The Calling of the Trinity (Trinity Cycle Book 2)

by Brittany Elise

  The Calling of the Trinity

  Brittany Elise

  © Copyright Brittany Elise 2020

  Black Rose Writing | Texas

  © 2020 by Brittany Elise

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.

  The final approval for this literary material is granted by the author.

  First digital version

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Print ISBN: 978-1-68433-532-9

  PUBLISHED BY BLACK ROSE WRITING

  www.blackrosewriting.com

  Print edition produced in the United States of America

  Thank you so much for reading one of Brittany Elise’s novels.

  If you enjoyed our book, please check out the beginning of the series for your next great read!

  Awakening the Trinity by Brittany Jones

  Silver Mountain is more than just a small rustic town tucked within the evergreen pine forest. It’s a supernatural hotspot–a nexus of raw energy hidden within the forest. In the seventeenth-century, an all-powerful witch called Rionach the Dark ruled the Celtic nations with an army of enslaved werewolves. In order to restore balance between Light and Dark, the Trinity of Light was summoned to vanquish the Dark Witch and end the Battle of the Dark Ages. Seventeen-year-old Quinn Callaghan lives in the small, rustic town of Silver Mountain. Its location may be rural, but it is home to an ancient pine forest that surrounds a supernatural hotspot–a nexus of raw and powerful energy. When a charismatic witch from Ireland, and a mysterious guy with a secret of his own are drawn to the area, Quinn finds out that she inherited her rare abilities from a revered ancestor. Could it be that she shares a bloodline with the Original Trinity? Nearly 300 years later, the Darkness is returning to Silver Mountain, and the Trinity must stop it.

  Acknowledgements

  For my sister, Ashley – thank you for being my voice of reason and for having the grace to tolerate the thousands of questions I tormented you with. You have encouraged me more than you know, and for that I am grateful.

  And for Cristy – thank you for your insight and kindness. You challenged me to see things from a different perspective and supported me along the way. I’m so lucky to have the two of you in my corner. This book wouldn’t have been possible without your help.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Recommended Reading

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One - A Long Time Traveler

  Chapter Two - The Harbinger

  Chapter Three - Calling on Stars

  Chapter Four - The Demons Within

  Chapter Five - Thornwood

  Chapter Six - Magic Eight Ball

  Chapter Seven - When Calls the Light

  Chapter Eight - Crash Course Lessons

  Chapter Nine - A Night Within A Day

  Chapter Ten - A Dream Within A Dream

  Chapter Eleven - Hope Springs Eternal

  Chapter Twelve - Chaos Personified

  Chapter Thirteen - Nyla

  Chapter Fourteen - Star Magic

  Chapter Fifteen - Letting Go

  Chapter Sixteen - The Council

  Chapter Seventeen - Astrologically Challenged

  Chapter Eighteen - Primordial Ghosts

  Chapter Nineteen - “The Ties That Bind”

  Chapter Twenty - Hide and Seek

  Chapter Twenty-One - Signs from the Otherworld

  Chapter Twenty-Two - The Cottage by the Sea

  Chapter Twenty-Three - A Thing in Between

  Chapter Twenty-Four - Awakening a Goddess

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Note from the Author

  BRW Info

  Chapter One

  A Long Time Traveler

  “He wouldn’t have wanted this,” Wren said, jaw clenching as he gazed at the rectangular hole carved into the earth below our feet. Niall’s casket sat beneath a towering oak tree; the golden sunlight filtering through what was left of the autumn canopy and glinting off the casket’s gloss-black finish. Rows of empty aluminum chairs were placed neatly in the grass behind us, soon to be occupied by the entire community of Silver Mountain.

  “I know he wouldn’t, but what choice did we have?” I spoke softly, squeezing Wren’s hand. My dad, Emmett Callaghan, was standing in front of the little white church speaking with the pastor. He was dressed in the only suit he had–same shoes and tie he’d worn to my mother’s funeral; my tear stains still visible against the deep shade of blue.

  Somewhere nearby, a car door was shutting. The muted sound of footsteps shuffling through the grass followed, and then Blaire was sliding her arm across the middle of my back. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. We were all thinking the same thing–all lost in the same silence as we gazed at Niall’s casket.

  Niall was dead because of us–because of what we were. If it hadn’t been for the Trinity’s awakening, then maybe he would still be here.

  My stomach lurched at the memory that was forever seared into the darkest corners of my mind. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the flash of the silver blade in the moonlight, the arc coming down to split Niall’s throat in an ugly red smile.

  I glanced up as a shadow passed over the casket and spotted my father. He cleared his throat, fiddling with the buttons on his sleeve cuff. “Uh, Wren, Pastor Ellington wants to know if you’d like to do a receiving line before or after the service.”

  Wren’s whole body tensed. He glanced down at me, eyebrows contorting over his tawny colored eyes.

  I thought I knew heartbreak, but the way he was looking at me caused my chest to tighten and ache in a way that I didn’t know I could hurt. I felt so helpless because there was nothing I could do to take his pain away. “After would probably be best,” I suggested.

  Wren nodded once and glanced up as the sound of another car door shutting caught his attention. “Okay,” Dad said, “I’ll let the pastor know.”

  “Thank you.” I gently tugged on Wren’s hand. “Let’s go sit down before everyone starts filing in.” Blaire followed, lowering herself into the chair next to mine while melancholy music began to play from inside the church.

  Annabelle and her family arrived next. They slid into the row behind us, and I turned to offer a small smile to my best friend while her father gave Wren’s shoulder a brief squeeze. The town’s very own gossip queen arrived soon after in her old Lincoln Towne Coupe, hubcaps scraping the curb as she rolled to a stop.

  Margaret Lynn was the reason we’d been forced to have a public service to begin with. Over the years, Margaret Lynn had developed a bit of a reputation for sticking her narrow nose where it didn’t belong. She lived in one of the oldest houses in town, wedged between the Village Salo
n and the Baptist church–supposed prime real-estate for rumor and scandal. After Niall’s death had been released to the public, the media crew had chosen to interview Margaret on live television.

  “Bit of a hermit if you ask me,” Margaret Lynn had told them. “He was a nice enough man, but he’d been holed up in that cabin ever since his brother was killed back in the early nineties. Folks said it was a hunting accident that got him, but nothing like that has happened in Silver Mountain since.” On screen, Margaret twisted a flower embroidered handkerchief in her meaty hands. She looked over her shoulder, almost as if she feared being overheard, (hello contradiction) and lowered her voice as she leaned into the camera. “Some local folk believe the Whelan family is cursed, but that’s just silly superstition.”

  “Could you elaborate on that Miss Rhodes?” the reporter asked, and the cameraman zoomed in on Margaret’s papery complexion.

  “It ain’t very proper to speak of the dead,” Margaret Lynn said. Her pale eyebrows furrowed, adding another wrinkle to her already wrinkled forehead. “But some folk around here think it might not be so coincidental that the only murders to happen in Silver Mountain have been in the Whelan family.”

  I’d turned the television off after that. The only thing Margaret Lynn had succeeded in doing with that interview was causing the townspeople to be even more suspicious of Niall’s death than we needed. Niall wouldn’t have wanted such a public service–Wren was right about that, but we were hoping this would prove we didn’t have anything to hide.

  When word of Niall’s murder hit the front page of our local paper and blasted every television screen, the whole town came together in an adhesive ball of anxiety and fear. As much as I hated to admit, Margaret Lynn was right. The townspeople were right to be scared. Silver Mountain didn’t have criminals–period. They wanted answers and justice, but they could never learn the truth about what happened on that horrific day…

  I swallowed over a lump that was lodged in the back of my throat and focused on the weight of Wren’s hand. It was like a solid block of granite, moored beneath my fingertips. Though I could feel the warmth of taut tendons against my palm, I had to keep stealing glances up at his face to make sure he was still breathing. He sat like a statue, eyes fixed on the casket. I slipped my index finger to the inside of his wrist, letting it rest on the artery. Seconds passed before his pulse leapt against my fingertip, and I closed my eyes in brief solace. It was strange to me, how a single heartbeat could make all the nerve endings in my hand spring full of life and strength in the midst of such darkness.

  Pastor Ellington was reading a passage from the bible, closing out the service. When he finished, he welcomed people to pay their final respects while the men from the cemetery lowered Niall’s coffin into the ground. The townsfolk lined up to shake Wren’s hand and offer their condolences. I stood beside him, just a slight step behind, and watched the sorrow and sympathy coloring the expressions of our community members’ faces. Wren’s beautiful face was a mask of forced appreciation. I could see the pain behind his eyes and watched it pull the corners of his mouth into an unnatural tight line. I squeezed his hand with mine, hoping it would convey the reassurance he needed.

  Blaire was staring at me; her unblinking dark eyes fixed on mine. I didn’t have to guess what she was thinking. I clenched my jaw, shaking my head stiffly to let her know that now was not a good time for her to use her gift. As an empath, Blaire has the ability to read auras and influence moods and emotions by a simple touch. It’s a handy little gift, but Wren wasn’t the kind of person that liked synthetic anything. Werewolves are highly emotional beings–fueled by things that don’t necessarily influence a human. It’s better to just let them go through the motions.

  Wren’s hand tightened around my fingers; his body turning as rigid as a steel beam. The joints in my knuckles began to crack as his grip constricted. “Wren,” I breathed, “you’re hurting me.” He let go of my hand in an instant, his features shifting in remorse when he realized what he’d done. A second passed before his gaze cut to the back row of the cemetery, right around the same time the back of my neck started tingling… I turned my head to see a woman standing beside an oak tree. Chestnut hair framed the razor-sharp bones of her face and fell below her shoulders in sleek waves. The elegant way in which she composed herself was no match for the keen look in her predatory dark gaze.

  “Werewolf,” Blaire breathed the warning against my ear, flashing her glowing moonstone ring in my peripheral.

  “Wren’s mother.” I knew her by gut instinct. I’d heard that Gabriella had the sort of presence that filled a room. I saw Wren in her features–the sculpted facial structure, the full lips, long lashes and amber eyes.

  “I take it that’s not a good thing?” Blaire assessed, glancing back and forth between our faces.

  I opened my mouth to speak but quickly clamped it shut, frowning when my father entered the scene. Gabriella smiled like the Cheshire cat and welcomed my dad’s embrace.

  I cringed. “Why is she here?”

  “I don’t know,” Wren answered through a tight jaw.

  “Who’s the chick your dad’s talking to?” Annabelle asked me. She’d popped in front of us, pointing a thumb over her shoulder. “She’s a total hottie.”

  “Wren’s mother,” Blaire answered this time, crossing her arms over her chest.

  Anabelle’s eyebrows lifted to her hairline, dark eyes expanding. “Oh.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Carter were walking up to us now, their mouths drawn into downcast lines. Mrs. Carter placed her small palm on Wren’s shoulder. “Let us know if you need anything, you know where to find us.”

  “I appreciate you coming, thank you,” Wren said.

  “Sorry for your loss.” Mr. Carter shook Wren’s hand. “Annabelle, you ready to go?”

  “I think I’m going to stick around for a little while,” she said to her parents, “I’ll be home before dark.”

  Worry clouded Akari’s features as she said, “Have someone drive you home please, and be home by five.”

  We’d gone from a town where nothing exciting ever happened, to a town put on lockdown over night. Annabelle’s parents had given her a strict curfew. She had to be home right after cross-country practice ended and wasn’t allowed out of the house after dark during the weeknights. Even my dad had tightened up my rules a bit–requesting that I not walk through town alone and was constantly asking about my plans and making sure that someone was going to accompany me if I was. I needed to tell him the truth about what I–about what we–were, but I was scared to involve him any more than necessary.

  My dad would never admit it out loud, but he was afraid of what I could do… not afraid of me, per se, but afraid for me. When we’d lost my mother years ago to cancer, her death drove him to the brink of a great depression. It was because of that fact alone that I wanted to protect my dad from any further pain. If he knew about the Trinity, I was afraid he would try to get involved and I wasn’t willing to risk losing him, too.

  Wren was watching our parents with a fixed gaze. Gabriella seemed impervious to the fact that we were all staring at her. After a minute I decided to look around, checking to see if anyone else I didn’t know was lurking in the midst of the crowd.

  “She’s alone,” Wren said, confirming my silent suspicions. “She wouldn’t risk bringing the others.”

  “Do you want to leave?” I asked him.

  “Well I for one want to see what this wagon’s about,” Blaire said, Irish accent thicker than usual. She reached up, sweeping the curtain of raven-black hair back from her face. The wind and sunlight were playing within the strands, revealing hidden shades of twinkling ruby.

  “Translation?” Annabelle raised her eyebrows.

  “It’s an
insult,” Blaire said. “You don’t want to be called a wagon, trust me. And don’t you be sayin’ it to no one, either.”

  Wren smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. My dad turned and pointed in our general direction, but it was me that Gabriella’s predatory gaze swept over. Her red lips pursed together, jaw muscle flexing. My dad started walking in our direction and Gabriella followed.

  “Look who I found.” My dad needlessly gestured to Gabriella.

  She’d stopped about two feet in front of us, and her mouth twitched into something that resembled a half smile. “Son,” she spoke in a soft tone as if to test the waters.

  Wren said nothing. He just met her eyes with a hard glare.

  “So this is the infamous womb donor we’ve all heard so much about,” Annabelle said flatly, looking the woman up and down.

  Blaire choked on an involuntary giggle, and my Dad’s face went ashen with horror at Annabelle’s outburst. Gabriella, however, seemed entirely unfazed. In fact, the corner of her mouth rose upward in amusement.

  My dad’s gaze shifted to me, and I pursed my lips in a tight line. “We’re going back to the cabin,” I uttered. “Catch up with you later?”

  “Uh, sure, kiddo. Just give me a call if I need to come and pick anyone up.” He looked at Annabelle and then turned his attention back to Gabriella. “Are you in town for a while?”

  “A couple of days at most,” she replied. “I’m staying with some friends outside of town.”

  “Let me take you to Josephine’s for some lunch.”

  “Thank you, I’d like that. It would be nice to catch up with an old friend.” She smiled and added emphasis on the word friend like it meant something more than that. I all but rolled my eyes, looping my arm through the crook of Wren’s elbow, and led the way out of the cemetery. The further we walked away from Gabriella, the easier the air was to breathe.