mixed blood. Even halflings. There was no demon more prone to vengeance than Voltar.
“Tell me more,” Voltar said, his body tensing under his leather pants and vest, ready for battle.
“You’ve lived how long?” Malek asked.
“One thousand years,” Voltar said, his voice hard. If he and Malek didn’t achieve immortality soon, they would both die.
“I’m nearly that old,” Malek said. “Druan was eight hundred years old when he was destroyed.” Malek leaned closer to Voltar and dropped his voice to a whisper. “How then has Tristol been here two thousand years?”
Voltar turned to Malek, his eyes dark. “Two thousand? Impossible.”
“Is it? I stumbled on an ancient Celtic myth of a black-haired ruler who lived two thousand years ago. I found a sketch. The resemblance to Tristol is… remarkable.”
“How could it be? We would have known if he’d been made immortal.”
“I followed him last night,” Malek said, “and watched him drink the blood of a human.”
“He’s a vampire?” Voltar hissed. “I thought they were dead.”
“So does the Dark One. He won’t be happy to discover his abandoned race still lives. We shouldn’t tell him yet, not until we’ve gathered proof. It won’t be easy to convince him that Tristol is one of them.” Malek allowed a small smile, anticipating what the Dark One would do when he discovered that Voltar had killed his favorite pet. Malek would be the last of the League. With Dana Rodgers—or Shay Logan, as she was known now—and Cody MacBain dead, Malek would have the book and all of earth at his command.
***
Something brushed her legs, and Shay opened her eyes, startled to find herself on the balcony. How had she gotten there? She never sleepwalked. The sky roiled black over the trees, ominous clouds drowning the full moon, as leaves swirled furiously in the wind. Her nightgown brushed around her legs, sending a chill to her thighs. Her arm tingled, a feeling between pleasure and pain. She shivered, cold from the breeze, and heard something at her feet. The cat stood in front of her, hair bristling, tail swishing against her ankles. “Well, cat. You don’t look any happier to be out here than I do. We should go inside.” She hesitated, rubbing her arm as the night stilled, the tree limbs lifting like bony arms. Something moved at the edge of the woods. A man, several of them, lining the edge of the woods like sentries. They stared at the sky where the black clouds had cleared.
She stepped back into the room. That was the first she had seen it. She fell asleep on the way from the airport and had only a vague sensation of being carried. Someone had changed her into a nightgown. Cody? Had he slept there? No. The other pillow was undisturbed. The room was lit by a soft glow. A night-light? The walls were made of stone, the bed large and comfortable, covers tangled from her dreams. The room seemed to darken as she studied it. There was no night-light. The moon must have passed behind a cloud.
She relaxed a little. She was well protected there, from both demons and vampires. Ellis was dead. She still couldn’t fathom that he had killed so many people because of her. Shay’s eyes stung. How could she live with that?
The silver lining was finding out she had a half sister, though she hated the pain it caused Bree to learn that everything she took for granted—parentage, history, her name—had been a lie, just like with Shay. What a bizarre coincidence. Not just that both their pasts were shrouded in mystery, but that they were sisters, connected in different ways to the same clan. Shay was quickly learning that coincidence was commonplace within the clan. Destiny seemed to play a role in everything. Like mates.
It would take Bree some time to get over the pain. She said some harsh things to Orla before running out in tears. The devastation on Orla’s face had hit Shay like a fist. Cody was right, she hadn’t stopped to think how much she would hurt the MacBains and Nina by slamming the door in their faces. Their deception had been real, but so was their love.
Shay turned to close the balcony doors, and another figure caught her eye. He stood in the shadows, but she saw the jut of his shoulders, the familiar shape of his head. Cody. She opened her mouth to call out, but changed her mind. She needed to touch him. She brushed her teeth and dressed. The hallway was wide, lit by old iron sconces that would cost a collector a pretty penny, and thick rugs in rich colors that made her feel as if she had stepped back in time. Downstairs, she found the door and stepped into the cool night air. The cat darted past her, disappearing across the grounds. Even if she were blindfolded, she would have known she was in Scotland. The air smelled different there.
The guards stood tall and still, watching as she walked toward Cody. She saw the red-and-black flash of a kilt and thought she’d made a mistake, but he stepped from the shadows, moving close without touching her. The moonlight played on his striking face, making him look fierce. He had a sword strapped to his back, not the collapsible swords she’d seen, but a large broadsword. A gun was holstered on the belt of his kilt with a dagger sheathed on the other side. Ready for war.
