by Nora Roberts
Now it was a fight to save humankind.
She was here, with this strange little band—two of which, vampire and sorcerer, turned out to be her ancestors—to fight the mother of all battles.
Two months, she thought, until Halloween. Till Samhain, and the final showdown the goddess had prophesied. They’d have to be ready, she decided as she poured the first cup. Because the alternative just wasn’t an option.
She carried her coffee upstairs, into her room.
As quarters went, it had it all over her apartment in Chicago where she’d based herself over the last year and a half. The bed boasted a tall headboard with carved dragons on either side. A woman could feel like a spellbound princess in that bed—if she was of a fanciful state of mind.
Despite the fact the place was owned by a vampire, there was a wide mirror, framed in thick mahogany. The wardrobe would have held three times the amount of clothes she’d brought with her, so she used it for secondary weapons, and tucked her traveling wardrobe in the chest of drawers.
The walls were painted a dusky plum, and the art on them woodland scenes of twilight or predawn, so that the room seemed to be in perpetual shadow if the curtains were drawn. But that was all right. She had lived a great deal of her life in the shadows.
But she opened the curtains now so morning spilled in and then sat at the gorgeous little desk to check her e-mail on her laptop.
She couldn’t prevent the little flicker of hope, or stop it from dying out as she saw there was still no return message from her father.
Nothing new, she reminded herself and tipped back in the chair. He was traveling, somewhere in South America to the best of her knowledge. And she only knew that much because her brother had told her.
It had been six months since she’d had any contact with him, and there was nothing new about that, either. His duty to her had been, in his opinion, fulfilled years ago. And maybe he was right. He’d taught her, he’d trained her, though she’d never been good enough to merit his approval.
She simply didn’t have the right equipment. She wasn’t his son. The disappointment he’d felt when it had been his daughter instead of his son who’d inherited the gift was something he’d never bothered to hide.
Softening blows of any sort just wasn’t Sean Murphy’s style. He’d pretty much dusted her off his hands on her eighteenth birthday.
Now she’d embarrassed herself by sending him a second message when he’d never answered the first. She’d sent that first e-mail before she’d left for Ireland, to tell him something was up, something was twitching, and she wanted his advice.
So much for that, she thought now, and so much for trying again, after her arrival, to tell him what was twitching was major.
He had his own life, his own course, and had never pretended otherwise. It was her own problem, her own lack, that she still coveted his approval. She’d given up on earning his love a long time ago.
She turned off the computer, pulled on a sweatshirt and shoes. She decided to go up to the training room and work off frustration, work up an appetite lifting weights.
The house, she’d been told, had been the one Hoyt and his brother, Cian, had been born in. In the dawn of the twelfth century. It had been modernized, of course, and some additions had been made, but she could see from the original structure the Mac Cionaoiths had been a family of considerable means.
Of course Cian had had nearly a millennium to make his own fortune, to acquire the house again. Though from the bits and pieces she’d picked up, he didn’t live in it.
She didn’t make a habit out of conversing with vampires—just killing them. But she was making an exception with Cian. For reasons that weren’t entirely clear to her, he was fighting with them, even bankrolling their little war party to some extent.
Added to that, she’d seen the way he’d fought the night before, with a ruthless ferocity. His allegiance could be the element that tipped the scales in their favor.
She wound her way up the stone stairs toward what had once been the great hall, then a ballroom in later years. And was now their training room.
She stopped short when she saw Larkin’s cousin Moira doing chest extensions with five-pound free weights.
The Geallian wore her brown hair back in a thick braid that reached her waist. Sweat dribbled down her temples, and more darkened the back of the white T-shirt she wore. Her eyes, fog gray, were staring straight ahead, focused, Blair assumed, on whatever got her through the reps.
She was, by Blair’s gauge, about five-three, maybe a hundred and ten pounds, after you’d dragged her out of a lake. But she was game. Having game held a lot of weight on Blair’s scale. What Blair had initially judged as mousiness was, in actuality, a watchfulness. The woman soaked up everything.
“Thought you were still in bed,” Blair said as she stepped inside.
Moira lowered the weights, then used her forearm to swipe her brow. “I’ve been up for a bit. You’re wanting to use the room?”
“Yeah. Plenty of room in here for both of us.” Blair walked over, selected ten-pound weights. “Not hunkered down with the books this morning.”
“I…” On a sigh, Moira stretched out her arms as she’d been taught. She might have wished her arms were as sleek and carved with muscle as Blair’s, but no one would call them soft any longer. “I’ve been starting the day here, before I use the library. Usually before anyone’s up and about.”
“Okay.” Curious, Blair studied Moira as she worked her triceps. “And you’re keeping this a secret because?”
“Not a secret. Not exactly a secret.” Moira picked up a bottle of water, twisted off the cap. Twisted it back on. “I’m the weakest of us. I don’t need you or Cian to tell me that—though one or the other of you make a point to let me know it with some regularity.”
Something gave a little twist inside Blair’s belly. “And that sucks. I’m going to tell you I’m sorry about that, because I know how it feels to get slammed down when you’re doing your best.”
“My best isn’t altogether that good, is it? No, I’m not looking for sorry,” she said before Blair could speak. “It’s hard to be told you’re lacking, but that’s what I am—for now. So I come up here in the mornings, early, and lift these bloody things the way you showed me. I won’t be the weak one, the one the rest of you have to worry about.”
“You don’t have much muscle yet, but you’ve got some speed. And you’re a frigging genius with a bow. If you weren’t so good with it, things wouldn’t have turned out the way they did last night.”
“Work on my weaknesses, and on my strengths, on my own time. That’s what you said to me—and it made me angry. Until I saw the wisdom of it. I’m not angry. You’re good at training. King was…He was more easy on me, I think, because he was a man. A big man at that,” Moira added with sorrow in her eyes now. “Who had affection for me, I think, because I was the smallest of us.”
Blair hadn’t met King, Cian’s friend who’d been captured, then killed by Lilith. Then turned, and sent back as a vampire.
“I won’t be easy on you,” Blair promised.
By the time she’d finished a session with the weights and grabbed a quick shower, Blair had worked up that appetite. She decided to go for one of her favorites, and dug up the makings for French toast.
She tossed some Irish bacon into a skillet for protein, selected Green Day on her MP3 player. Music to cook by.
She poured her second cup of coffee before breaking eggs in a bowl.
She was beating the batter when Larkin strolled in the door. He stopped, stared at her player. “And what is it?”
“It’s a—” How to explain? “A way to whistle while you work.”
“No, it’s not the machine I’m meaning. There are so many of those, I can’t keep them all in my brain. But what’s the sound?”
“Oh. Um, popular music? Rock—of the hard variety.”
He was grinning now, head cocked as he listened. “Rock. I like it.”
“Who wouldn’t? Not going for eggs, this morning. Doing up French toast.”
“Toast?” Disappointment fell over his face, erasing the easy pleasure of the music. “Just cooked bread?”
“Not just. Besides, you get what you get when I’m manning the stove. Or you forage on your own.”
“It’s kind of you to cook, of course.”
His tone was so long-suffering, she had to swallow a laugh. “Relax, and trust me on this. I’ve seen you chow down, cowboy. You’re going to like it as much as Rock, especially after you drown it in butter and syrup. I’ll have it going in a minute. Why don’t you flip that bacon over?”
“I’m needing to wash first. Been mucking out the stall and such, and I’m not fit yet to touch anything.”
She lifted a brow as he strolled right out. She’d seen him slip out of all manner of kitchen duties already. And she had to admit, he was slick about it.
Resigned, she turned the bacon herself, then heated a second skillet. She was about to dunk the first piece of bread when she heard voices. The newlyweds were up, she realized, and added to the batter to accommodate them.
Effortless style. It was something Glenna had in spades, Blair thought. She wandered in wearing a sage green sweater and black jeans with her bold red hair swinging straight and loose. The urban take on country casual, Blair supposed. When you added the pretty flush of a woman who’d obviously had her morning snuggles, you had quite a package.
She didn’t look like a woman who would rush a squad of vampires while she bellowed war cries and swung a battle-ax, but she’d done just that.
“Mmm, French toast? You must have read my mind.” As she moved to the coffeepot, Glenna gave Blair’s arm an absent stroke. “Give you a hand?”
“No, I got this. You’ve been taking the lion’s share of KP, and I’m better at breakfast than dinner. Didn’t I hear Hoyt?”
“Right behind me. He’s talking to Larkin about the horse. I think Hoyt’s a little put out he didn’t get to Vlad before Larkin did. Coffee’s good. How’d you sleep?”
“Like I’d been knocked unconscious, for a couple hours.” Blair dipped bread, then laid it to sizzle. “Then, I don’t know, too restless. Wired up.” She slanted Glenna a look. “And nowhere to put the excess energy, like the bride.”
“I have to admit, I’m feeling pretty loose and relaxed this morning. Except.” Wincing a little, Glenna massaged her right biceps. “My arms feel like I spent half the night swinging a sledgehammer.”
“Battle-ax has weight. You did good work with it.”
“Work isn’t the word that comes to mind. But I’m not going to think about it—at least not until I’ve gorged myself.” Turning, Glenna opened a cupboard for plates. “Do you know how often I had a breakfast like this—fried bread, fried meat—before all this started?”
“Nope.”
“Never. Absolutely never,” she added with a half laugh. “I watched my weight as if the, well, as if the fate of the world depended on it.”
“You’re training hard.” Blair flipped the bread. “You need the fuel, the carbs. If you put on a few pounds, I can guarantee it’s going to be pure muscle.”
“Blair.” Glenna glanced toward the doorway to ensure Hoyt hadn’t started in yet. “You’ve got more experience with this than any of us. Just between you and me, for now, anyway, how did we do last night?”
“We lived,” Blair said flatly. She continued to cook, sliding fried bread onto a plate, dunking more. “That’s bottom line.”
“But—”
“Glenna, I’ll tell you straight.” Blair turned, leaning back on the counter for a moment while bread sizzled and scented the air. “I’ve never been in anything like that before.”
“But you’ve been doing this—hunting them—for years.”
“That’s right. And I’ve never seen so many of them in one place at one time, never seen them organized that way.”
Glenna let out a quiet breath. “That can’t be good news.”
“Good or bad, it’s fact. It’s not—never been in my experience—the nature of the beast to live, work, fight in large groups. I contacted my aunt, and she says the same. They’re killers, and they might travel, hunt, even live together in packs. Small packs, and there might be an alpha, male or female. But not like this.”
“Not like an army,” Glenna murmured.
“No. And what we saw last night was a squad—a small slice of an army. The thing is, they’re willing to die for her, for Lilith. And that’s powerful stuff.”
“Okay. Okay,” Glenna said as she set the table. “That’s what I get for saying I wanted it straight.”
“Hey, buck up. We lived, remember? That’s a victory.”
“Good morning to you,” Hoyt said to Blair as he came in. Then his gaze went straight to Glenna.
They shared coloring, Blair thought, she and her however-many-times great-uncle. She, the sorcerer and his twin brother, the vampire, shared coloring, and ancestry, and now this mission, she supposed.
Fate was certainly a twisty bastard.
“You two sure have the glow on,” she said when Glenna lifted her face to meet Hoyt’s lips. “Practically need my shades.”
“They shield the eyes from the sun, and are a sexy fashion statement,” Hoyt returned and made her laugh.
“Have a seat.” She turned off the music, then brought the heaping platter to the table. “I made enough for an army, seeing as that’s what we are.”
“It looks a fine feast. Thank you.”
“Just doing my share, unlike some of us who’re a little more slippery.” She met Larkin’s perfectly timed appearance with a shake of her head. “Right on time.”
His expression was both innocent and affable. “Is it ready then? It took me a bit longer to get back as I stopped to tell Moira there was food being cooked. And a welcome sight it is.”
“You look, you eat.” Blair slapped four slices of French toast on a plate for him. “And you and your cousin do the dishes.”
Chapter 2
Maybe it was the post-battle itches, but Blair couldn’t settle. After another session with Glenna, everyone’s injuries were well on the mend, so they could train. They should train, she told herself. Maybe the sweat and effort would work off the restlessness.
But she had another idea.
“I think we should go out.”
“Out?” Glenna checked her chart of household duties and noted—God help them—Hoyt was next up on laundry detail. “Are we low on something?”
“I don’t know.” Blair scanned the charts posted prominently on the refrigerator. “You seem to have the supply and duty lists under control—Quartermaster Ward.”
“Mmm, Quartermaster.” Glenna sent Blair a twinkling look. “I like it. Can I get a badge?”
“I’ll see what I can do. But when I say we should go out, I’m thinking more a little scouting expedition than a supply run. We should go check out Lilith’s base of operations.”
“Now there’s a fine idea.” Larkin turned from the sink, where soap dripped from his hands, and he was not at all happy. “Give her a bit of a surprise for a change.”
“Attack Lilith?” Moira stopped loading the dishwasher. “Today?”
“I didn’t say attack. Throttle back,” Blair advised Larkin. “We’re outnumbered by a long shot, and I don’t think the locals would understand a bloodbath in broad daylight. But the daylight’s the key here.”
“Go south to Chiarrai,” Hoyt said quietly. “To the cliffs and caves, while we have the sun.”
“There you go. They can’t come out. Nothing they can do about us poking around, taking a look. And it’d be a nice follow-up to routing them last night.”
“Psychological warfare.” Glenna nodded. “Yes, I see.”
“That,” Blair agreed, “and maybe we gather some intel. We see what we see, we map out various routes going and coming. And we make a point of letting her know we’re there. Or were there.”
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“If we could lure some of them out. Or go in just far enough to give them some trouble. Fire,” Larkin said. “There should be a way to set a fire in the caves.”
“Not altogether a bad idea.” Blair thought it over. “Bitch could use a good spanking. We’ll go prepared for that, and armed. But we go quiet and careful. We don’t want some tourist or local calling the cops—then having to explain why we’ve got a van loaded with weapons.”
“Leave the fire to me and to Glenna.” Hoyt pushed to his feet.
“Why?”
In answer, Glenna held out her hand. A ball of flame shimmered in her cupped palm.
“Pretty,” Blair decided.
“And Cian?” Moira continued to deal with the dishes. “He wouldn’t be able to leave the house.”
“Then he stays back,” Blair said flatly. “Larkin, if you’re done there, let’s go load up some weapons.”
“We have some things in the tower that might be useful.” Glenna brushed her fingers over Hoyt’s arm. “Hoyt?”
“We can’t just leave him without letting him know what we’re about.”
“You want to wake up a vampire this time of day?” Blair shrugged. “Okay. You go first.”
Cian didn’t care to be disturbed during his rest time. He figured a closed and locked bedroom door would be a clear signal to anyone that he wanted his privacy. But such things never seemed to stop his brother. So he sat now, awake in the dim light, and listened to the plan for the day.
“So, if I have this right, you woke me to tell me you’re going out, down to Kerry to poke at the caves?”
“We didn’t want you to wake, find us all gone.”
“My fondest dream.” Cian waved that lazily away. “Apparently, the good, bloody fight last night isn’t enough for the hunter.”
“It’s good strategy, going there.”
“Didn’t work out so very well, did it, the last time we went there?”
