BlackWind (38 page)

“He is not entirely the warrior your ancestor bargained for.”

“I sensed there was a tainting within him. He is spoiled by inferior traits.”

“Human traits,” Danyon explained. “They are an inferior race—frail, vulnerable, not worthy of the attention of one such as yourself.”

Ski'Ah smiled and her beautiful face took Danyon's breath away. “You find me alluring, do you, Nightwind?” Her gaze roamed over him. “I find you most agreeable.”

“I am taken,” Danyon was quick to repeat.

The smile hardened on the Blackwind's lovely countenance. “Under Amazeen law, I can not take that which belongs to another female, so I may not touch you, though...” Her look grew hot and evil. “If you would like me to purchase your articles of indenture from your present mistress or enter into combat with her...” She let the offer lay there as she licked her full lips.

“That is not our way. I have a blood pact with my mistress. I will belong to Aiofe and her family for all eternity. She can never release me.”

A pout settled on Ski'Ah's mouth. “A pity, Nightwind.” She flung out a dismissive hand. “You would have enjoyed my sheath.”

“I'm sure I would have.”

“I will content myself with the Reaper, then, if I can not indulge my desires with you.”

“Even though he also belongs to another woman?”

“What woman?” she demanded, her lips peeled back from her sharp teeth. “Who would dare lay hands to a male belonging to the house of Dubhgaoth?”

“That depends on which woman you mean.”

She gasped. “What are you saying?”

“The Reaper part of him mated with one called Chandra,” Danyon said, reporting what the Bugul Noz had told him. “The human part of him mated with a human girl. The one called Chandra is long dead.”

“And the human?” came the savage inquiry.

Danyon hesitated. “Is under
my
protection,” he declared. “
And
the Reaper's.”

“I have no fear of you, Nightwind! The Reaper I consider a worm to be trod beneath my boot heel!”

“I don't care what you do to Cree, but I will throw the might of every Nightwind in the megaverse against you should you try to harm one hair on Bronwyn McGregor's head!”

Ski'Ah arched a perfectly shaped brow. “You would do combat with me for this human?”

“I would rip you apart with my bare hands and devour every last morsel of marrow in your bones!”

The Blackwind appeared to shudder, then shrugged. “Why would I harm a fellow Sister?” she growled. “My vengeance is reserved for Viraidan Cree, and his punishment will be fulfilled!”

“I don't give a rat's ass what you do the bastard.”

Ski'Ah cocked her head. “Perhaps we can help one another, then.”

“Get him out of Bronwyn's life and I will be eternally grateful.”

The Blackwind looked at him slyly. “You have signed a pact with this girl?”

A muscle in Danyon's jaw jumped. “No, but that is of no importance. She will relent one day and sign.”

“She is from the lineage of the one you are pledged to, then.”

“Aye, but she is unaware of the connection. I could not have gone to her had she not been of Aiofe's blood.”

“Ah,” the Blackwind cooed. “You are a duplicitous demon, are you not?”

“I do what must be done,” he replied, “to have the females I desire.”

“As I will do what must be done to bring Viraidan Cree to justice.”

“I can help you, but it might take a while.”

“Why would it?”

Danyon smiled so evilly the Blackwind shivered. “My lady will not come to me of her own accord,” he explained. “I must lure her to me and the lure, the bait, is the Reaper.”

“She desires him?” Ski'Ah growled.

“Not yet, but she will.”

“You are that sure of his prowess?”

“It is what is inside him she will crave when she learns it is there.”

Understanding lit her sapphire eyes. A savage smile stretched her lips. “How long a time do we speak of here?”

“What is a day, a week, a month, even a year when your family has waited thirteen generations to avenge Cree's insult, lovely Ski'Ah?”

“I do not wish to—”

“The human inside Cree desires her, Ski'Ah. He aches with need for her. His dreams are filled with thoughts of her. His every waking moment is spent in remembering how she felt in his arms so long ago.”

The Blackwind stiffened. “You think this improves the chance of me helping you, Nightwind?” she hissed.

“Think, lovely one! Think of the agony he will experience when you tear him from her arms!”

“They are lovers now?”

“Not yet. They have been and they will be again.”

“You know this, do you?”

“I intend to see to it.”

She narrowed her eyes. “But will this not hurt her? Do you not care if she is harmed when I fetch the Reaper and take him to Amazeen in chains?”

“She will have me to comfort her,” he said, his smile hard as stone. “And I will comfort her in ways she will not be able to resist.”

The Blackwind stared at him for a long time, then nodded. “Hurt him is all I ask. Make him weep with the brutal pain of her loss and I will aid you in any way I can.”

Danyon put out his hand. “Your word of honor as a warrioress of your clan?”

Ski'Ah did not hesitate. She clasped his wrist—sword hand to sword hand—in a fierce grip. “On my honor as a princess of the Amazeen. Tell me what I need do to help you bring the Reaper to his knees and it will be done!”

Bronwyn opened her door that evening to find a handsome older man smiling at her. “May I help you?” she asked.

“Hello, Bronwyn.” He extended his hand. “I am Brian O'Shea.”

Looking into pale blue eyes that were a carbon copy of Sean's, Bronwyn felt tears welling. She took his hand, drawing him into the apartment. “Come in.”

“I hope I haven't come at a bad time,” he remarked in a thick Irish brogue.

“No,” she said, still holding his hand. It felt warm and comforting in hers.

He gave her hand a light squeeze, then gently withdrew from her grip and surveyed the room. “My, my, my, this is absolutely lovely.”

Bronwyn let out a shuddery breath and closed the door. Her heart pounded as she turned to her visitor. “My mom and I had a great time decorating it.”

“DeeDee has good taste. She also helped me decorate my place.”

Bronwyn's brows shot up. “Does she know you were Sean's father?”

“No, and I would just as soon keep it that way, Bronnie. Your mother had no love for my boy.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Perfectly understandable under the circumstances. I don't blame her for how she felt.” He craned his neck to look down the hallway. “Is your, ah, friend here?”

“Friend?”

“Cedric, is it? The Nightwind?”

Bronwyn gasped. “You know about him?”

Brian smiled. “Cree told me.”

She bit her lip. “Do you know what...”

“A Nightwind is?” Brian finished for her. “Aye, Sweeting. I know all about the ungodly fiends.”

“And you don't find it bizarre that such creatures exist?”

He shrugged. “No more bizarre than knowing Reapers exist.”

“Reapers?”

“So where is your aged night beastie?” he inquired.

Picking up on Brian's reluctance to explain, she flung out a dismissive hand. “He's probably sleeping.”

“In the rocker beside your bed.”

“Apparently Captain Cree tells you everything.”

“Only what he wants me to know,” Brian said with a sigh.

“I gather he is a secretive man.”

“More secretive than most.” Brian looked pointedly at the sofa.

Bronwyn blushed. “I'm sorry! Where are my manners? Please sit down, Dr. O'Shea. May I get you anything?”

“No, thank you. I just had supper. And please, call me Brian.” He sat down, then patted the place beside him.

Bronwyn sat beside him, folding her arms over her chest. Her breath came quick and shallow.

“There is no reason to be afraid of me, dearling,” he said in a husky voice.

“I'm not. It's just this is so...so...”

“Unexpected,” he finished for her.

“Sean never mentioned you to me.”

“He knew nothing of me until after you were taken to Ireland.”

“You came here to get him,” she accused.

Brian nodded. “I was ordered to.”

“By Daniel Dunne?”

“Aye. I had no choice. If I hadn't come after him, Dunne would have sent someone else. That someone might have been rough on Sean.”

“Did you know Sean would be trained like he was?” she asked, searching the man's face.

“I knew,” he whispered. “And I will regret it ‘til the day I die.”

Bronwyn shuddered, while a single tear fell down her cheek. “I despise the IRA.”

“There's something you should know about that, Bronnie. The explosion that killed your father rocked the IRA. They were not happy being given credit for the bombing.”

“Why not? They were responsible, weren't they? Mama showed me the file Mr. Brell had compiled. There was a lot about Daniel Dunne in there. He was training IRA assassins in that place.”

“Aye, Dunne was doing that, but your fathers’ assassination wasn't carried out by the IRA,” Brian said. “It was entirely Dunne's idea.”

“Why would he have singled out my father? Daddy wasn't involved with any of the politics over here. Was it a mistake?”

“No mistake. They knew precisely who they were targeting. The reason they wanted your father dead had to do with Dr. McGregor ordering Rory Brell to take Sean into custody, to snatch him out of Dunne's grasp.”

Bronwyn stared at him. “I don't understand.”

“It was your father's intention to get Sean out of your life once and for all. It didn't matter how that was accomplished. As long as Sean was alive, he posed a threat to the future Dr. McGregor wanted for you. He knew you would do all you could to join Sean when you were out from under his control. That did not set well with him. He had no intention of allowing a union between you and someone he considered unworthy. He ordered Brell to find Sean and turn him over to the British army. Failing that, he was to eliminate him, if necessary.”

She gasped. “He ordered Brell to kill Sean?”

Brian nodded solemnly.

Bronwyn felt as though someone had placed a great weight on her chest. “I can't believe my father would do something like that.”

“I'm afraid he did. Dunne found out about the plot to capture Sean and set his own plans into motion. He could not afford to have my boy taken and perhaps questioned about the facilities at Fuilgaoth. Sean was ordered to kill your father to keep that from happening.”

“But Sean wasn't like that! He would have never ...”

“You were threatened, Bronwyn. Dunne told Sean that if he didn't do as ordered, men would be sent to Galrath. I'll leave it to your imagination what horrors he threatened for you should Sean not do as he was told. It was either being responsible for the death of the woman he loved or take out the man who was responsible for tearing the two of you apart.”

“He was protecting me?” she whispered.

“With his very life.”

“Why didn't Sean just leave Fuilgaoth?” Bronwyn asked, wiping at the tears running down her cheeks. “He could have come after me and...”

“Sean was a prisoner at Fuilgaoth, watched day and night. There was no way for him to escape. We were all prisoners there, dearling.”

“Including Viraidan Cree?”

“Especially him. He was caged the entire time.”

“Why?”

“That's something we don't need to go into right now. Let it suffice to say Cree was a threat Dunne took seriously. Keeping him locked up was vitally important.”

“He said a man named Alistair Gallagher killed my father. Is that true?”

“Alistair detonated the bomb Sean placed under the car, aye.”

“Dr. Wynth said Sean tried to stop Daddy from getting in the car. Is that what happened?”

Brian sighed heavily. “He saw Brell's baby and...”

“What?”

“The child. The one Rory was carrying.”

Bronwyn stared at him; thoughts of her lost infant rippled through her mind. “No. No, you're wrong.”

“I was told there was a baby. Brell was...” Brian frowned, then jumped up. “
Your
child?”

“Mine and Sean's—your grandson.”

“I didn't...he didn't...” Brian stopped, his face white.

“That was why I was so angry that day in the hospital—why I said what I did to Sean. It wasn't just my father I thought he'd killed, but our child.”

“Mother of God,” Brian whispered, slumping down on the sofa. He ran a trembling hand over his face.

“I never got to hold our child. They took him away right after he was born.”

Brian flinched. “Oh, Bronwyn. I am so sorry.”

“I named him Tiernan,” she said softly, “but the people my parents gave him to called him Cormac. Cormac McDougal.”

“Did you parents know Brell was bringing the baby that day?”

“I've never asked my mother. We don't discuss what happened. I don't talk about it to anyone.”

“I have to tell him,” Brian mumbled.

“Tell who?”

“Cree,” he answered, his mind obviously on the information she had given him.

“Were they friends?” she inquired.

“Something like that,” Brian muttered, running a shaky hand through his hair.

She sensed his inattention “What is he, anyway?”

“A vampire.”

“A what?”

He jerked and groaned, as if realizing his mistake. “By the beard of Job, I shouldn't have told you that!”

“Then tell me you were joking,” she snapped.

There was a long moment of silence before he spoke again. “I can't. He is what he is.”

“A vampire,” she stated, letting the word fall like a heavy stone.

Brian nodded. “That is why Dunne kept him locked up.”

“A vampire...”

“The correct term is ‘Reaper.’ He has to have blood every day to survive.”

“As in transfusions?”

“No, dearling, to drink.”

“To drink,” she echoed, feeling sick.

Brian sighed, then shrugged. “Reapers are shapeshifters, a cross between vampires and werewolves. There is a name for his race. They are called ‘dearg duls.’ His blood is as black as tar, and when he Transitions, he enters a beastlike state where he resembles a large dog.”