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“A thousand and more demons have fallen beneath my blade. All without the help you’ve come so far to offer.”
“The Society is—”
“Useless?” he offered.
“There’s no reason to be insulting, either.” She walked toward him, forcing her feet to move despite the fact that her muscles were locked up as if desperately trying to keep her in one place. “I’ve come with an important message and I’m not leaving until I’ve delivered it.”
He blew out a breath and came down the remaining steps until he stood on the drive right in front of her. Aly tipped her head back to stare up into his eyes. Green, she thought. A shining, clear green that seemed almost iridescent in the pale light. His jaw was hard and square and bristled with a day’s growth of whiskers. His mouth was firm and flattened into a disapproving line, and his heavy black brows were drawn down on his forehead.
He was, without a doubt, the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen.
And despite the fact that his irritation still simmered in the air around him, Aly felt a small twist of something hot and needy bubble into life inside her.
Which was just unacceptable.
“Fine, then deliver your message and be on your way.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d rather not discuss this outside.”
“You’re a prissy little thing, aren’t you?”
“Prissy? Prissy?” Narrowing her eyes on him, she said, “I’m an official representative of the Guardian Society. I’ve just spent twelve hours in a plane to get here. Then I had to rent a car and try not to nod off at the wheel while I forced myself to drive on the wrong side of the road.” He opened his mouth as if to speak, but she kept right on, feeling her sense of righteous indignation build up and spill over. “The hotel lost my reservation, and my sister and I had to search for a local B and B. After getting to our room, instead of having a meal or taking a much-needed nap—or even, God help me, going for a drink with my sister—I got in that blasted car with the steering wheel on the wrong side of the damn thing and drove straight here, only to be treated like a common criminal by your security thugs and now to be insulted by you. If it weren’t in humanity’s best interests to give you this message, believe me when I say I’d as soon keep my mouth shut, turn around and go home.”
When she finally ran down, Aly took a breath and waited for him to order her off his property. Fine. She hadn’t handled her first official assignment very well, but she’d like to have seen anyone else handle it better.
“Well, then,” he said after an impossibly long moment, “you’d best come inside and give me this all-important message.”
He stepped back and waved an arm, silently inviting her to precede him into the house. Lifting her chin, she did just that, taking the steps slowly as jet lag began taking its toll.
She stepped into the entryway and paused just for a moment to take a quick look around. Polished wood floors gleamed in the lamplight, and colorful rugs were scattered along the narrow hall that stretched off to the back end of the house. To her left was a formal sitting room and to her right what looked to be a library. A fire roared in the stone hearth, wall sconces shaped like oil lanterns threw soft, electric light onto the paneled walls and over-stuffed furniture in shades of forest green and burgundy offered comfort. The walls were lined with bookshelves, and every table top was crowded with towering piles of hardcover books.
She loved the room immediately.
“This way,” he said and walked past her into the clearly masculine room. Making directly for an escritoire, he opened the carved doors to reveal crystal decanters and drinking glasses. “You’ll have a drink, then tell me.”
“No, thank you.”
“You look as though you’re ready to keel over,” he said, dismissing her argument as he poured amber-colored liquor into two glasses. “A little of the Irish will set you straight in no time.”
He came back to her and handed her one of the glasses. She took a sniff and frowned. “I don’t really drink whiskey.”
Tossing his own drink back, he swallowed, then said, “This is Paddy’s. It’s like no other. Drink it down and tell me what you’ve come to say.”
Easier to do as he wanted rather than fight him on something that didn’t seem very important. Mimicking his action, Aly took a breath, lifted her glass and poured the liquor down her throat in a straight shot.
Instantly, fire bloomed inside and stole her breath. Gasping a little, she handed the glass back to him and slapped one hand to her chest. “Thanks,” she managed to say when she was able to choke out a word.
Rogan set the glasses down onto the nearest table top and watched the woman who’d come all the way from the United States to see him. He had no use for the Guardian Society. He was a warrior and had managed, since the day of his death in 1014, to battle demons without the help of those who thought themselves to be a part of the Guardian legacy.
There were others, friends of his, who had made use of the Society from time to time, but Rogan believed a man worked better when he was alone, a hard lesson he’d learned centuries ago and one he kept always in the forefront of his mind. He needed nothing from anyone and wanted no “help” in performing his duty.
He’d been ready to order Alison Blair off his property when she’d found her spine and given him a dressing-down like no one had dared to do in centuries. And with that outburst of temper, she’d won a glimmer of admiration from him, a glimmer strong enough to allow her into his home—however briefly.
“Say what you must, then, and be on your way.”
“If this is Irish hospitality, it’s sadly lacking.”
“Ah, but you’re not a guest now, are you?” He turned from her, walked to his favorite chair and sat down, kicking both legs out in front of him and crossing his feet at the ankles. “You say you’ve a mission to fulfill. Then fulfill it and be done.”
He watched her and saw anger flash in her blue eyes quickly before she was able to hide it from him. Instantly, he wondered what kind of woman it was who buried her emotions so completely. The women he’d known in his life had all worn their hearts in the open, risking bruising and hurt but unable to do anything else.
And as that thought sneaked into his consciousness, it was followed by an ancient memory, one he rarely allowed himself to entertain. The image of a woman rose up in his mind. Her long, black hair flying about her head in the sea wind. Her blue eyes shining, laughing. Her mouth curved in welcome for him. And before he could pause a moment to enjoy them, the images shifted, changed, becoming the nightmare that haunted him still from time to time.
Rogan shut off his thoughts with the ease of long practice and turned his focus to the woman still standing across the room from him. Irritated suddenly, he said, “Sit, will you? And say what you’ve come to say.”
Her boot steps were muffled on the thick carpets as she moved to the chair nearest him. She perched on the edge of the chair, folded her hands in her lap and squeezed until her knuckles turned white. That was the only sign of her agitation, and again Rogan was forced to admire her self-control.
While the fire crackled and hissed in the hearth and tree limbs driven by the ever-present Irish wind scratched at the windowpanes, she watched him steadily for a long moment. Then she said softly, “One of the Chicago seers has had a vision.”
He gave her a half smile. “Wouldn’t that be a seer’s job?”
She didn’t answer that jibe. Instead, she began to give him a bloody lecture.
Her surprisingly prim voice carried just over the hiss of the fire. “As you know, the Society psychics are some of the most powerful in the world. Society membership is hereditary. For centuries, the same families have protected the secrets of the Guardians and done all we can to help you in your fight against the demon incursion—”
Scowling, he snapped, “If you’ve come only to give me a history lesson, Alison Blair, I’ll remind you I’ve been living history for longer than you would care to consider.”
She frowned right back at him. “Each generation, ” she said, a bit louder than before, as if daring him to try to talk over her, “more psychics are born into the Society, and with each generation one or two of those seers has incredible strength.”
“And would you be one of those with the power of second sight, darlin’?”
“I would not,” she said, pausing just long enough to give him an irritated nod. “I have some psychic abilities but nothing in the range of the seers. Reginald, the seer who sent me here, is extremely powerful. His visions are always clear. His messages have saved countless lives, including those of your fellow Guardians.”
“We’re immortal, love,” he said, hooking his arms behind his head in a lazy move that belied the tension coiling in the pit of his belly. “We’ve no lives to be saved.”
“Immortal, yes, but you can be desperately wounded, taking years to recover.”
Annoyed, he said, “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.”
“I’m trying to impress on you just how important it is for you to listen to Reginald’s message.”
“Then deliver it, by damn.”
She drew her head back and stared at him. In the firelight, her blue eyes shone with the reflection of the flames until it looked as though light were dancing within her. Her mouth was tight, her posture was so stiff it was as if she’d a poker stuffed down the back of her jacket and her knotted fingers were almost white with her repressed fury.
“You are the rudest man I’ve ever met.”
He brushed that aside. “Ah, but I’m not a man, am I? Besides, you’ve not seen rude yet, Alison Blair, but if you don’t get on with it, you very well may.”
She ground her teeth together as if trapping inside words that wanted to spill from her mouth. It was almost entertaining to watch. Almost. But time was flying by and Rogan had no interest in sitting by the fire with a woman, no matter how attractive he found her; it was past time for him to be out on the hunt.
“Fine, then,” she said after a long moment’s pause. “Reginald has seen the rise of a very dangerous power. Here. Soon.”
He laughed. And when her features stiffened in shock, he laughed harder. “This is the so important message? Your seer’s looked beyond the veil and seen trouble, has he?” He rubbed his jaw and pretended to give the matter great thought. “What kind of trouble do you think, then? Could it be…demons?”
“Are you really so arrogant you can’t accept help when it’s offered?”
“I don’t need your help. Or apparently the help of your gifted seer. I know there’s trouble, don’t I?” He stood up and looked down at her from his great height. “Demons are nothing new to me, Alison Blair.”
“This isn’t an ordinary demon,” she said quietly, as if she were measuring each word and weighting it down with patience before speaking it. “Reginald saw an extreme amount of energy surrounding the nearest portal. He says that it’s building daily and that there’s a danger beyond the normal threat.”
Rogan scowled at her and thought about the seer’s message. He’d known for days now that something unusual was happening. There had been reported cases of people mysteriously vanishing all over Ireland. And there’d been more demon activity lately as well. He didn’t like any of it.
She stood up and that flicker of admiration, respect he’d felt for her earlier, sharpened a bit. She wasn’t put off by his great size or by the reputation and legends surrounding him. He’d give her points for foolhardy bravery if nothing else.
“I’ll do what I can to look into the seer’s vision,” he said, though it cost him. He didn’t want to take orders from a psychic. Nor from a woman.
“Thank you. I’ll make my report to the Society.”
“You do that.”
“You don’t have to like me or the Society,” she said, clearly irritated that he wasn’t more appreciative of the effort she’d gone to in delivering this oh-so-very-vague message. “But you could at least show some respect.”
“Respect?” His voice boomed out before he could stop it. “For psychics and seers who sit in the background and make proclamations? Who have visions too late to help? Who see things that can’t be changed and then demand reverence for their faulty abilities?” Rogan moved in closer, until he could feel her body heat reaching out to him. Rage pounded in his brain and thundered through his veins.
“The psychics do their best,” she countered, blindly defending the group that was her family’s legacy. “Visions aren’t always clear.”
“Aye,” he agreed, feeling the fury threaten to overcome him. “But they don’t admit to mistakes, do they? No. They speak as if from the Mount and expect all to listen and revere. Well, I’ve no use for seers, Alison Blair. And even less use for their servants.”
She swallowed hard and he could see agitation suddenly take hold of her. Still, she kept her gaze fixed with his. “I’m no one’s servant.”
“And yet here you stand, at their beck and call.”
“It’s my duty.”
“And now you’ve done it, and it’s past time for me to be doing mine,” he muttered thickly, grabbing her upper arm to steer her out of his house.
But as he touched her, something unexpected happened, something dazzling. An arc of what could have been lightning jolted between them. White-hot heat and something more sizzled in the air, and Rogan released her instantly.
He knew that sizzle and flash.
He’d felt it just once before.
For his Destined Mate.
But she had been dead for hundreds of years.
Chapter 2
Casey tapped the toe of her shoe to the insistent beat of the traditional Irish music pouring out of the pub behind her. Even here on the sidewalk, the music was rich and full, making her consider going back inside despite how tired she was. With drums, pipes and fiddles, the small group of people huddled in a corner of the pub had the locals dancing and the tourists wishing they knew how to step dance.
Her first day in Ireland and already she was in love with the country. The cold, Irish wind buffeted her, the Guinness she’d drunk warmed her from the inside and fuzzed her jet-lagged mind into a kind of easy fog and the tidy streets of Westport made her feel safer than she ever had back home in Chicago. Even now, when it was nearly midnight, she wasn’t worried to be alone on a street corner waiting for the taxi she’d called.
And, okay, maybe that was foolish, but she wasn’t going to obsess about it. She’d stay in the light of the pub, within shouting distance of help, if she needed it. But she wouldn’t. The people were all so friendly. She’d talked all night, tried a dance step or two and then laughed like a loon when she hadn’t been able to keep up with an elderly man who, though he had to be at least a hundred years old, was as light on his toes as a ballet dancer.
The night had been a great welcome to Ireland, one her sister had missed. “Poor Aly. Off being the dutiful little soldier when she could have been here having fun.”
In the pub, the music abruptly shifted from a wildly paced tune called “Finnegan’s Wake” to something slow and sad and just a little dreamy. Casey sighed as the notes soared into the night and told herself that this sense of freedom she was experiencing was exactly why she hadn’t wanted to accept her legacy and join the Society.
For centuries, her family had served the Guardians. And what had they gotten for it? Very little. Heck, the Guardians themselves barely tolerated Society members. The pay was stingy, the respect was almost nonexistent and because you took an oath of secrecy, you couldn’t even tell your friends what you did for a living!
“No, thank you,” she muttered as if she were having the familiar argument with her elder sister. Aly had been working for the Society since she was eighteen. She’d been the “good” daughter, the obedient one, the one who did whatever their parents expected of her. She’d been sucked into the secretive Society and had immersed herself in the traditions and rules, much as their parents had. Aly bought into the mentality of serving humanity and helping the Guardians, and Casey had never been able to change her mind.
Well, for Casey it was different. She’d never been convinced that the “demon threat” was all that horrifying. After all, the demons had been trying to take over humankind for thousands of years and they hadn’t succeeded yet. How terrifying could they possibly be? No. She was more convinced that it was Guardian propaganda that had kept the Society members in practical servitude for centuries.
“They’re no better than cosmic bullies,” she muttered. “Ordering us around like we’re peasants, then ignoring us when it suits them. Ten to one, Rogan Butler didn’t even let Aly get close enough to deliver her stupid message.”
Shaking her head, Casey determinedly turned her mind from her sister and the Guardian she was sent to meet. After all, it was so not her problem. She was here to enjoy herself, and that’s just what she was going to do.
“But where is the stupid taxi?”
Another gust of icy ocean air blew in off Clew Bay and wrapped itself around Casey like a long-lost lover. She shivered a little and wished she’d worn a heavier jacket. But the black leather had gone so well with her outfit that she hadn’t wanted to spoil her look.
A voice drifted to her, and she turned toward the sound. Just across the wide street, a three-foot-high stone wall separated the road from the Carrowbeg River. The length of the wall was dotted with trees and old-fashioned streetlamps that offered more in ambiance than in actual lighting.
She listened harder, but when she didn’t hear anything more, she brushed it off and again stared down the street, willing her taxi to appear.
“Help me…”
There it was again. A sigh almost lost in the rush of the river and the whisper of the wind, never mind the music still erupting inside the pub. Frowning, she thought about stepping into the pub to get assistance but then reconsidered. If she was imagining the call—and chances of that were good, since she was so tired she could hardly stand upright—she’d look like a fool.
Quickly, she looked up and down the street and then crossed the road in a fast trot that had her boot steps echoing softly around her. Clutching the edges of her jacket together, she walked up to the short stone fence and stared down into the fastmoving river. She didn’t see anyone, didn’t hear anyone, so she must be more jet-lagged than she’d thought.
Despite the streetlamps, it was darker here than it had been in front of the noisy pub. Shadows were everywhere, crouching in patches of deeper black, and Casey was suddenly uneasy. She glanced around her but saw no one. Nothing. Yet the sensation of being watched was so real, so bone-deep certain she couldn’t shake it. A chill snaked along her spine. She looked back at the pub and took comfort in the bright splash of light streaming through the wide front window. She wasn’t alone. Help was just a shout away.
“You’ve come…”
A voice. Deep, musical, mesmerizing. Casey pulled in a long, deep breath, then let it slide slowly from her lungs. She swayed and felt her head go light, as if a fog had slipped into her mind, shrouding her thoughts, wrapping her brain in a haze that grew thicker with every beat of her heart. She shook her head, tried to clear it, but the fog remained, thick, warm.
“Who are you? Where are you?” She held her breath and waited for that compelling, soothing, completely sexual voice again.
“Ah, darlin’…I’ve been waitin’…”
“Yes,” she whispered, licking her lips, sighing as unseen fingers moved over her body, stroking, touching, enticing.
A shadow lifted from the earth, twisting in the wind, contorting itself, writhing as if fighting to come into existence.
Casey couldn’t move.
