Should she turn? Or just act casual? Kayrs was about to be in her apartment, her private domain. He stood behind her, his silence heavy with question. She understood enough about him to know he wasn’t going to like the answers. Steeling her shoulders, she loped to the west apartment and opened the door.
He followed her inside, bringing the masculine scent of gunpowder and sage into her space. A low whistle escaped him at the sun setting over the sparkling view of the Liffey. “Beautiful.” The door shut behind him, and she held back a nervous hop.
The scent of lemon hung in the living room, the tables polished a deep brown. Plush pillows she’d spent days choosing with her sisters were scattered across the room. With a sweep of her hand, they lifted to line up perfectly on the leather sofa and matching seats. Moira cleared her throat. “Ah, make yourself at home, Connlan. I’ll be a minute.”
How she’d get him to stay in the apartment and not follow her to the meeting was beyond her. She’d need to knock him out. Quantum physics and magic wouldn’t work—she needed a brick.
“Moira.” Low and soft, his voice caressed nerves across her skin.
Her shoes squeaked when she pivoted to face him. “Yes?”
He more than overwhelmed the small entryway, his combat boots looking lethal on the white marble. Cocking his head to the side, he took in the tumbled stone fireplace with the northern seascape painted by her sister Brenna perched above the mantel. “You live here?”
“Sometimes. It’s easier to stay here when I’m teaching at the college than go home to the cottage.” Though teaching wasn’t why she owned a condo in Dublin. “I’ll hurry, Conn. Grab a beer from the fridge.” She needed to get a move on. The man would have to fend for himself.
Scurrying to her bedroom, she closed the door, wasting precious moments to lean back and sigh. The deep maroon comforter her sisters had given her as a housewarming present beckoned her to jump inside and hide—like they let her do when she was four. Her light scent of lilac perfume, specially made by her sister Molly, hung in the air and propelled her to action. Quick movements had her at the closet, tearing out the appropriate clothing. She hurried to change.
The laptop dinged on Darcy’s hand-me-down desk in the corner.
Dread wound down her spine. Tugging her top into place, she crept across the room and answered the call. “Hello, Vivienne.”
Vivienne Northcutt, head of the Coven Nine, gave a curt nod. “Moira.”
“Kell and I are on our way, ma’am.” Moira glanced at the antique clock ticking away the minutes on her bedside table. She’d found it at old Malley’s garage sale the year before, and the darn thing was always five minutes slow.
“I’m issuing a formal order for you to bring Connlan Kayrs to the meeting today.” Not by one flick of an eyelash or catch in her voice did the leader let on this was anything but astounding news.
Moira gasped. Her heart thumped hard. “That’s impossible.” The security developed by the witches in protecting their leaders was unbeatable—even by the ultimate vampire soldier. “I don’t understand.” But she did. The ramifications all but slapped her across the face.
Vivienne pursed thin lips in a parchment white face. “I think you do.”
Temper threatened to flare and Moira shoved anger down. “Then why would you ask this?”
Fire flashed in the witch’s coal black eyes. “The king requested his brother’s presence at our meeting today. I am acquiescing to the king’s wishes.”
Ah. The phone call Conn had asked Dage to make. Moira shook her head. Absolute panic ripped through her system. “He’ll die.” While vampires were difficult to kill, even Conn wouldn’t survive trying to reach the council.
“Maybe.” Viv drew air into her lungs loudly. “I explained that fact to Dage, but he insisted Conn would survive our security because of the mating ... which he might.”
Moira smoothed out her expression. Did the Nine know of Conn’s abilities? “Do you believe our mating has given Conn powers vampires don’t usually possess?”
Viv could give lessons in donning smooth expressions. “We’ve considered the possibility since your mating. But, well, no. Not unless he’s spent the last century studying our ways.” She sniffed.
It was exactly what Conn had done.
“I see.” Realization settled heavily on Moira’s shoulders. “So you expect him to die today.” It was certainly a possibility. Being able to harness her energy didn’t mean he could pass through the veil. “Quite the strategy, Aunt Viv.” Moira shook her head. Even more than usual, she dreaded the day she’d sit on the council.
“Strategy?” Viv lifted her eyebrows.
“Conn dies and it’s the king’s fault.” Moira grabbed a moonstone bracelet off the table, clasping the silver around her wrist. “The Nine withdraws from the Realm ... or the Realm kicks us out. Either way ... it’s smooth for you.” They couldn’t withdraw from the Realm. What was the council thinking?
Viv’s eyes darkened. “Quite the strategic thinker, aren’t you, Seventh?”
Oh, her aunt had no idea. Fear forced Moira to lower her voice to keep from stuttering. “We don’t want the Kayrs family as enemies, Viv. You should’ve told Dage no.”
“Refusing the king’s request would’ve been tantamount to withdrawal, and we’re not ready to take that step.” A dark flush slid up Vivienne’s face. “We shall worry about the consequences later.”
“Consequences?” Fire rushed through Moira’s veins. “Aunt Viv—”
“Enough.” Electric green energy crackled on Vivienne’s skin. “Moira, you are the seventh sister of the seventh sister. You were born to lead this council, and you’ve taken an oath to obey our laws.” Her narrow nostrils flared as she settled her face into firm lines. “These type of difficult decisions will face you every day.”
The weight of destiny almost knocked Moira to the ground. The rush of anger kept her standing. “If Conn doesn’t make it through the veil, the vampires will be the least of the coven’s worries.” Reaching out, she cut the line. An empty threat, unfortunately.
She considered calling Dage and quickly discarded the thought. The king would back up his brother. Her only choice was to deal directly with Conn.
Chapter 4
C
onn swallowed another gulp of Guinness, his gaze on the inside of Moira’s refrigerator. Everything was lined up neatly and by color. Beer to the left, limes to the right. Sodas on the second shelf, condiments, lined up by size, on the first. Weird. Shouldn’t he know this about her? They’d been mated for nearly a century. He knew what kinds of food she liked because she’d told him in a recent conversation, though he had no clue she was nutty with her food organization.
Nutty and far too vulnerable for his peace of mind. He’d hurt her by agreeing to the coven’s demands a century ago. How had he missed that? Maybe because the relief in being given time to deal with the overwhelming feelings of possession and need that had clawed at him.
When he’d left Ireland, his heart had firmly stayed in her delicate hands. She owned him—body and soul. Distance had assisted him in finding peace. Time had given him a chance to plan. He was older and wiser ... and was not letting go of her, so the woman had better find peace with that.
He closed the door, leaving the peaceful kitchen with its ocean fresh walls and burnished oak cabinets—original Jono Dungs, a master craftsman for the last two hundred years. Wide steps had Conn in the living room. The jewel tones she’d chosen spoke of sensuality and sex. It was much different than her sweet cottage with the homemade quilt he’d visited so many years ago. The cottage belonged to a girl. This room, well now. It belonged to a woman.
A movement near the hallway caught his eye, and he turned, stopping short.
Moira had emerged from the bedroom dressed in a tea-length black skirt and scarlet buckled jacket. Long, calfskin black boots covered her calves to the knee. Rioting curls had been tamed with a clip at her nape, and dark makeup enhanced otherworldly green eyes. She was stunning.
Conn’s mouth went dry. His tongue swelled. He’d felt lust before, but this landed far beyond mere lust. A wanting, a craving set his blood on fire. A primitive need to claim had his nostrils flaring and his lids half lowering.
She took a step back. Smart girl. Her pale hands clasped together. “You need to stay here, Conn.”
The conviction in her words, the plea in her pretty eyes grounded him. “No.”
Air swooshed into her lungs as her chest expanded. “You don’t understand the risk you’re facing.”
Was that a fact? “If we’re allies, Moira, and I believe we are, then the council won’t do anything to harm me.” So the rumors were true. The damn Nine might actually withdraw from the Realm.
He’d need to get Moira to safety before anyone else declared war against the Realm. As if the Kurjans and now the Demons weren’t enough to battle.
“We’re allies, Connlan.” Her gaze remained steady on his.
Impressive. “For how long?”
She opened her mouth to answer as the door flew open. Conn dropped into a crouch to defend, then slowly straightened as a small female barreled into his arms.
“Connlan Kayrs. Well, it’s about darn time.” Brenna Dunne patted his back, stepping away to smile with a twinkle in her gray eyes. “Thank you so much for the souped-up computer you sent for my birthday. I love it.”
Conn returned the smile of the unexpected eighth daughter of Doctor Patrick Dunne, probably the smartest man on the planet. Well, after Conn’s bother, Kane. Conn smiled at the miracle bouncing on her heels before him. In the entire history of the witches, never had an eighth daughter been created. Seven was truly the magical number. “I thought you’d enjoy playing with human satellites.”
Brenna nodded, sending mahogany brown hair flying. Unlike her seven elder sisters, she’d inherited neither the green eyes nor the red hair. Truly unexpected. “Yes. I tapped into some governmental databases last month and transferred war funds to humanitarian efforts in the middle east.”
Conn’s heart warmed at the woman born eighty years after he’d claimed Moira. She was family. “Still trying to save the world, are you?”
“Of course.” She glanced at her sister. “We need to fix the Irish economy and fast, Moira. I created a plan.”
“You always form a plan.” Moira swept toward the door. Turning the gold knob, she tossed a smile over her shoulder. “And they always work, which is impressive. We’ll go over it later, okay? For now, I need you to entertain Conn.”
Amusement warred with irritation down Conn’s spine. Two strides had him at the door. “I’m going to meet the Nine with you, Dailtín.”
Brenna gasped from behind him. “You can’t, Conn. You’ll never make it past the security.”
He pivoted and winked. “I’ve been invited, Bren.” A gentle nudge had his mate out the door, which he closed with a soft click. “Let’s go.”
“No. The security isn’t men with sticks or guns.” His mate turned, shoving him against the wall. He allowed her to move him. Tension radiated from her. “Only witches pass through the veil to the chamber. You’ll die.”
He grasped her elbows. “What veil?”
“The veil.” Exasperation filtered a soft peach under Moira’s skin. “We’re witches, Connlan. Do you really think we protect the sanctity of our headquarters with shooting plasma balls?”
Well, yeah. “I’ve never thought about it.”
A veil. Maybe he could learn to drum one up to protect the women at his headquarters. He’d like to see his family better protected. “Considering I have your powers, I should be fine.” Maybe. Who knew? Damn witches kept everything secret.
“No. The forces in the veil will rip off your head.” She shoved away from him, striding down the hallway to punch the
DOWN
button for the elevator. “The veil consists of perfectly chosen subatomic particles that identify my species. Even more than that, the particles identify
power
within my people. You have to own a certain amount to survive.” The door slid open and she glided inside.
“I have power. You’ve seen it.” But did he have enough?
His life was just getting interesting, and he’d hate to lose his head.
An indelicate snort emerged from his mate. “Yeah. You can throw plasma. So can my two-year-old nephew.” She stabbed the button for the garage level. “Have you even considered that your death will guarantee the Realm splinters?”
“Then I’d better not die.”
The woman was seriously underestimating him. Apparently, the Coven Nine wanted him dead. Either they’d discovered his new abilities, or were planning on making quite the statement with their withdrawal from the Realm.
He’d had enough of dancing around with his mate. “If the Nine truly ordered my death, would you allow it, Moira?” Long ago he’d stopped worrying about death. When his time came, it came—though he’d be damn tough to take down.
“The Nine doesn’t need to order your death when you walk right into it.” Her shoulders straightened as she tapped the button for the garage level again. “Besides, I don’t tell the Nine what to do.”
The door slid open and they stepped inside. She took a deep breath as the door closed. “You can’t tell me you’d refuse an order from the king to remove my head, Prince. Now can you?”
The temper he’d been controlling for the last several hours bubbled dangerously close to the surface. Grabbing her bicep, he shoved her against the wall of the elevator, leaning his face down. “I’d refuse any order to harm you, Dailtín. A fact you should be well aware of.”
Sparks lit her pretty eyes. The woman had no idea how close she was to being forcibly removed from her country.
He fought a snarl. “Besides, you know my king. No way in hell would Dage ever order your death.”
The doors slid open again, and she yanked from his grasp, flouncing over to where Kell waited next to three street bikes. Conn pivoted and let out a slow whistle. Two Ducatis and one Suzuki Hayabusa sparkled under the fluorescent lights. Kell stood guard over the Hayabusa as if the black and red beast meant the difference between life and death. Conn hoped to hell it didn’t. “Nice bike.”
“Nice?” Kell’s eyebrow rose. “This was the fastest street bike in existence ... even before I tweaked her. Now she’s incredible.”
Conn nodded his head toward the largest Ducati, a streamlined black Superbike. “Adam’s?”
“Daire’s,” Moira said, grabbing a sleek silver helmet off the handle of a red Ducati and swinging her leg over the side. “Scratch her, and he’ll kill you.” She settled into place, flashing Conn a saucy grin. “Then I won’t have to worry about it anymore.”
Something thumped hard in Conn’s chest. His mate straddled the bike like a natural ... sleek and dangerous. Sexy as hell. She unclipped her hair and shook out her curls before tugging on the helmet, and he fought a groan. He fought the urge to yank her off and coax her to ride him instead.
Kell slammed a helmet into Conn’s gut. Conn frowned. “Thanks.” Quick jerks had it over his head and him on the Ducati, revving the engine. She purred to life beneath him, all power, all rumble. Time to meet the folks who wanted him dead.
Light from the moon glinted off sparkling storefronts. Moira bent lower against the bike, allowing the wind to whistle past. She wound through cars, following Kell while Conn protected her back. Although she was riding one of the most powerful vehicles in existence, one embodying true freedom, the sparkle of a pretty cage still narrowed around her. The future ripped her in different directions. The Nine owned destiny, and Connlan claimed fate. Neither were a good fit.
The brand on her hip burned when she turned a corner into the touristy part of town. The light ahead turned yellow and she flicked her wrist, turning it back to green. Her ass tingled as if the vampire behind her caressed it with his gaze. He’d better not be staring at her butt.
She followed Kell into an alley lined with impeccable rubbish bins, double-parking her bike near a dingy metal door. She cut the engine, tearing off the helmet and swinging her leg over the side.
Kell and Conn followed suit. Conn looked good on a motorcycle ... like a badass from the ancients. His raised eyebrow asked a question she once again couldn’t answer. If his instant scowl provided any indication, he was rapidly tiring of the secrets. Damn vamp should’ve stayed on his own continent.
Kell reached the door first, wiping a hand over the knob. Locks disengaged seconds later.
Moira bit back a smug smile. She was faster.
The door opened inwardly, and the pounding of a new hip-hop song slammed into her. Kell stalked inside.
Conn stopped her, one hand on her arm and the other holding the door open. “Why are we here?”
She doubted he’d believe the Nine met in a nightclub. “Quick meeting with a source. Not important. Why don’t you stay with the bikes?”
He released her. “Sure.” A gentle nudge to her shoulder had her moving forward. He followed, flanking her back.
She’d known he wouldn’t stay outside. Couldn’t blame him. She wouldn’t have waited in the alley, either. The rush of sweat, smoke, and beer overwhelmed her senses. She peered through the darkness, tracking Kell’s progress across a dance floor filled with gyrating bodies.
The pink outline of a squid vibrated with color high on one wall, sending out pulses in time with the band. With a sigh, she maneuvered around some guy dry-humping a brunette against the wall. Two young men tried to stop her movements on the dance floor, flirtatious grins on their faces that quickly disappeared as they looked behind her. She didn’t need to turn. Heat rolled off the vampire hotter than the crush of bodies. One poor kid paled until she feared he’d pass out.
A firm hand slapped her ass. “Get me out of here before I hurt someone,” Conn growled.
Fire flashed out across her flesh, spiraling higher the constant state of desire she’d been in since he’d arrived. Her temper quickly rose past the desire. Oh, he did not just smack her butt. He was inviting a burning—when she had time.
Throwing elbows, she shoved her way across the dance floor, reaching a dark booth in the rear of the club. Kell sat to one side, keeping his back to the bench and his view open to the crowd. When she arrived, his shoulders relaxed and he faced the interior of the booth.
Moira followed his gaze. “Doctor Pelandrone.”
The doctor smiled, shoving thick spectacles up his nose. Wiry black hair curled around his pudgy face, and a reddish hue danced across his leathery skin. He’d been drinking again. A lot. “Moira. Good to see you. Sorry I haven’t been in touch lately.”
The witch was their chief researcher and a freaking genius with string theory. Unfortunately, he was also half fairy, possibly accounting for his lack of organization—though her money was on the booze. Fairies shouldn’t drink.
“I assume you’ve been busy.” It had always bewildered Moira why he owned half of the crazy nightclub. He kept a close eye on his investment, and they always met there. Or maybe it was the free-flowing gin that kept the doctor in his booth when he left his laboratories.
With a smile, she pivoted, allowing Kell to conduct business while she kept an eye on the mix of humans, witches, and shifters in the crowd. Mostly humans tonight.