Rhine’s eyes soften. “I dinnae mean tae be disrespectful,” he apologizes. “Although I’d be lying if I said I wouldna give it a go if he weren’t a factor.”
I grin. “I can read minds, junior. You could lie, but I’d catch you.”
His eyes flash, then move to my inked wing at the corner of my eye. “You took a glance into my past,” he says. “Tell me about yours.” He nods to my ink. “I see you fancy body art. I gotta admit, I fancy it on ya.”
I can’t help laughing. Rhine is kinda like a junior version of Noah. “Before . . . all of this, I spent my days and a lot of nights at my ink shop. I’m a tattoo artist by trade.”
“Interesting. And that dragon’s tail winding round your arm there,” he says, inclining his head. “Where does that lead?”
I smile. “My back. I’m slightly famous for my work in the States.”
Rhine nods appreciatively. “Well, then, we’ll just have tae exchange ink shows once we’re settled.”
Pete turns around from the front passenger seat and looks at me. “Master ink artist, aye? Have you more than just your dragon and wings, then?”
I grin. Pete’s cute, with expressive blue eyes, wiry, and a scar on his chin in the place so many kids get them after slipping off the monkey bars on the playground. “A few more.”
Pete returns the smile. “Then a fine exchange we shall have.”
“Pete here’s chicken tae get inked,” Rhine says. “Scared o’ needles.”
“Shut the fook up,” Pete argues.
“Scared o’ needles but doesna mind pokin’ a bloodsucker in the heart with a blade,” Chess adds. A little older, maybe twenty-one, Chess has a matter-of-fact mannerism that belies the mischievous glint in his hazel eyes. He grins at me through the mirror, and I grin back.
I stare at the three Ness boys with interest. They’ve all taken me by surprise.
It doesn’t take us long to reach Rhine’s hotel-turned-slayer’s shack—and it’s far, far from a shack at all. After we cross the river, the Rover turns down several streets until we’ve just reached the edge of the city limits. Chess turns down a long tree-lined drive that leads to an ivy-covered stone building, four stories high. It’s flanked by enormous trees with wide spread branches.
“Welcome to the Crachan,” Rhine announces, and he puts on a proper British accent, so different from his sharp guttural Scot’s brogue. “I do hope you enjoy your stay immensely.”
Laughter erupts from Chess and Pete. We pull in, winding around a large half-circle drive. It sort of reminds me of Gabriel’s Crescent . . . just not as creepy. There are a few vehicles parked along the front, and several motorcycles. The Rover stops, and we get out. The other one arrives, and Noah joins me. We stare up at the Crachan, pronounced Cracken. It’s a pretty big place.
“Welcome to the Hotel California?” I sing to Noah.
Noah eyes me. “Should I worry about the kid?”
I move my gaze to Rhine, who’s now on his cell phone a few feet away. His back is to us, but I hear the muffled snort. “He heard you,” I say, and smile. “He’s a lot like you, Miles.”
“That’s why I asked if I should worry.”
I shift my duffel on my shoulder, the weight of the blades and scatha almost a comfort. Rhine stuffs his cell in his back pocket, shoulders my other duffel, and joins us. He nods at Noah. “This way.” He turns and we follow, making our way up the graveled walkway. I notice it’s not too shabbily kept for a bunch of guys. Impressed again.
We walk through a pair of tall, intricately carved and thick wooden doors and into a cavernous open hall. Like many old manors, I notice, it has a massive fireplace occupying one wall. A huge flat-screen takes up another wall, and a few sofas, several chairs, and a long wooden coffee table sit before it. A few guys occupy the chairs and sofa. They glance our way.
“I’ll show ya tae your rooms,” Rhine says. “Most of the others aren’t home yet.” He leads us to a sweeping staircase at the end of the foyer. “One of the top requirements to reside here.” He glances at me as we start up the steps. “Gotta be employed.”
“Good idea,” Noah says. “What’s another requirement?”
Rhine stops at the second floor and steps onto the landing. He grins. “Can’t be a fookin’ scaredy-cat.”
“Good requirement,” I say. Rhine inclines his head, and we follow.
“I’ll put you two across the hall from each other,” Rhine says, and looks at me as he stops. The room number is 208. The door is wide open. “I’ll get your keys whilst you both settle in,” he says, and walks into the room, sets my duffel on the floor in front of the bed, and comes back out. When he passes Noah, he grins. “Aye. You’ve plenty tae worry about.” Then he hurries up the hallway at a jog and disappears down the steps.
Noah looks at me from the hallway. “He’s a little more intense than I first thought.”
“I told you he heard you. Besides, he’s got a lot on his young shoulders,” I return. “He’s all right in my book.”
Noah smiles. “I know that.” He shrugs on his bag. “I’m going to call Andorra and give him an update. And check back with Gabriel about Carrine.”
“I’ll be over here,” I say, and turn and walk into my room. The hotel itself is old, as in a hundred years maybe, and although large, it’s modest with a blue-and-black-plaid theme, sparsely furnished, but clean. A double bed stands against one wall, a tall chest of drawers, a straight-back wooden chair and desk. Walking to the bed, I drop my weapons duffel on top of it. I unzip the bag and pull out my scatha.
“That’s a wicked piece of armor,” Rhine says at my side. I’d heard his footfalls as he climbed the steps, so it didn’t surprise me for him to be speaking in my ear. “What is it? A crossbow?”
I like the way his r’s roll and his o’s sound like ooh. “It’s an ancient device, newly built.” I hand it to him, and he palms it gently. “It’s a scatha. Medieval design.”
He turns it over, inspecting it thoroughly. “How does it work?”
Digging into a side pouch of the duffel, I retrieve one of the empty cartridges Gawan Conwyk had left me. “You take a prefilled cartridge of mystic St. Bueno’s Well holy water.” I reach over and drop the loading lever. “Load, lock, and pull back the release.” I look at him, and his eyes glint with interest. “Then you blast to hell all sorts of demons and whatever else is lurking in the shadows of the underworld.”
Rhine’s large hands move deftly over the scatha, and as if he’d been doing it all his life, he quickly unloads the cartridge and hands it back to me. “And you plan on going back into this demon-filled underworld, aye?”
I shrug, and he hands me the scatha. I run my fingers over the cool metal, then look at him. “I will if I have to.”
Understanding gleams in his eyes, and he gives a slight nod. “I hope one day your fiancé knows what he’s got.”
“I’ve always said he was a lucky fuck,” Noah says, striding into the room.
“I’ll have to agree wi’ ya there,” Rhine adds. “Ready tae meet the Crachan boys?”
“Just one thing, Rhine,” Noah says. “Something you need to know about Riley here.” He looks at me. “Besides having the DNA of four vampires, along with newly acquired traits of a fallen angel, she can move faster than any vampire I’ve encountered—myself included. She can scale a three-story building in under ten seconds. Her fighting skills are unmatched. Lethal. And she can read minds at will.” He glances at me. “Her fiancé is being controlled by the witchpire, Carrine, who has decided to crawl into her brain and try and drive her crazier than what she already is. She’s up to her eyeballs in deep, emotional shit. Just so you know.”
Rhine nods. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He inclines his head. “Let’s go.”
We follow Rhine down the corridor, and I take notice of his demeanor, his movements, and I realize that we’ve really never been completely introduced.
“You got a last name, Rhine?” I ask.
He loo
ks down at me as we walk, and smiles. “MacLeod.”
I nod. “Poe.” I incline my head to Noah. “Miles.”
“Now we’re all like bloody family,” Rhine says. We hit the landing and I’m slightly overwhelmed by the small crowd that’s gathered in the great hall. My eyes scan the group, and including the other three I already know, plus Chess, there’s at least, I don’t know, thirty guys from what appear to be between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five. They’re parked in sofas, on chairs, and on the floor. No lie, it’s a gruff-looking bunch, and if I ran into any of them on the street, I’d almost bet my life they were thugs.
I have a feeling I’m about to get schooled. Again.
Rhine jogs ahead of us and moves over to the hearth. He beckons to us, and we stand next to him and face the crowd.
“Right, then, I know some o’ you’ve already heard about these two,” Rhine says. His voice carries over the hall, a raspy sound that belies the crooning tone he creates when he sings. “Noah Miles, Riley Poe. Both from America. They’ll be stayin’ for a bit, and they need our help.”
Total silence. Not a single solitary word comes from the guys. Their eyeballs are all focused on us, interested and curious, but no one speaks. So I decide to break the silence. I glance at Rhine, just to make sure he’s cool with it, and as if he knows what I’m up to, he nods once. I face the crowd of slayers.
“You know there’re vampires in Inverness,” I begin. “Miles and I belong to an organization—Worldwide Unexplained Phenomena—and we’re assigned to take care of it.” I meet the questioning eyes of the guys. “Unfortunately, one of the vampires is my fiancé.”
A few jaws drop. A few brows furrow.
“I’m a human with tendencies. Venom from four vampires, plus a little something from a fallen angel that I haven’t quite nailed yet—no pun intended—clinging to my DNA.” I nod at Noah. “He’s been a vampire since the American Revolution.” I smile at the wide-eyed crowd. “We won that, by the way.”
“Fookin’ English,” one guy says. They all chuckle.
Scotland, I’ve noticed, is still fiercely proud and fiercely independent from Mother England.
I also notice a few of the guys getting restless, glaring at Noah. I focus, scan a few brains, search through a couple of thoughts. I point at a guy now sitting on the edge of the sofa, scowling. Young, twenty maybe, edgy. Solid as a pile of bricks. “You throw the blade you’ve got jammed into your boot there and I’ll be on you in a bad way, before you draw your next breath.”
“Fookin’ whatever—”
I fly, straddle him, and yank the blade from his boot. I hold it to his jugular. Icy blue eyes widen as they stare at me.
“Fookin’ sick,” one says beside me.
I glance at him, the blade still pressed to the throat of the one I’m straddling. “You ever hear of a Strigoi?”
His brown eyes fix on mine. “Aye.”
“I have three gens in me,” I add. “Don’t fook with me.”
The guy swallows hard enough it almost echoes.
Just that fast, I’m off the lap and handing the guy his blade, hilt first. He takes it and nods. “Sorry, then,” he says.
I look out at every single face there. “You don’t know me, and I don’t know any of you,” I say. “But we’re here to stop the killing of innocents, just like you are.”
Several nods make it clear to me that I have their attention now, and I return to stand between Noah and Rhine. Next, I give in detail Noah’s and my history regarding the Gullah, Savannah, and Charleston, and how Noah isn’t salivating by all the strong young pulses gathered in the room. More than a few look at poor Noah with notable discomfort, but I put them all at ease by letting them know his eating habits. His role in Charleston as Guardian finally puts them at ease.
Then Noah steps up and clears his throat. “One thing more you need to know about Riley,” he says, his Southern drawl commanding, raspy. “Because she has the most fucked-up DNA in existence, she doesn’t typically sleep every day, like you. She unexpectedly falls into a narcoleptic coma every few days or so.” He looks at me. “And she’s due one at any time.” He looks back at the guys. “She does exhibit a few signs you might want to look out for. Disoriented. Stumbles. Weakness. Difficulty expressing words. Eyes start rolling in her head. If you notice, she has no trouble at all with any of these. And when her body has had enough, she’ll start to slow down. Then fall out, sometimes for two days. So if you notice her acting bizarre, catch her before she hits the ground.”
I pass an uninterested glance at the TV, but something catches my eye. It’s the local news. “Can you turn that up?” I ask the one who is closest to the remote. He nods, and ups the volume. A young woman is broadcasting. Her smooth skin belies the fear I can see in her eyes as she reports.
“Two more bodies were discovered this morning, both in close proximity to the Eastgate Shopping Centre,” she says. Behind her is the entrance to the center, the large Eastgate letters standing out from the Celtic design behind it.
“Shoppers are encouraged not to linger after dark,” the reporter says. “This may be the handiwork of a serial killer. Take full precaution as the victims are neither all men nor all women. So, everyone, be careful. Rachel Canns, Inverness Live.”
I look at Noah. I don’t say anything. I can’t. Two more victims, right out from under our noses. Was it Eli? Has he become nothing more than a blood-seeking monster? Carrine is controlling him. She can make him do whatever she desires. Maybe she’s making him do the killing now? The thought totally sickens me.
Noah barely shakes his head, reading my thoughts. He turns to Rhine. “We need to hit the streets. What’s your method?”
All humor has disappeared from Rhine’s face. His mouth is pulled tight, eyebrows drawn. “We break into lots o’ no less than six. Scour the city. Run the streets.” He glances to the guys and inclines his head. “Jep there, we’ve known each other since we were wee lads. He knows every nook an’ cranny in the city.”
“Aye,” Jep answers. He’s tall, lanky, maybe twenty. His hair is longer, pulled into a ponytail. A scar slashes across his forehead, through one eyebrow, and disappears. He looks like he can kick some serious ass. “We got six groups now. More will join as they get off o’ work and such.”
“There’re a few still in school,” Rhine says. “They never miss a day.”
I nod. “Pretty little organized freaky society you got here,” I say. “I’m impressed.”
“We do all right, yeah,” Rhine agrees. “Ready?”
I nod. Several others voice their ayes and yeahs. Most stand up, shuffle their feet, and glance around, waiting on instruction, I suspect.
“I guess we should split up,” Noah says to me. In his eyes I can see doubt; he so doesn’t want to split up. We have no choice, though. To have me and Noah together wouldn’t make sense.
I nod. “Yeah, we should. Spread the powers around a little.”
“Noah, you can run wi’ Jep and his crew,” Rhine says. He grins at me. “O’ course, it’s only right if you run wi’ me, lass. In case you drop into one o’ your comas.”
I narrow my gaze. “Of course.”
We break up into six groups. The adrenaline gaining speed and rushing through the Ness boys is palpable. I can almost see it floating in the room. It all but quakes with their readiness, their hunger. Like a live thing. It’s absolutely incredible.
My group forms, and besides me and Rhine, there’s four others I’m introduced to. I’m terrible with groups of names at once, so I push that worry to the recesses of my brain; the last thing I need to concentrate on is trying to keep straight thirty names.
From now on, they’re the Ness boys to me. All of them, except Rhine.
“We’ll take city center,” Rhine announces to the others. “Everyone else spread out and take our regular routes. After hours, we’ll slip into Eastgate, see what’s on.”
Many voices agree with varying degrees of accent, and the groups di
sperse. Outside, the sky has fallen in dark shades of gray and purple. Duel lampposts at the end of the Crachan’s drive are lit, illuminating the street beyond. I inhale, and a sensation of pure evil washes over me. Different from Edinburgh, but still evil. It’s met with a sense of urgency, too. Something else that I can’t put my finger on. I’m sure it has to do with the fact that it all revolves around Carrine and Eli being the cause of it.
And that straight up makes me ill.
I close my eyes, inhale again, and let it out slowly. I gotta do this. I have to make things right. Whoever is calling the shots for the killings, they have to be stopped. If Eli’s involved, and can’t be saved . . .
My body shivers at the thought. Panic wells up inside me for a moment. Eli’s face flashes behind my closed eyelids, and he’s the old Eligius. My Eli. Sexy. Loving. Noble.
Then, in a blur, that face of his changes and he’s the Eli in Hush 51, the same one with the hateful glint to those cerulean eyes I love so much.
“Hey,” Rhine says. He’s standing by my side, a good six inches taller, and seeming far older than his nineteen or twenty years. Those knowing green eyes study me for a second. Study me like he’s known me longer than a few days. “You gonna be okay?”
I glance around me, up toward the darkening skies, and watch as the Ness boys separate and start their routes. If a pack of humans are hell-bent on keeping their streets and innocents safe, then I can do no less than every single thing I’m capable of.
I decide to put my own desires aside.
The old Eli wouldn’t expect anything less.
My gaze returns to Rhine’s, and I give him an assuring nod. “I will be. When all this is over, and the killings are stopped, and this city is safe again, then yeah, I’ll be okay.”
His mouth lifts at one corner and the smile lingers in his eyes. “Magic. Let’s get goin’, then, aye?” He inclines his head toward the street.
I push my heavy heart aside and fill the void with sheer determination. We start off down the drive, four other Ness boys behind us.