to follow her. Obviously he was in no rush, confident of his ability to capture her.

  And Sloane knew why. Aidan and Heather had taken pains not to alarm her with their preternatural powers, but it was impossible not to pick up on it. The flash of an arm, like a film on high speed. A casual wave of a hand that dented dry wall or cracked wood.

  She had no chance to beat this monster. That didn’t mean she wasn’t going to try. The beach was eerily deserted when she rounded the corner, the vampire’s chuckles behind her, making the back of her neck prickle icily.

  Sloane didn’t head down the beach. Instead, she headed straight into the sea, some instinct screaming if she could reach the water she would be safe, but Declan had grown bored with the chase. He caught her before the receding tide was able to splash her toes. Spinning her around by her waist, round and round, faster and faster until she felt like she was going to be sick. He laughed lightly when she fell to her knees in the sand, crawling toward the water yet again.

  “Mac!” she screamed.

  Her voice echoed out over the rolling waves as Declan’s cold fingers closed around her wrist. Deliberately, he yanked her arm up and back, pulling at muscle and bone until Sloane couldn’t help but scream. Higher and higher, he twisted until the pain made the night fade away like she was back in the storm-tossed sea of Mac’s bedroom. Only instead of beauty in the dark, this time there was agony and the smell of blood and fear.

  Then came an onimous crack. Everything went blessedly black as Sloane pitched forward, face-first into the sand as mist started to swirl off the waves.

  “Settle down.” Lugh replaced the bell in his hands, watching Mac stomp back and forth. “What’s got you in such a right state?”

  He couldn’t tell the king what might or might not be happening in the world above. Couldn’t risk showing Lugh more of his hand than was absolutely nessasary. “I doona appreciate being summoned like a damme servant. Ye coulda just sent a message.” Mac forced himself to stop pacing, but his muscles still twitched uneasily. Was Sloane all right? Surely she’d gotten ahold of Aidan by now. It couldn’t take more than ten minutes for him to get to her, no matter where he was on the island. Of course, the same could be said for Declan, if the monster was truly hiding on Manx…

  “Mac?”

  Belatedly, he realized his king had been talking for some time. “Aye, what was tha’?”

  Lugh raised an eyebrow. “I have sent messages, several times. There has been no reply from Avalon.” Blue eyes glinted and Mac cursed internally.

  Caught. He was caught and they both knew it. He shrugged anyway. “I have no’ been home in a while.”

  “Ever since Aidan’s daughter returned to Manx, it appears.” Lugh watched him closely. “We are curious about this girl who has you neglecting your duties, Mac.”

  Mac stared at the man lounging on the throne. “I’ve never known ye to employ the royal ‘we.’ Getting pompous in yer old age?”

  Lugh laughed. “My old age?” He straightened, running a hand over his jaw. “If I am old, where does tha’ leave you?”

  “Wiser than the like of an upstart like yerself,” Mac grumbled.

  “Not so long ago, I would’ve agreed.” Lugh’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me about her. Aidan’s daughter.”

  21

  When Sloane woke, it was dark, cold and damp. Her shoes and sweater were gone. One arm was wrenched over her head, chained to a slimy stone wall. She was kneeling on more stone, water puddling here and there around her, gleaming in the greyish half-light. Almost dawn, maybe. The sea was close. Sloane could hear it, slamming away angrily at the rocks. A mile from shore, maybe less.

  Her knees hurt and her free arm pulsed with the kind of pain that made focusing difficult, if not impossible. She couldn’t remember what had happened. Footfalls rang over stone, finally clearing some of the haze from her head.

  “Are you thirsty, love? I’m thirsty.”

  Before she could blink, Declan wrenched back her head, his fangs sinking deep into her throat. She gasped, then screamed as pain again sliced at her worn nerves. So much pain. She was dizzy and faint by the time he cast her back against the wall with a laugh.

  “You taste awfully sweet, Isleen. But I won’t be killing you easy.” He laughed and drew a knife from his pocket as Sloane’s breath started to hitch, blood seeping between her fingers as she scrambled back against the crumbling stone wall. “No, sweets, I am going to hurt you. Do you know what my master did to your father’s whore?” he said conversationally. “Surely you’ve noticed her scars.” Declan grabbed a fistful of her hair, slamming her head into stone. Before she could catch her breath, he pressed her back against the wall, his weight easily countering her pathetic struggles. With a bright smile, he flipped the knife in the air. “He cut her. Over and over again. It was beautiful. So. Much. Blood.”

  He stabbed the steel blade deep into her thigh, those vamp eyes bright as she screamed, her chains rattling in chorus against the stone. Declan yanked the blade down her leg, a millimeter at a time, his hungry gaze never leaving her face.

  The dark beckoned again and she reached for it with both hands. But even in her dreams, the pain persisted. There was no relief from the nightmare. Mac. Where was Mac? Where was Aidan?

  When she came to, Declan looked angry. It was lighter now. She couldn’t hear the sea and it was hot. Her captor was sweating and he almost looked scared as he undid her chains.

  “I have to say, Heather was a lot more entertaining than you are.” His upper lip curled in disgust. “One cut and you pass out on me. How am I supposed to have any fun?”

  He pulled something from his pocket. It looked like a stone, infused with an odd milky light. When the vampire tossed it in the corner, it was like he’d set off a smoke bomb. Just like at the beach, mist started to gather in one corner.

  Magic, Sloane thought dully. He’s using some kind of magic.r />
  He picked her up, obviously enjoying her cries as her broken arm flopped to the side and blood began to well again from the wound in her legs.

  Grinning, those teeth a sharp promise above her, Declan licked his lips as he stepped into the mist. “Let’s get you home and have another bite, shall we?”

  She passed out again.

  When she came to, they were in a stone room again, one that looked vaguely familiar. Her cellar?

  Declan raised his mouth from the wound in her leg as she struggled to sit up. Sloane was so cold and stiff, she barely registered his fangs leaving her flesh. Surely someone was above, waiting for word or looking for her. She opened her mouth to scream, but her throat was too dry to make a sound.

  The vampire gave her a dispassionate look. “You’re dehydrated. Extreme blood loss will do that to a person.”

  He wiped his mouth and got to his feet.

  “I’m going to leave you here for them to find. It’s less than I would have hoped, but things are getting a bit tense right now. You won’t rot for long, never fear. Vampires have a great sense of smell,” he mused. “Which is almost a shame. I liked picturing Aidan finding your rotten corpse.”

  With a careless shrug, he turned to go.

  Shaking, Sloane struggled to sit up. She had made it to her hands and knees when Declan turned, that weird mist already starting to lick at his boots.

  He laughed when he saw her. “Oh now you’re ready to play? Well too late, sweets, I’ve got to be going.” He lifted his leg, aiming a kick for her head as she stared up at him, knowing it was coming, but unable to move. “I really must be g—”

  She grabbed his foot. Somehow her good hand came up to wrap around the damp leather and she found just enough strength to hold it. He swayed, still laughing. With the full weight of her battered, abused body, Sloane shoved as hard as she could. Declan’s laughter died as he flew backward into the wall.

  That same back cellar wall Mac had warned her was so terribly unsteady.

  As the rocks began to give way around him, the vampire screamed.

  His arms windmilled and caught nothing but air. It was too late for even his otherworldly strength to save him. The wall slid clean away in a tumble of broken mortar, revealing the crimson rays of the most beautiful island sunset Sloane had ever seen. In its light, Declan’s skin bubbled and went dark, like a Polaroid cutout developing in reverse. One second the vampire was there, screaming and falling; the next second he was an outline of ash bursting apart into nothingness.

  She didn’t even have time to smile before the roof collapsed, burying her in an avalanche of rubble.

  Mac pulled her free less than ten minutes later. Aidan was still trapped by the sun.

  “Two days,” he breathed over and over as he pulled her to him. “Two fucking days. I thought ye were dead.”

  “He kept moving us somehow, there was this mist,” Sloane whispered, barely conscious. “Whenever he would step into it, we’d come out somewhere else.”

  Mac nodded, brushing her hair back. “Aye, we finally figured it out. It’s how he got away from yer father on the beach, someone from Fae was helping him.” Vampires and fae were closely related after all, though Mac had no idea who there would help Declan. He’d damn well find out, but going to either Fae or the Otherworld right now would be ill-advised.

  Lugh’s interrogation had been interrupted by Aidan screaming at Mac through the conch again.

  The king of the Tuatha de Daanan hadn’t been happy about letting him go, but Lugh hadn’t tried to stand in his way. For now.

  That would have to wait.

  Declan was likely working with someone, Mac thought distractedly, one of Abhartach’s old cronies. That’s why he had never been able to sense the vampire properly on the isle. The mist of the Fae distorted all. It had to be someone terribly powerful, though, no mere—

  He looked into Sloane’s eyes, his mind going blank, seeing what he’d feared for days. She was fading away. Leaving him.

  The terror that filled him was so black and cold Mac’s vision blurred. He shook her once, hard. “Stay with me, love.”

  “Trying,” she whispered, her eyes starting to flutter closed. “Just so tired.”

  He put two fingers in his mouth, emitting a shrill whistle that blasted through the air like a high-pitched thunderclap.

  It seemed to take an age, but less than a minute later, the white stallion appeared over the crest of the hill.

  “He is called Finbar. Ye’ve nothing to fear from him,” Mac said, lifting her gently.

  The great white stallion held still, his nostrils wide, feet planted, as she settled on his powerful withers. Sloane wrapped her fingers in his mane, or rather his mane wrapped itself around her fingers. Finbar’s will was his own, whether he agreed with his creator’s choices or not.

  With an effortless jump, Mac landed lightly behind her, giving his strength to her back, his thighs bracing hers. He could still feel the pain that pulsed and flickered along every edge of her being, but it was fading away as exhaustion started to pull at her. Exhaustion . . . and something far darker and more permanent.

  Mac heard his sister’s voice faintly in the distance and ice filled his guts. Responding to his master’s uncharacteristic fear, Finbar threw his head forward and began to run.

  Faster than the wind they flew back down the hill, the sea growing nearer and nearer.

  Sloane slumped further in his arms. Mac couldn’t look at her. He could only look at the water, willing it closer with every fiber of his being.

  “Tha’s it, love,” he murmured. “Be easy, ye’re safe now. Just ride with me. Ride.”

  22

  When her eyes opened again, it was to an unfamiliar beach, one with pink sand and black rocks rising high, white waves bestowing wet kisses on the rough crags.

  Finbar grazed on some grass nearby, his snowy head turning her way once before he went back to eating with a snort.

  “He doesn’t like me.”

  Mac’s laugh rumbled against her back. “I would no’ take bets on tha’ one, machree.” She was in his arms, both of them stretched out on the sand, his chin on her hair. Languidly she ran her hand over the powder-soft sand, marveling at its rosy color.

  “Is this real?”

  “Aye.” He hesitated. “But it is no’ quite the reality ye are used to.”

  Apprehension traced Sloane’s spine with light, cold fingers. She knew she wasn’t going to be able to avoid the truth about Mac for much longer.

  “Come with me, into the water.” He pulled his shirt over his head, then kicked off his pants.

  She shivered, eyeing the water with trepidation. “You can’t be serious. It must be like ice in there.”

  He smiled. “Things aren’t always what they seem in this place. And it will make ye feel better, love. Ease yer aches and pains.”

  “All right.” She lifted a hand that trembled slightly. “But you’ll have to help me. I’m sorry, but I’m so tired.”

  “Aye,” he teased. “Undressing ye is such a hardship.” But when he saw her body, Mac’s face lost its gentle look. His eyes hardened as they tracked every bruise and scrape, then followed the long thin mark the blade had made down her thigh. He closed his eyes, his teeth grinding together.

  “If he wasna already dead, I’d kill him again. And again.” He cursed so bitterly her eyes widened. “Get in the water, Sloane.”

  His voice softened when he opened his eyes to see her staring at him. “Please, love. For me.”

  She accepted his hand but held back, eyeing the waves once more.

  “I could just toss ye in,” he threatened.

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “No’, I wouldna. But I will set ye down now. All right?”

  Biting her lip, Sloane nodded, bracing herself for the cold. But this sea was not the Irish Sea. Or indeed, any sea on earth. It was not cold. Neither was it really warm. But it was . . . alive. She could feel it with every lap against her
bare skin. The acceptance, the awareness of something both greater and humbler than herself.

  She gasped, her eyes flickering to Mac’s face. He smiled gently, his fingers tightening on hers. “Be easy, lass.”

  The water coiled around her in eddies that grew faster and wilder, like her own mini-whirlpool. But instead of pulling her down, the water climbed up her body like a thick coating of glass, swirling higher and higher, until she would have cried out, except the water had already covered her lips. The only thing keeping her from panicking entirely was the press of Mac’s hand against hers.

  As quickly as the strange phenomenon started, it stopped. The water that had encased her fell away to splash harmlessly back into the sea.

  Sloane gasped in shock and sudden awareness. Her aches and pains were gone. Completely. As if they’d never been.

  The water around her murmured, almost like a laugh. Feeling giddy, Sloane whirled around and around.

  “It’s like the waves are dancing with me,” she said in awe, her hand stroking the coils of water arching into her touch, the white foam like the mane of some untamed stallion. Like Finbar himself. She glanced back at the shore then looked at Mac in sudden consternation.

  “Is it safe?”

  “Nae. But ye’re with me. Keep your eyes on me, machree.”

  He pulled her deeper into the sea, still smiling. The water somehow no longer felt so alien, but warm and soft, like a lover’s caress. Her lover.

  All fear gone, Sloane followed Mac. But it was hard to focus. His shape seemed to grow as the water touched him, distorting in its shadows and wild waves.

  The sky darkened around them, the wind beginning to howl. Wrapped in Mac’s eyes, Sloane felt the ground fade out from under her as she sank fearlessly into the rising storm. He was so beautiful, the water breaking around his carved muscular form, stroking his skin in a way that made her own skin tight and hot with jealousy.

  He was hers, and hers alone. She slapped at the sea once, then stopped, shocked at herself.