Eventide: The Dark Ink Chronicles (20 page)

T
here is something incredibly different about Ginger Slater and Sydney Maspeth. I’m still so busy trying to let my brain wrap around the fact that Victorian was right—one little touch put me directly into Sydney’s body. I saw what she saw. But she felt what I felt. Weird.

Ginger I’ll keep at arm’s length. Haven’t touched her. I can tell, though, that she is dying to get her little fingers on me. I’m ready for it. I still have processing to do.

Darius is definitely a different story. He’s old as dirt,
although he looks around thirty, and has some sort of magical powers. That much I can tell. Not a vampire. Neither is Gabriel or the one who has done nothing but stare at me. Lucian. There’s something—I don’t know—
feral
about him. Unpredictable. Frightening, even. Unlike a vampire. This whole thing is strange. And I’m ready to get the hell out of Romania.

“These are two of WUP’s most crucial cases right now,” Jake Andorra says. “Ginger just lost her partner.” Jake flashes a warning look at Lucian. “And inadvertently gained another.”

I shake my head. “Lost her partner?” I ask.

“I’m a field agent, presently stationed near the village of Dunmorag in the northwest Highlands,” Ginger offers. “Relatively new to WUP, but I’ve been studying shifters ever since high school. We’ve”—she inclines her head toward Lucian—“chased our unsub to the Carpathians.”

“Shifters? Unsub?” I ask.

Ginger grins. “Shape-shifters. Those who can morph from one being to another. Say, from a man into a wolf.” She slides a glance at Lucian. “And unsub—that’s the term we give the bad guys.”

I simply nod.

“Sydney and Gabriel are knee-deep in shit over in Edinburgh,” Jake adds.

“So I see,” I answer. I slide a glance to Sydney and
Gabriel. She looks like she can handle her own. I admire that.

Jake chuckles. “Ah, so you have. They have their hands full of the Jodís in Edinburgh. Along with a mortal group who call themselves the Gemini. There seems to be a band of Black Fallens taking over the city.”

“Black Fallens?” I dare ask.

Jake nods. “Fallen angels. Bad ones.”

“All threatened by nine malevolent spirits Darius there tried to take care of centuries ago,” Sydney adds. “They were a little smarter than he anticipated.”

Darius remains silent.

Rising from my place on the sofa, I pinch the bridge of my nose, shake my head, then meet Jake Andorra’s gaze. “Fascinating. Really. All of it.” I step closer, tilt my head, and look up at him. “But what’s any of this got to do with me?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Eli lean closer to me.

“Well,” Jake continues, and his green eyes all but glow as they stare down at me. “I was hoping to offer you employment once all of your present matters are handled.”

I gape. I glance at Eli, who shrugs. Then I move my gaze back to Jake. “I’m a tattoo artist. I own an ink shop. I’m raising my little brother. That’s what I do.”

Jake merely smiles. “You’ve too many…
capabilities, Riley. Way too many to waste. You’d be the perfect addition to our team.”

I open my mouth to retort, but Jake holds up his hand. “Just…think about it.”

“I’ve thought about it. No.” I move away from him, because, really, I don’t trust him.

“Wait,” Ginger says, and steps toward me. “Seriously, Riley, think about it.”

Then goddamn it all, she does it. She grasps my arm before I can snatch it back. The room spins, my eyes cross, and everything goes blurry once again.…

“So, you think you can handle this one, huh, newbie?”

I’d glanced at Paxton Tarragon, the arrogant senior field agent I’d been training with for the past three months. He had been in his mid-thirties, had worn white, spiked hair, and had looked like Billy Idol. I’d narrowed my gaze, sick to death of being called newbie. The only thing I’d hated worse than that was being called blondie. Typical straight blond hair and blue eyes had been roadblocks in my career. No guy took a blonde seriously. Then add in the name Ginger? I’d always had to prove myself. Bastards. “Hell yeah.”

My conversation with Pax replayed in my head more times than I could count. Why had he had to have been so damn cocky? That seemed like a long time ago now.

Over the course of the next week, Lucian slowly introduced me to my new world, my new body, my new senses. I
would not be able to master them all for some time; my hearing was exaggerated and sometimes hurt my ears and insides. My sense of smell was so intense, it overwhelmed me, and I couldn’t determine one smell from another—except for Lucian’s scent. His was unique and solely Lucian’s, and I could detect it a mile away. My strength and speed were immature but growing fast—almost too fast. I tripped, I fell, I hurled myself to speeds which my old body couldn’t handle yet. I busted my ass more times than I could count. But Lucian was right there to help me up.

Each night, we made intense love and fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms. Each night, I dreamed. Pax pursued me in his human form, always in a heavy mist, always through a dense wood. The white fog slipped through the trees and brush like long, reaching fingers, and I ran hard, stumbling and not in control of my new speed and strength. Pax, for some reason, was. His white spiked hair appeared behind every tree, every rock, as though he was toying with me. And every time, he’d catch me, back me against the base of a tree. “This is your fault, newbie. I’m here, trapped as an abomination, all because of you. I don’t know whether to thank you or rip your throat out.” I’d awaken, shaking violently, breathless, just before Pax shifted into his wolf form and lunged at me, teeth bared. I kept the dreams from Lucian. I thought I could handle them, or that they’d just go away. I was so very wrong.

My arrival in Dunmora, and the events that had followed, haunted me.

“So you have a couple of years behind you, and what?” He cocked his head and stared at me. “Think you’re ready?” He’d shaken his head and had popped the hatch. “I’ve been at this for ten years, newbie, and trust me—you’re never ready.”

I’d met Pax’s stare for a few seconds, had told him to eff-off in my head, had grabbed my pack and shouldered it. Then I’d really taken a good look around at the secluded Highland village. “Desolate” was the first word that had come to mind. A half dozen gray stone and whitewashed buildings hugged the pebbled crescent shore of a small lake—or, rather, a loch. Beyond the village, the Rannoch Moors were even more desolate than Dunmorag. Tufts of dead grass, brown heather, and rock stretched for miles. Far in the distance, dark, craggy mountains threw long shadows and loomed ominously. The skies were gray. The moors were gray. Even the water in the loch was gray. Well, black.

“Foreboding.” That was the second word that had come to mind.

“You gonna stand here all day and take in the scenery or what?” Pax had asked.

I’d given him a hard look, which he’d ignored, instead inclining his head to the pub behind us. “I’m ready,” I’d said. I had shifted my pack, had snugged my leather jacket’s collar closer to my neck, and together we’d crossed the small car park. The wind bit straight through my clothes, and I’d shivered as I’d stepped onto the single paved walk that ran in
front of the stores. I’d glanced down the row of buildings. A baker. A fishmonger. The Royal Post. A grocer. An inn and a pub. And absolutely no people around. Weird. Very, very weird. Good thing weird had been our specialty.

A black sign with a sliver of a red moon painted on it had swung above the pub on rusted hinges, and the creaking noise had echoed off the building. In silver letters, the sign read
THE BLOOD MOON
.
Pax had pushed in through the red double doors—quite befitting, the red—and I’d followed. Inside, it had taken my eyes several seconds to adjust to the dimmer light. A hush fell over the handful of people gathered in the single-room dwelling. “Guess we found the villagers,” I’d whispered to Pax. They had stopped what they were doing or saying to stare at us. No one had uttered a word.

I’d glanced at Pax, then all around, until my eyes had lighted on the man behind the bar. He had dark, expressionless eyes that reminded me of a shark’s eyes, and they’d bored straight into me. His head, shaved bald, had shined beneath the pub’s overhead light. He’d said nothing. I had walked up to him and had met his gaze. “We’re looking for Lucian MacLoud,” I’d said. “Know where we can find him?”

It was weird, mine and Lucian’s relationship. I felt completely at ease with Lucian, as though we’d known each other forever. He’d had nearly three weeks to come to terms with the fact that I was his marked mate; I’d had about twenty-four hours. Still, I accepted it readily and willingly. It felt…natural, as though my life was to turn out no other way than
to be here, in the Highlands of Scotland, with an ancient Pict warrior-wolf. It felt even more natural to become a wolf, too. I can’t explain it without sounding like a lunatic, but there you go.

Lucian and I left the bothy the last day of my transition and traveled north and west to the MacLeod stronghold. Situated on a sea loch, the massive gray stone fortress, complete with four imposing towers, dominated the seascape. It literally stole my breath.

“You live here?” I asked incredulously. I glanced at him.

Lucian laughed, and reached over and grasped my hand. “Nay. We live here.”

My heart swelled at his words. We’d not exchanged the L-word yet; somehow, it just didn’t seem right. But we’d both claimed each other, and the word “mine” sounded nearly as powerful as, if not more than, the word “love.”
There would be an adjustment period for both of us. But one thing of which I was absolutely positive: We were meant to be together.

Lucian pulled onto a single-track gravel lane that led to the massive front doors of the castle, and before we had the Rover in park, five big guys emptied the entrance and made their way toward us. All had dark hair in various lengths and bodies that looked like they swung axes and swords and kicked ass for a living.

Lucian glanced at me and laughed. “They won’t bite.”

I looked at him and raised a brow. “Doubt that.”

I climbed out of the Rover, slammed the door, and faced the MacLeods.

“Gin, my brothers. Arron, Raife, Christopher, Jacob, and Sean.”

Arron walked up and embraced me; the others followed. “Welcome,” Arron said, his eyes flashing quicksilver.

“About time we had a lass around the place,” Jacob said, and the others laughed.

The MacLeods welcomed me, and as it was with Lucian, the same held true with his brothers. It felt like I’d known them my entire life.

The MacLeod fortress entailed no less than two hundred acres and the shoreline, and inside the castle was a modernized habitat befitting an ancient wolf clan of Pict warriors. Primeval mixed perfectly with contemporary. It was mind-numbing to think how long ago Lucian and his brothers were born, how long they’d lived.

They prepared me for my transition that night; in all honesty, there wasn’t much they could do except stand by and wait, help out if needed. Lucian warned me the first time would be painful, and he apologized more times than I could count. He held me in his arms, kissed me, smoothed my hair from my face, and promised to not leave my side until it was over.

By nightfall, as the moon began to rise, Lucian and his brothers walked me to the shoreline, encircled me, and waited. I immediately knew it had begun when my skin began to itch.
I felt as though I wanted to crawl right out of it, and I clawed and scratched at my arms, my neck, my abdomen. My temperature rose, higher and higher until I thought I would self-combust. My skin was on fire, and I began to pull at my clothes. No matter that it was October in the Highlands; I was hot. I didn’t have time to yank them off, either. I felt my skeleton give way, the popping and rubbing sounds reverberating inside my head. I cried out in pain, and in my peripheral vision I saw movement and knew it was Lucian. He stopped abruptly, and didn’t advance farther.

My heels and long bones shifted, elongated, contorted, and just when I thought I couldn’t take the pain and heat a second longer, I fell to the ground, let out a low, long bay, and it was over. I leaped up, shook my body, and met the silver gazes of six other wolves, their shaggy dark coats glistening in the moonlight.

We ran that night, my new brothers, my mate, and I. We ran from the west coast of Scotland clear to the east, along the shores of the North Sea, and it was invigorating, mind-freeing. My new body rocked with sensations, and I wanted to keep running. I saw everything through my new eyes, and it was as though I was seeing the world for the very first time. Lucian ran beside me, his silvery blue gaze watching me closely. We spoke to each other in our minds. He never left my side. At some point, exhaustion overtook me. We made it home, and I fell hard asleep.

When next I woke, I was in my human form, tucked
closely against Lucian’s body. The sun had not yet risen, and I felt invigorated. I wanted to explore the shore, so I slipped from our bed, quickly dressed, and headed outside. No one else stirred. I was the only one awake.

The brisk Highland air greeted me, along with a healthy dose of mist. I found it strange not to be cold, but my core stayed over one hundred degrees, so there was no need for a jacket. I breathed in the air, sweet with clover and something else I couldn’t name, and took in my surroundings. On the left side of the gravel lane, a meadow, and at its edge, a dense copse of wood filled with towering pines and oaks.

Then I saw it. Through the slender ribbons of mist I saw something white move into view. I stared, my newly sharpened vision trained on the spot. Before my brain registered what my eyes saw, I knew. Pax. He waited for me. Without thought, I took off toward him at a jog, and by the time I reached the wood line, I was at a full run. Pax had disappeared.