The Strip (38 page)

It sat there, with two flat tires, and told her a story. It had been abused. It wanted something better. And that the something better it wanted was her.

She smiled, her beautiful face flashing into a perfect, white grin. “Well, hello bad boy,” she whispered. “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?”

Thunder rumbled in the distance. Her heart skipped a beat and her stomach clenched. A nervous anticipation rushed through her, like a rolling wave. She squelched her fear and closed her eyes, taking a deep, calming breath.

Okay, let’s do this thing, Danny,
she told herself.
Now or never.

With that, she opened her eyes once more and searched around her for another car of the same general size as this one. When she found the one she wanted, she positioned herself until she was roughly at the center of the distance between it and the Shelby and she closed her eyes once more.

She began to chant. A breeze picked up in the parking lot. Dust took to the skies and litter swirled in small eddies in between the vehicles. Lightning flashed somewhere near by and thunder split the sky. The harsh lights in the poles overhead flickered and went out.

And then they came back on.

When they did, there were two Shelby Cobras sitting in the lot and the white car that had been in the place of the second one only moments before was now gone.

Dannai smiled a triumphant smile. “That’ll do,” she said softly. She strode to the Shelby with the flat tires and placed her hands on the car. A few more muttered magic words and, in a few seconds, the tires were whole again and filled with air.

Then she opened the door and slid in behind the wheel. It smelled good. Leather and new car smell. “Beautiful,” she muttered to herself. “Okay, baby. Let’s get you out of here.”

She touched the key hole and pressed in the clutch, shifting the vehicle into first as she did so. She whispered a single-word incantation. The engine roared to life and Dannai’s smile widened. She pulled the car out of its space and drove it to the front gates, all the while being careful to make certain that her cloak enveloped the car as well. It was draining and she was already pretty tired.

But it was worth it.

Another few words and a bit more expended energy and the chain around the front gate slipped away, dropping to the ground outside. The gate began to slide open. When the gap was wide enough, Danny revved the engine and shot through.

First gear. Second gear. Third. The highway exit was up ahead. She had no idea where she was going. She had no plan.

There were people out there who meant her coven harm. The Council was up against an army of Hunters and a megalomaniac sadist with too much power and far too much control.

The End.

Look for the third book in the Big Bad Wolf series, The Spell, now available on Amazon…

Dannai, who is also known as the Healer, has begun dreaming of werewolves. She'd always been able to hide the fact that she was a dormant, using her magic to shield the sweet, promising scent from the alphas she's been forced to work around. But now that they've invaded her dreams, her world has really been turned upside down. For, though every dormant dreams of her intended mate - Dannai is dreaming of two wolves, not one. And neither one of them is good news. One is a notorious killer. The other is Lucas Caige.

Lucas Caige is a man with a haunting past. A warlock took his brother from him fifty years ago and he's spent his life outrunning that dark magic. But fate has a way of throwing sand in your gears - and just when Caige thought he could forever leave behind the magic that brought pain to his life, his path crosses that of the Healer. Dannai unwittingly casts her spell over him the moment he lays eyes on her. She's stunning, she's kind, and everything about her wreaks havoc on his senses.

She's also magic incarnate.

But if Dannai thinks that's going to stop him from doing everything in his power to make her his mate, the little witch has another thing coming.

Also check out Heather’s new young adult paranormal suspense, Sam I Am, the first in The October Trilogy….

SAM I AM

By Heather Killough-Walden

The October Trilogy, Book One

Prologue

61 A.D. Island of Anglesey, Britain….

Keenan stumbled over something he couldn’t see and pretended not to notice that it was soft enough to give beneath his leather boot. “Faolan, lift her more on your end, son!” He hissed the command to his son, who was carrying Ciara’s legs. Keenan had her shoulders and head and though she was a wee lass, she was nearly a dead weight, and the night was without moon or stars.

The terrain was deadly; it had always been, and the druid elders had long warned against going out on the crags at night without torchlight. But for the angry red glow that emanated from the burning village behind them, there was nothing to guide their desperate escape across the rocks and heather of what had become their final home.

“Hurry, Keenan! We haven’t much time!” Ianna spurred them along from where she raced behind them, her small body wrapped in a cloak of sable, to hide her form from the eagle eyes of the Roman army. They all wore the cloaks, for what good it did them. Keenan was well aware that, before the sun rose on the horizon, the cloaks would become their death shrouds.

“I’m movin’ as fast as ay can!” Keenan hissed back, knowing that it didn’t matter. The night would soon be complete and the door that Ciara had opened several nights ago would remain open. All would be lost if it did. The dead traveled through the door to their new destination, the land that had been ruled by Samhain since time began. But this door worked both ways. If it was not closed and locked by the end of the Harvest, the dead could return through it into the world of the living, and with them, their King.

Ciara was the last of their druid leaders; all others had died on the coast with their soldiers and most of their women. The Roman general Suetonius Paulinus had attacked early in the evening and, though the village had managed to take many of their men down, it had lost in the end.

The women, with their torches and long red hair had fallen beside their mates – and even their children. The druids’ spells had immobilized Paulinus’s army for long enough to maintain a steady line of defense for most of the early evening. But the Romans had adapted quickly – changing their tactics to take down the elders first, before the others, until there were no bards left. And no spells.

And no hope.

It was Aidan, the strongest of the druids, who called out to Keenan, even as he lay dying with his own mortal wounds. He had warned Keenan that the spell had not been completed, and charged him and his son with Ciara’s safety.

She was the one who had started it. Only she could complete it.

Alas, we failed yae
, Keenan thought now, as he tried to block out the sounds of another woman being defiled in the night. They had failed in Aidan’s task. Ciara was struck down with a spear even as they ran; the Romans did not mind killing women and children, and not even from behind. There was no honor in their attack, no honor in these deaths. It was slaughter.

But it was still was up to Ciara to complete the spell. Too much was hanging in the balance.

Keenan glanced down to see Ciara’s closed eyelids flutter. The blood still ran from the wound in her side. It meant her heart still beat. If it weren’t for those signs, he would think her already dead.

Paulinus must be Samhain in disguise to attack on this night, in the midst of Samonois,
Keenan thought as he gritted his teeth and took up the slack when his son tripped and momentarily lost his grip on Ciara’s booted feet. She groaned as her body twisted and a new well of blood appeared beneath her leather tunic.

“Careful, boy!” he hissed.

An arrow split the air somewhere nearby. The sound was unmistakable. Was it an errant shot by a ballista? Or had the Romans discovered their hasty retreat across the unlit crags in the darkness?

Keenan hoped for the former rather than the latter. They had so little time as it was. He and his family were already doomed. His entire village was doomed. There was no hope for them – not now; that was clear.

But if they hurried, if nature was on their side, they might yet save everyone else. Humanity. The future – every child yet unborn would still stand a chance.

“There!” Ianna rushed past them, her long arm pointing toward the entrance to the oak grove where the first part of the rite had been interrupted that morning. “In there! She’ll know what to do then!”

There was no response for that; it was too hopeless to speak on what they were all thinking – that Ciara was too far gone. So none of them said anything. They only moved faster, spurred on by sheer terror and desperation.

Another arrow split the night and following its slicing whiz through the air was the unmistakable thunk of its tip embedding itself into a nearby trunk or chunk of earth.

The spirits take him
, thought Keenan.
Take the bastard Paulinus.
The general and his men meant to wipe the Kelts from existence. And they would no doubt succeed; Anglesey was their final refuge.

Ironically, if Ciara could not close the door that had been opened, it would not only be the druids and their people who suffered an end this night. Before long, the Romans would fall as well, victorious or not.

Precious moments passed before Keenan and his son were finally able to lay Ciara down beside the stones that marked the site for this devastatingly important annual ritual.

“Ciara!” Ianna knelt beside the young woman, shaking her gently – but not too gently. Ciara’s eyelids fluttered and opened. Stark gold irises reflected the distant firelight. “You must finish the spell, Ciara!” Ianna pled. Her voice was sheer panic now, sharing in the desperation they each felt.

Ciara closed her eyes and then opened them again, blinking slowly. Her lips were the same pallor as her cheeks, pale and dry. She had once been a very beautiful maiden; sought-after as any lass, with hair the color of polished bronze and a smile that beckoned suitors. But now, she was a shadow of what she had been only that morning.

She would soon be joining Samhain in his realm.

Be that he covets her,
Keenan thought.
Treat her well, Lord of the Dead, for she dies before her time.

And then Ciara began to whisper. It was nearly inaudible, barely a scratching sound, reminiscent of the leaves that fell beneath the Harvest moon and coated the island ground.

But her companions heard her well enough, and they fell silent and willed her to go on.

The distant night crackled and blazed and screamed and sobbed. Another spear or arrow found purchase somewhere nearby. The air felt thick with fog and smoke, and cold with the chilled spirits of the bansidhe, awakened and angered by their sisters’ cries.

Ciara grimaced and gurgled, blood making its way into her throat, hiccupping her progress in the spell.

And mist began to rise from a grave nearby.

“Och no…” Ianna muttered. She and the others watched with wide eyes, as the dead began to realize that their return path home might no longer be barred. The witch who kept them – the one who could close the door – was dying.

“Ciara!” Faolan dropped to his knees beside Ciara and gently cupped her cheek with his palm. “Finish the spell.” Faolan was only a few years older than Ciara. He had been one of the many men who’d hoped to win her heart one day.

Though they had happened but yesterday, those thoughts and desires seemed years gone now. All that remained was this one thing. This one spell.

It was their final duty to the world and all of life within it. Their people had been charged when time began; entrusted with the guardianship of this portal. It was up to them to keep it closed every year – every Samhain.

They could not fail now.

“We cannot fail, Ciara,” Faolan whispered, his lips now mere inches from her own. She slowly opened her eyes once more and gold irises met green. “Sweet Ciara… p
lease
,” he pleaded. It was all he could really say.

Ciara winced again as what must have been horrid pain lanced through her slender form. But she gritted her teeth and, as the others watched, their expressions lost, she continued to utter the words of the incantation.

Faolan stood and turned to watch as the mists that had begun rising from the graves started to dissipate. She was doing it. Keenan glanced at the rest of the hallowed resting places within their sacred grove – all were settling down once more.

Another spear split the sky. This time, when it landed, accompanying the thunk of purchase was a grunt of pain.

Keenan stopped breathing, his eyes wide, his world tilted on its side as he took in the image of his son with a spear through his young chest.

Faolan looked down at the long piece of wood embedded in his midsection. He could not even fall; the spear’s tip was braced solidly in the earth, holding the young man upright. It was obscene. It was wrong, somehow.

A man ought to at least be able to fall.

Faolan smiled a bemused smile and did not hear the sound of his father bellowing in anguish. Instead, he heard the final words that Ciara whispered as she finished her spell.

Before he closed his own green eyes, he met her honey colored gaze.

And the two of them closed their eyes together.

Chapter One

Modern Day….