16
Declan
For the past six hours,he’d poured over his sire’s journals. He’d found them only a few decades ago, hidden in a rusted metal box behind a grouping of loose stones in one of the basement walls. Though he’d paged through one of them at the time, the experiments and details the male had recorded within were too gruesome even for Declan, and so he’d put them all away.
Now, they just might save Riley’s life.
“Angus Ó Curráin, you were a bloody demented bastard,” he muttered to himself. Page after page detailed the rituals Angus had performed on the women he kidnapped. Humans were used as blood slaves and whores. But witches…once Angus discovered witches and learned their blood carried magic, he’d gone even more insane.
Years—centuries—of patience have proved their worth. The last three members of the Doolin Coven have the strongest magic I have seen. The two elders must be kept gagged at all times, for their spells can infect me with only a few words. The young one, though. She is the most powerful witch in many generations.
The logs went on. Every experiment. Every rune he carved into the young woman’s skin. Every time he distilled their blood, mixed it with his, and then injected the solution into his own vein.
When I give myself a dose, the pain is immense and immediate. As if my blood boils inside me. But this only lasts for a short while, and after…the immunity lasts for weeks. Silver no longer burns me. I stabbed myself through the arm with a silver dagger and the wound healed in moments. The magic contained in their blood is pure and powerful, but I must use the blood while it is fresh. If I can find a way to preserve the magic longer, I could distribute this cure to my entire clan.
“Fuck me,” Declan said. His sire had figured out a way to become immune to silver. Was that why Riley’s blood did not harm him? If Angus’s blood could absorb the silver particles and convert them into something…harmless, then Declan’s blood could do the same for Riley. Hecouldsave her life. And she could feed him with no danger.
Pulling out the last notebook, he flipped open the cover. Angus’s depravity ran deep, and he had sketched every one of his victims in minute detail. Many times. Both at rest and as he tortured them. At the bottom of each image, he’d added their names and the date.
Brigid Scot, Age 23. Doolin Coven. Othilia and Sowulo runes carved into stomach. Algiz rune drawn over heart.
“Go mbrise an diabhal do chnámha,”Declan swore in his native Gaelic, hoping Hell really did exist and that Angus was trapped there, the Devil himself crushing the male’s bones for all eternity.
Scot. The surname was too coincidental. Riley bore such a likeness to the young witch the two could have been sisters, and Declan brought the journal over to his computer, starting a genealogy search for the Scot name.
An hour and a few thousand Euro later—research did not always come cheap—he had Riley’s full family tree. Going back almost three centuries. She was, indeed, related to one of his maker’s victims. The woman who’d saved his life and sacrificed her own.
And if the young witch’s magic had given Angus immunity to silver… Declan knew very little of magic, despite his making, and so he picked up the phone to call the only being who might be able to help him put the pieces together.
The call rang six times before a gruff voice answered. “What?”
“Matthias. I need your assistance.”
The centaur growled over the line. “Bonney. The last time our paths crossed, lightning and thunder rained down from the skies like Thor himself was out for vengeance. Take care with yer next words.”
“When we fought, I was newly made. But you know more of theotherthan any being walking the earth, and I am desperate. I will give you shelter on my lands for the rest of your days in exchange for any information that proves useful.” Declan forced his fingers to relax, lest he crush his phone into a thousand pieces. “What do you know of the Doolin witch clan of old?”
“Dead. All a’ them.”
“What if they were not?”
Silence carried over the phone’s small speaker, and Declan glanced at the screen, hoping the centaur had not just hung up on him. The creature’s response, when it came, held a grave tone. “Then the vampire race should watch its back. Ya’ know what yer sire did to them. Why are ya’ asking about a long dead line?”
“Because I believe I’ve met one. Fed from her. And Matthias, her blood is exquisite. Powerful. Unlike any I have ever tasted.”
“The last known vampire to feed from a Doolin witch burned not more than half a day after.” The centaur chuckled, the sound having a distinctly higher pitch than his voice. “Ya’ should be careful ya’ do not end up like him.”
Declan sank down at his desk and rubbed the back of his neck, trying to decide how much to tell the centaur. With the handful of vampires in Dublin who wanted to end his existence and several fae and werewolves in the area who hated all but their own kind, he could be sealing his fate—and Riley’s.
“I do not like ya’, Bonney. But I know of yer efforts to stop the killings, and I respect them. I do not wish to see ya’ ended.”
That was as close to an admission of peace as Declan thought he’d receive from the creature, so he took a risk. “Silver does not affect me, Matthias. Not the way it should. I believe that is why I can feed from Riley. But she is dying—or believes she is. Heavy metal poisoning.”
“Long ago, when I was a lad, a witch came to our village,” Matthias said. “She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Her skin glowed. I followed her around for days—until some of the local werewolves decided she was too much of a threat and tried to end her.”
“I do not have the patience for your long-winded stories, centaur. Get to the point.” His Riley was out there somewhere, and as he’d paced and researched and waited for the sun to set, he’d heard her voice. Begging him to help her. Crying. Was he projecting? Or was the bond already that strong? Declan cast a glance at his flat screen, cursing under his breath that the sun still had another half an hour before it dipped below the horizon.
“Their magic is tied to their emotions. When the pack came for her, the lass was scared. She dinna know what she was. The alpha, he bit her—ripped her arm clean off. I was hidin’ at the edge of the forest, watchin’. Bonney, twas like the devil himself unleashed his power upon the world. The witch was screamin’, and her blood soakin’ into the ground. The rest of the pack surroundin’ her and growlin’ like they meant to rip her to shreds. And then the alpha started to whine. The girl…she dinna look so pretty then. Her eyes turned red, and she shouted somethin’ I never understood. But the forest started to roar. Trees uprooted, the ground shook, and the winds kicked up dirt and rocks all around the wolves. When it finally calmed again, she was lyin’ in the center of a massacre—whole. One of the local elders came, and he took her away.”
