Burned

Stark shrugged. “It’s impressive, and it’s obviously expensive, but it doesn’t make me feel weird.” He moved closer to the marble and studied the archway. “So, where’s the doorbell or whatever? How do we call someone? Is there a phone, or do I yell, or what?”

“Ha Gaelic akiv?” The disembodied male voice seemed to come from the archway itself, like it was a living portal. Stark looked into the dark with bewilderment. “It’ll be in the English tongue, then,” the voice continued. “Your unwanted presence here is all that is required to summon me.”

“I need to see Sgiach. It’s a matter of life or death,” Stark said.

“Sgiach isnae concerned with uze wains, even if it be a matter of life or death.”

This time the voice sounded nearer, clearer, and it had a Scottish accent that was more growl than brogue.

“What the hell is a wain?” Aphrodite whispered.

“Sssh,” Stark told her. To the faceless voice he said, “Zoey isn’t a child. She’s a High Priestess, and she needs help.”

A man stepped out of the shadows. He was wearing an earth-colored kilt, but it wasn’t like those they’d seen on their hurried trip through the Highlands. This one was made of more material, and it wasn’t prim and proper-looking. This vampyre didn’t have on a tweed jacket with a frilly shirt. His muscular chest and arms were bare as he wore only a studded leather vest and forearm guards. The hilt of a dirk glinted at his waist. Except for a strip of short hair down the center of his head, his hair was shaven. Two gold hoops glinted at one ear. The firelight caught the gold chieftain’s torque he wore around one wrist. In contrast to his powerful body, his face was deeply lined. His close-cropped beard was completely white. The tattoos on his face were griffins, claws extended onto his cheekbones. The overall and immediate impression Stark got from him was that this was a Warrior who could walk through fire and emerge not merely unscathed, but victorious.

“That wee lass there’s a fledglin’, no a High Priestess,” he said.

“Zoey’s not like other fledglings.” Stark spoke quickly, afraid the guy who looked like he’d stepped out of an ancient world would de-materialize and fade into the past at any second. “Up until two days ago, she had a vampyre’s tattoos, plus tattoos over much of the rest of her body. And she had affinities for all five of the elements.”

The vampyre’s appraising blue eyes remained on Stark without glancing at Zoey or Darius and Aphrodite.

“Yet today I see only an unconscious fledgling.”

“Her soul was shattered two days ago fighting a fallen immortal. When that happened, her tattoos disappeared.”

“Then it’s a dyin’ she will be.” The vampyre raised one hand in a dismissive gesture and began to turn away.

“No!” Stark shouted, and stepped forward.

“Stad anis!” the Warrior commanded, and with otherworldly speed, the vampyre whirled around and leaped forward, landing directly under the archway and blocking Stark’s path. “Are yie stupit or a feckn’ fool, man? You havnae permission tae enter the Eilean nan Sgiath, the Isle of Women. Should yie try, ’tis yer life yie will forfeit, aye, make no mistake about that.”

Inches from the imposing vampyre, Stark stood his ground and looked him eye to eye. “I’m not stupid or a fool. I’m Zoey’s Warrior, and if I think I can protect her best by getting her on this island, then it’s my right to take my High Priestess to Sgiach.”

“Yie have been misinformed, Warrior,” the vampyre said placidly yet firmly. “Sgiach and her Isle are a world apart from yer High Council and their rules. I am no a Son of Erebus and mo bann ri, my queen, isnae in Italy. Warrior tae a wounded High Priestess or no, you dinnae have the right tae enter here. Yie have nae rights at all here.”

Abruptly, Stark turned to Darius. “Hold Zoey.” He gave his High Priestess to the other Warrior and then faced the vampyre again. Stark lifted his hand, palm out, and as the vampyre watched him with open curiosity, he slashed his thumbnail down his wrist. “I’m not asking to enter as a Son of Erebus Warrior; I walked out on the High Council. Their rules don’t mean shit to me. Hell, I’m not asking to enter! Through the right I’ve inherited in my blood, I’m demanding to see Sgiach. I have something to say to her.”

The vampyre didn’t take his eyes from Stark’s gaze, but his nose dilated as he sniffed the air.

“What is yer name?”

“Today they call me Stark, but I think the name you’re looking for is what they called me before I was Marked—MacUallis.”

“Remain here, MacUallis.” The vampyre disappeared into the night.

Stark wiped his bleeding arm on his jeans and took Zoey from Darius. “I’m not going to let her die.” Drawing a deep breath, he closed his eyes and got ready to pass beneath the archway and go after the vampyre, counting on the blood of his human ancestors to protect him.

Darius’s hand caught his arm, keeping him from crossing the threshold. “I think the vampyre meant you to remain here because he’s coming back.”

Stark paused and looked from Darius to Aphrodite, who rolled her eyes at him, and said, “You know, in this lifetime you’re probably supposed to learn patience along with a little ‘get a clue.’ Jeesh, just hang on a couple minutes. Barbarian Warrior guy told you to wait here, not to go away. Sounds like he’s coming back.”

Stark grunted and took half a step away from the middle of the arch, though he slouched against the outer side of it, shifting Zoey’s weight so that she might be more comfortable. “Fine. I’ll wait. But I’m not waiting long. They’re either letting me onto the damn island, or they’re not. Either way, I want to get what happens next over with.”

“The human is correct.” The woman’s voice came out of the darkness of the island. “You need to learn patience, young Warrior.”

Stark straightened and faced the island again. “I only have five days to save her. Otherwise, she’ll die. I don’t have time to learn patience right now.”

The woman’s laughter made the fine hairs on Stark’s arms lift. “Impetuous, arrogant, and impertinent,” she said. “He reminds me of you several centuries ago, Seoras.”

“Aye, but I wasnae ever that young,” answered the voice of the vampyre Warrior.

Stark was struggling against shouting at the two of them to come out of the dark and face him when they seemed to materialize from the mist directly in front of him on the island side of the arch. The archaic-looking vampyre was there again, but Stark hardly glanced at him. His entire focus was captivated by the woman.

She was tall, with a broad-shouldered body that was muscular, yet entirely feminine. There were lines at the corners of her eyes, which were large and beautiful and an amazing shade of gold mixed with green, the exact color of the fist-sized piece of amber that hung from the middle of the torque around her neck. Except for a single streak of cinnamon red, her waist-length hair was perfectly white, but she didn’t look old. She didn’t look young, either. As he studied her, Stark realized that she reminded him of Kalona, who was ageless and ancient at the same time. Her tattoos were incredible—swords with intricately carved hilts and blades framed her strong, sensual face. He realized no one had said anything while he’d been gawking, and Stark cleared his throat, held Zoey close to him, and respectfully bowed to her.

“Merry meet, Sgiach.”

“Why should I allow you on my island?” she said without preamble.

Stark drew a deep breath and lifted his chin, meeting Sgiach’s gaze as he had her Warrior’s. “It’s my right by blood. I’m a MacUallis. That means I’m part of your Clan.”

“Not hers, boy. Mine,” the vampyre told him, his lips curving in a smile that was far more dangerous-looking than inviting.