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Couldn’t speak.
She could only watch, breathlessly.
And the dark came alive. A howl lifted into the air, and a moment later the river walk was empty.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to do,” Aly said, rubbing her upper arm with her free hand as if trying to ease a bone-deep burn. Where he’d grabbed her, her skin still tingled, still hummed with the unexpected charge of electricity that had arced between them.
She’d been a member of the Society for more than ten years. She spent her days researching the different Guardians and the legends and tales that surrounded them. She knew all about the myth of Destined Mates. And she’d read about the bonding that happened between them, the link that sprang to life at first touch and how that link became stronger over time.
Well, no, thank you.
“I’ve no idea what you’re blatherin’ about,” Rogan muttered and didn’t look any too happy about the situation himself.
Although, he hadn’t been exactly a cheery man since he’d first opened his door for her. So, that probably didn’t mean anything.
“I know the legends,” she said, just to make sure he knew exactly how she felt about this. She wanted no mistakes, no misunderstandings. She was here to do a job, see a little of Ireland, then go home. “The Destined Mate thing? I know all about it, and you should know, I’m so not interested.”
“Don’t recall asking you to be interested.”
She ignored that, as she ignored the sizzle in her blood and the near-overpowering sense of recognition her soul was feeling. No, no, no. “I’ve got a life, thanks, and I’m not looking to subjugate myself to some medieval warrior who doesn’t even know the meaning of common courtesy. And now that I’ve done what I was sent here to do, I’m gone.”
“Be on your way, then.” He swung one muscular arm out in a wide arc, showing her the way out as if she couldn’t remember it for herself. “No one’s keepin’ you.”
“Fine.” Everything in her yearned to stay. Feelings she didn’t want crowded her mind, her heart, but she ruthlessly shut them down. Clearly, she’d been spending too much time at work and not enough time building a social life. If she could be this attracted to a crabby, overbearing Guardian, she really needed to get out more.
She turned on her heel and started for the front door. Just as she stepped into the entryway, though, she looked back at him. The fire crackled behind him, flames dancing in the hearth. Lamplight fell down onto him, making the black of his hair gleam almost blue. Those pale green eyes of his sparkled and shone with a glint of fury she hadn’t noticed a moment before, and his full mouth was flattened into a grim slash.
God, he was amazing. Her body burned, but her mind was in control. And she was glad to see that he was no happier about that little jolt of something sizzling than she was. Then they could both ignore whatever it had been and go on with their lives. As it should be.
“Good luck with your demon hunting.”
He folded his arms over that incredibly broad chest and muttered, “And you go back to your seer. Tell him I’ve no interest in anything he has to say.”
She left him there in that wonderful room and told herself as she went that the buzzing in her blood had nothing to do with his touch.
After Alison Blair left, Rogan found he couldn’t settle. His own home, the place he’d lived in for more than two hundred years, felt like a prison cell. It was as if the walls were closing in on him and air was too hard to come by. Damn woman should never have come.
The blasted Society had had no business sending her to him. He hadn’t taken their calls, had he? Wasn’t that plain enough that he’d no wish to hear from them? He prowled the confines of his library and found no pleasure in the books he’d collected over the lengthy span of his lifetime. He slapped both hands onto the Connemara marble mantel and stared down into the flames leaping and dancing in the hearth. Shadows flickered and lights shifted, and in the fire’s depths he saw Alison Blair’s face again and the surprise in her eyes when his touch had sparked off feelings neither of them wanted.
“Blast the woman,” he muttered, feeling the hot, roiling ball of fury build in his gut and churn viciously. And as he closed his eyes to the image of her, he made a solemn vow. “I’ll not do it again. I’ll not be led by my cock for the amusement of the Fates.”
And just saying the words aloud refocused his strength. Reminded him of who and what he was. Rogan Butler. Guardian. Warrior. And the softness of a woman had no place in his life—his was a world of blood and death.
That thought spurred him into action. He wasn’t a man to stand still. Pushing away from the fireplace, he strode from the room, his long legs moving quickly, silently through the house. What he needed right now was a battle. Clean. Simple. He gathered his weapons, threw on his coat and went on the hunt.
As Rogan moved through the bitter, cold night, his long black coat slapping around his legs, he searched for a telltale swirl of demonic energy that would steer him in the right direction. Trace signatures left behind when a demon entered our dimension were invisible to humans, but to Guardians they appeared as faint washes of color.
“There you are, you bastard,” he murmured, as his gaze caught a faint swirl of deep orange streaking through the stand of woods at the edge of Lough Mask.
The bitter taste of it was on the wind, and he turned, lifting his face, scenting his prey. His senses honed to a keen edge, Rogan sprinted soundlessly through the woods. The surface of Lough Mask looked like tarnished silver lying beneath a sliver of moon. The stars shone brilliantly in a black sky but shed little light on the countryside.
But Rogan didn’t need light for his work. This he knew better than anyone else alive. He was one of the oldest Guardians, and he’d been fighting demons for what seemed an eternity. Scenting the air again, he smiled grimly and lost himself in the trees. His steps were silent, his breathing steady and hushed. His gaze swept the terrain he knew as well as he knew the layout of his own home.
This was his country. He’d lived and died in Ireland and chose to remain here as one of the Guardians who defended the island against demon encroachment. He was Irish to the bone, and this very ground was a part of him. He’d traveled the globe and never found another spot like this one. Always, he’d been drawn back here, to County Mayo, where Gaelic was still spoken, as it should be. The old ways were remembered here. Revered.
Here no farmer would think to run a tractor across a fairy mound—unwilling to risk angering the little people. Here trees were left to stand tall in the fields and crops were planted around them. Here ruins of castles echoed with the ghosts of warriors long dead.
And here his own memories both comforted and tormented him.
The wind on the water churned whitecaps that slapped at the surface of the lake and sounded like hundreds of cats lapping at cream. The trees around him bent and swayed. His eyes narrowed, and every one of his Guardian senses reached into the darkness. The scent was clear, but the faint wash of orange had dissipated in the wind.
A crack of a twig.
A hiss of breath.
Rogan spun about and pounced.
The burly demon had thought to sneak up on him and Rogan would have laughed at the very idea, but he was too busy, swinging a sword he had carried for eons. The very balance of the heavy blade felt a part of him, an extension of his arm as he whipped it through the air with such power the wind sang as it caressed the finely honed metal.
His blade hit home with a smack of steel against flesh. The demon howled in fury and pain and charged Rogan in desperation. Wild, burning eyes flashed in the darkness and long, lethal claws swiped at him. But Rogan was more than ready. He’d been bred to fight, and over the hundreds of years that had passed since his death, his abilities with a blade had become legendary—even among the Guardians.
The demon snarled, his jaw dropping to reveal jagged teeth nearly two inches long. The stench of demon blood fouled the air and Rogan hissed in a breath. His heart pounded frantically and his blood rushed. He dropped into a crouch, swinging his blade in another wide arc from which the demon leaped back to avoid. Minutes ticked past, and the wind around him tossed dirt and leaves into the air.
And Rogan hardly noticed. His focus was on his opponent. On the battle. He fought because it was his duty. Because a warrior was all he was.
Because he knew nothing else.
Again and again they clashed viciously. The defender and the beast. “You should have stayed in hell, demon. There’s no place in Ireland for the likes of you.”
The demon spat at him, and its saliva mixed with blood, bubbling into a frothy acid on the ground at Rogan’s feet. “Guardians are few and we are many.”
Rogan leaped through the air, and as he came down, he brought the hilt of his sword crashing into the demon’s skull. The solid hit staggered the beast, and it dropped to the earth, stunned. Rogan planted one boot on the small of its back and held it pinned to the ground while it cursed and screamed. In a moment he’d secure the bloody damn thing and cart it off back to the portal and its rightful dimension. Demons were hard to kill here on this plane. The most a Guardian could do was capture it and send it back to hell.
“Bastard!” The demon twisted and writhed in a futile effort to free itself. “You’ll pay for this! I’ll see to it! Armies of demons will descend on you and yours.”
Rogan stepped heavier on the beast until it ran out of air to shout with. “Many you may be,” he agreed, smiling now that the fight was ended, “but we’ll outlast the lot of you.”
And while his captive fought desperately to escape him, Rogan slid his sword into its scabbard and lifted his face to the night sky. Victory and one less demon to threaten humankind this night. He’d done his duty. Done what he was meant to do.
Yet still the emptiness inside him rattled as it had for too many years to count.
“Casey?” Aly called quietly and stepped into their shared bedroom at the Radharc na Oilean B and B on the banks of Lough Mask. There were two twin beds covered by handmade quilts in beautiful shades of blues and greens. A wide dormer window overlooked the fields stretching out behind the farmhouse, and the lamp on the small table between the beds gave off a soft, warm glow.
Along with enough light for Aly to see that Casey wasn’t back yet.
A flicker of worry sputtered into life inside her, but Aly told herself to calm down. She closed the door behind her, crossed the room and stared out at the sweep of open fields that lay at the feet of the Partry Mountains. There wasn’t enough moonlight to see much, but she made out the blurred white patches of the sheep huddling together in the field for warmth. The end of March in Ireland was cold, even for the animals used to the biting wind.
Turning back around, Aly frowned as she stared at her sister’s empty bed but told herself that Casey was an adult, old enough to take care of herself. She’d be back before long and no doubt be lording it all over Aly for the good time she’d missed because she’d had to deal with Rogan Butler.
Just the thought of the man’s name had Aly rubbing her arm again. She could swear she still felt his touch on her skin. Which was just weird.
Her heartbeat quickened a bit as she remembered the cold gleam in his clear green eyes as he touched her. He’d felt that buzz of something molten between them as well as she had. And he hadn’t looked any happier about it than she was. Small consolation.
Sighing, she eased her suitcase off the bed, then stretched out atop the quilt. Not bothering to change into her pajamas, she lay in the soft glow of lamplight and stared up at the sloping ceiling. But she wasn’t seeing the clean, white paint over the eaves of what had once been the attic of the working farmhouse.
Instead, she was seeing Rogan Butler, frowning at her. She heard the rolling music of his accent and the deep reverberation of his voice as it sizzled along her spine. She remembered every moment with him so clearly it was as if it had been etched into her brain.
“Now, isn’t that a lovely thought?” No. It wasn’t. She didn’t want to think about him. Didn’t want to consider what that hum of electric charge between them might have meant. And surely didn’t want to see him again.
And yet…
His face filled her mind as her eyes closed and her body surrendered to the jet lag tugging at her.
Casey still hadn’t returned by morning.
Aly fought down a cold lump of fear in her belly and told herself there would be an explanation. Car trouble, maybe. No. She was going to catch a cab. Then perhaps an accident. Oh, God. That wasn’t a good thought.
She went downstairs at the crack of dawn, but since the B and B was situated on a working sheep farm, her hostess was already up and busy. Aly accepted a cup of coffee, got directions on how to get to the city of Westport, then climbed into her car and took off.
The bucolic Irish countryside did nothing to dispel the sense of urgency bubbling inside her. Something was desperately wrong. She felt it. Aly knew her sister, and though Casey liked to have a good time, she wasn’t stupid. And she wasn’t the kind of woman who would have gone home with a man she’d just met.
Which left only one possibility.
Casey was in some kind of trouble.
The owner of the B and B had made a couple of phone calls for her, checking in with the local hospitals, but there was no record of an American woman being treated or admitted. So fine. She wasn’t in the hospital. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t be lying in a ditch somewhere and…
“Stop it,” she told herself. She wasn’t going to let her imagination take over. There would be a reasonable explanation for this. Maybe Casey hadn’t been able to get a cab back and had stayed at a hotel in town. “But if she’d done that, she would have called to let me know.”
The narrow road unwound in front of her like a black ribbon snaking through lush fields of green. On either side of the road, gorse bushes sprouted tiny yellow flowers in clusters so rich and thick that you couldn’t see through them to the farms beyond. On her right, Lough Mask lay spread out into the distance, a watery sun splotching the gray surface with flashes of brilliance.
When a car headed toward her, Aly gulped in a breath and held it, steering her car as far over to the left as she could. The gorse bushes scraped at the car, and as the other driver passed, he lifted a hand in greeting and drove on.
Aly blew out that breath and took another. She couldn’t imagine driving these roads all the time. It was terrifying. But at the moment, she had more to frighten her than tiny roads, careless drivers and the sheep that suddenly wandered out in front of her.
Stomping on the brake, Aly jerked to a stop and waited while the white-and-black sheep stared at her as if she were an intruder. And, hell, she was. She should never have come here, Society or not. And she certainly shouldn’t have brought Casey with her.
Casey.
Honking her horn, Aly eased off the brake and crept up on the sheep as slowly as she could. But she didn’t have the time to simply sit parked while the damn animal decided where it wanted to go. Clearly irritated, the sheep glared at her, then bounded across the road and Aly was once more flying down a narrow strip of asphalt, muttering unintelligible prayers as she went.
The local police, the Garda, weren’t too concerned when Aly faced them down with tales of a missing sister. But she’d been all over Westport. She’d visited dozens of pubs, talked to whoever would listen and, nearly frantic, had finally discovered the place her sister had last been seen, a pub called the Sidhe, which sat on the corner of the main street, just across from the river that snaked alongside the bustling city.
And the waitress at the Sidhe remembered serving Casey. Even remembered her leaving. Alone. About twelve o’clock the night before. Then, it was as if she’d slipped into a hole in the earth.
“If you don’t mind my sayin’ so, miss,” the sergeant at the broad wood desk said with a smile, “you’re worrying for naught. I’m sure your sister is simply enjoying her first trip to Ireland.”
Aly bit down on her frustration. The man was trying to be nice, after all. “The question, Sergeant, is where is she enjoying herself?”
He gave her another smile that flashed briefly in his clear blue eyes. “Ah, well, now. She’s an adult, isn’t she? There’s no sign of foul play. You’ve said yourself, the waitress at the Sidhe says she left under her own power, none the worse for wear.”
Around her, the police station hummed with activity. Somewhere down the long, narrow hallway a woman was crying, and Aly hoped to heaven that wasn’t an omen. She heard snatches of English mixed in with the musical sound of Gaelic. Burned coffee stained the air, and the sergeant in front of her had bread crumbs on his uniform jacket. It was as if she were outside herself, noticing all the little details of the room in a blind effort to keep calm. To keep from screaming that her sister was in trouble and no one was listening.
“Now, if you’d like to leave the number of where you’re staying, I’ll be sure to let you know if I learn anything.”
“Sergeant,” Aly tried again, desperate to make him do something to help her. “My sister and I are traveling together. Casey wouldn’t simply disappear without telling me. She would know that I’d be worried.” Calm. Collected. In control. Hysteria would only make him dismiss her entirely. “Something’s happened to her, and I need you to help me look for her.”
Sighing, he pulled a piece of paper in front of him, picked up a pen and, giving her a look that clearly said she was wasting his precious time, asked, “Will you tell me again what she looks like?”
“Yes.” Aly didn’t care if he didn’t believe her. Didn’t care if he was patronizing her. All that mattered was that he was filling out an official report. She dug out her wallet, produced a picture of her sister and handed it over.
“I can’t promise you much, miss.” He studied the photo of a smiling Casey for a long moment, then made notes in a tidy hand. “Your sister’s a grown woman. She’s been gone only overnight. For all you know, she’s hunkered down in a hotel with one of the local lads, I’m sorry for saying so.”
Aly bit down hard on her bottom lip, then said, “Casey’s not like that. I’m telling you, something is wrong. I know it.”
“Ah, well, then, we’ll see what we can do.”
While he wrote down everything she said, Aly looked around the station again. And this time, she noticed the pages tacked up to a bulletin board in the entrance. Missing notices. With pictures and descriptions of young men and women. They dotted the entire surface of the corkboard and filled Aly with trepidation.
If the Garda hadn’t found any of those people…how would they find Casey?
Chapter 3
Rogan slipped through the countryside and made no more than a whisper of sound. A young moon gave fitful light as it slipped in and out of thick clouds rolling in from the sea. He moved with the stealthy grace he had learned over the long centuries of solitary battles. His gaze swept the darkness as he made his way across the open field, searching, always searching for the telltale energy traces that would lead him to a demon.
The wind was icy and tossed the branches of the trees into a tangle of limbs. But he hardly noticed. The night was home to him, the open land more easy on his soul than four walls could ever be. He belonged here, hunting. The scent of peat smoke from a nearby chimney came to him, and for one brief moment, memories crowded Rogan’s mind. Memories of other times, when he’d roamed these very hills in the company of his brother warriors. Before he’d died. Before he’d begun his eternity on the hunt.
As a Guardian, Rogan was one of many. Chosen at the moment of their death to defend humanity from the demon threat, Guardians were immortal. And with the gift of long life came other gifts. All of them were telepathic, able to read the minds of the humans they protected. Some of the Guardians had other gifts, as well, gifts that had been with them in life and were, over the course of eternity, strengthened, made more powerful.
Rogan, though, was only what he appeared to be—a warrior. A man who had known little else in life beyond the camaraderie of a battlefield and the company of others like himself. He’d served the last hereditary high king of Ireland, Brian Boru, and his last act on Earth had been to avenge his king’s death. He valued loyalty. Honor.
And told himself that the vow he’d made so long ago was enough for him.
Then Alison Blair had walked into his home and short-circuited every nerve in his body. Just remembering her now brought back the flash of…knowing that had filled him with a simple touch. He’d dipped into her mind and felt her confusion. Felt her reaction to him and had had to fight to maintain the cold distance he preferred between himself and humankind.
She was…unexpected. He’d thought only to be irritated with the intrusion of the Society. But with a single touch, that had changed. And he wasn’t pleased with the knowledge.
Scowling, he cleared his mind and concentrated instead on the here and now. Thoughts of a woman he didn’t want had no business on the hunt. He was needed. He did a job that few others could do, and this night he would track whatever demons thought to prey on his island.
While he moved through the darkness, becoming a part of the night itself, he thought of the seer’s prediction. And again, despite his best intentions, of Alison Blair. He didn’t want to think of her. He’d found and lost his Destined Mate centuries ago. There would be no other for him, and Rogan knew it was as well there wouldn’t be. A hunter had no need for anything in his life but the next hunt. The next challenge. The next demon.
And as that thought rose up in his mind, he turned over the seer’s warnings again. He had little patience with those who claimed to see the future. But since Alison’s visit the night before, he’d done some research himself. True, he was more at home with a sword in his hand than he was sitting at a computer. But he’d long ago learned that to move with a changing world, he had to first keep abreast of those changes.
He’d taught himself how to use the state-of-the-art computer system installed in his home, and his satellite Internet connection afforded him the luxury of researching anything he wished with the click of a button. And he’d found enough to make him wary, to make him consider using the Society’s seer.
He seldom watched television and rarely read a newspaper, since the mortal world’s interests had little to do with him. So it was with surprise that he found people were disappearing all over County Mayo. One or two at first, but in the past several weeks more and more were simply vanishing. The missing were generally young—in their twenties. And most of them were tourists, as though someone or something was endeavoring to keep the local population from becoming too suspicious.
Rogan moved out onto the road and stared up at the B and B where Alison Blair was staying. A farmhouse, the tidy white building fairly sparkled in the spare moonlight. Alongside the B and B was a stone-faced, thatched cottage used for self-catering vacationers. With the Lough behind him, Rogan stared at the B and B, shifting his gaze from one lamplit window to the next, focusing his mind and listening for the thoughts of those inside.
