Secrets of the Night Special Edition (87 page)

Equally important for the outlanders, the new queen had declared their forest territory forbidden to others, so that they could maintain their isolation, their way of life.

"Sir." Traigh came out to meet him, holding Donn's reins.

"Ah, yes." Roric stepped forward and placed his foot in the stirrup, then mounted. "May the Goddess watch over you and Maudina,." he said, easing himself into the saddle.

"And you, sir."

Roric swung the horse around, heading for the path that led to the
Royal South Road
. It would take him several days to reach his family in Mumhain, but the wait was worth it.

After leaving the palace grounds behind, he leaned forward in the saddle and cantered, then galloped along the dirt road. The horse's hooves pounded on the ground, a cloud of dust enveloping him on this warm day. Feeling the bunch of his mount’s muscles gather and pull beneath his thighs, he rode past meadows luxurious with springtime growth, where farmers worked the fields and horses pulled plows. A slight breeze brought the glorious aroma of lavender from a field to his left, a reminder of Keriam. He met few travelers along the way, his thoughts his own, his mind, as always, on Keriam.

Now slowing to a canter, Roric covered many miles, his mind grappling with his heart. .He recalled her crestfallen look when he'd told her he was leaving, and a painful stab struck his heart. Had he read too much in her eyes? Could she feel for him all the love he felt for her?

If she did have special powers--and he knew that she did--he would love her just the same, love her for the endearing woman she was.

Her words came back to taunt him.
If I loved a man, it wouldn't matter what station in life he held.

He slowed his horse, his mind in turmoil.
Take a chance. What do you have to lose?
Later, he would visit his family; he had another matter he must settle first.

Roric maneuvered his horse around and headed back to Emain Macha.

To Keriam.

~The End~

Prologue

Hastings

October, 1066

"Galan!”

The English soldier tried to lift his head, but pain immobilized him. Darkness surrounded him, the smell of wet grass, blood, and death thickening the air. His iron helmet lay at his side, as lifeless as he soon would be. Spears and javelins, studded maces, and daggers littered the ravaged meadow, scattered among his dead and dying comrades.

"Galan!”

Who was calling him--the Angel of Death? Or did he only imagine the voice?

The soldier moaned. He lay in a pool of blood, a
Norman
arrow piercing his gut. Oh, God, the pain. His whole world was burning, stabbing, neverending agony.

The arrow. Get the arrow. Gritting his teeth, he grasped the arrow with trembling fingers and yanked.

"Ahhh!”

Delirious with pain, he sank back onto the ground, digging his fingers into the blood-soaked earth. The shaft remained stuck. He stared up at the moonless sky, the cries of the wounded and dying an oppressive reminder of his fate. A numbing coldness crept over his body, a precursor of death. An icy Channel wind swept across the hill, its keening sound mingling with the groans of his comrades.

He prayed for death and prayed, too, for his country. To think
England
had come to this! Surely if there was a God, he would have granted victory to the English, not these
Norman
pigs!

"Linette,” he whispered. He saw her in his mind's eye, beautiful, lovely Linette with her long blonde hair and blue eyes shining with love. Death would soon separate them.

God, he was tired. The battlefield blurred before his eyes, and screams receded into nothingness. Not long now, then--

"Galan! Didn't you hear me calling you?”  A black-robed man crouched beside him, the stench of a dead animal lingering about him. Long, bushy gray hair fell past his shoulders, and a hooked nose jutted out from his withered face. Evil radiated from penetrating black eyes.

A pendant dangled from his neck, flickering with red and gold lights that made Galan blink.

"How . . . how do you know my name?” the soldier gasped.

The robed man grinned, a feral stretching of his lips.” I know many things. Now I want you to come with me.”

Galan raised a bloody hand and pointed to the arrow that skewered his belly.” I can't move,” he croaked.

"You can do anything you want.” The stranger sneered.” You think your God can perform miracles, but my powers are far greater. Why, I can draw lightning from the sky.” He raised a hand upward, extending long, bony fingers, his robe slipping back to reveal an emaciated arm. A bolt of lightning flashed across the black sky, followed within seconds by a thunderclap.

Galan jerked with shock.” By St. Aidan!” He strained to cross himself, the movement intensifying his agony.” Are you a warlock?” 

"More than that,” he said with another bestial grin.” So much more.” He placed his hand on Galan's stomach and painlessly drew the shaft out.

"How did you do that?” He rose up on his elbows, amazed that the pain was gone, the bleeding stopped, his woolen tunic no longer drenched with blood.

"Didn't I just speak of my powers? Now come with me.”

Although thankful for his deliverance, Galan hesitated.” But . . . who are you?” 

"Call me Moloch.” He stood, his robe billowing about him, his dark gaze focused on Galan.

Bracing himself on the hard, cold ground, he rose on unsteady legs, scarcely believing his recovery. How had Moloch performed such a miracle? Did he intend to send him home to Linette and his family? Or did he have a darker purpose?

"Wh--what do you want of me?” Galan asked, fearful of the penalty he must pay for his salvation.” And where are we going?” 

Moloch gathered his robe closer about him.” You'll learn soon enough.”

Present day

Galan lurked in the shadows, a solitary figure intent on finding his prey. Hunger raged inside him, a fiery, agonizing torment. In silence, he bided his time, certain his perseverance would find its reward.

He cursed the darkness, hating what he'd become.

Wishing he were mortal again.

* * *

After a long and busy day, Stephanie Novak locked the door of The Bookworm's Delight in downtown
Miami
and headed for the bus stop. A cool November breeze blew across the deserted streets, making her shiver. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and dark clouds hid the moon. She should have left earlier, but she'd stayed late to stock new inventory and lock up.

As she hurried along, her gaze covered both sides of the street, where the lights of cheap electronic and sporting goods stores glowed behind their barred windows. She didn't like being downtown so late, walking the empty streets, never knowing who or what might be prowling these same avenues, but--

A man sprang out from behind a dumpster.” Hold it there, lady.” He held a gun, leveled at her heart. Young and sloppy with clumps of stringy hair hanging past his shoulders, he reeked of alcohol.

Chills raced across her arms and legs. Her mouth went as dry as the
Sahara
at high noon, but she would not reveal her fright.

The mugger pointed to her wrist.” I like your Rolex. Hand it over.”

She took a deep breath.” It's a Seiko, but you can have it,” she said as she undid the clasp.” Whatever. Gimme your purse, too.”

A quick movement out of the corner of her eye jerked Stephanie's attention from the mugger. A flash of white and black dashed in her direction.

In a split second, the gun flew out of the man's hand and slid across the sidewalk, clattering onto the street. The thief stared at his hand, then at the pistol lying on the street, like a discarded toy.” Wh--what?”

The tall stranger in a white long-sleeved shirt and black pants darted behind the man and whacked him at the base of his neck.

"Ahhh.” The jerk crumpled to the ground with a thud.

"Thank--"Her gaze switched to the criminal, a chill racing along her spine.” You killed him!” 

"Nonsense, only put him out of commission for a while . . . for a very long while. Don't worry, he won't bother you again.”

She gave her assailant a sideways glance, then swung her attention back to her rescuer.” Shouldn't we call the police? We can't just leave him here to rob someone else when he recovers.”

"Yes, of course. Only wait whilst I fetch the gun,” he said as he turned away from her.

She stared at his retreating back. Whilst?

The stranger headed for the street to retrieve the weapon, his step lithe and purposeful. He radiated raw, restless energy, as if he'd been imprisoned for a long time, then set free. An air of mystery surrounded him . . . mystery and danger, like a hungry cobra. Her fanciful imagination must be getting the best of her, she thought, her gaze fixed on him. Besides, he'd just saved her from a very dangerous situation.

With a look of calm assurance, he strode toward her again, giving her a chance to study him. Thick, heavy eyebrows topped eyes that shone like onyx, eyes with a hypnotic, sensuous quality. Sharp, angular features and high cheekbones imparted a harsh cast to his face, as though it had been chiseled from the finest alabaster. His curly black hair was cropped short at the neck, a stiff breeze ruffling the locks on his forehead. He was really handsome, but even by the streetlight several yards away, she thought he could use a slight tan. Just the same, his was an intriguing face, one she'd never forget. A man she would never forget.

Pistol in hand, he joined her.” Nasty things, handguns. Can cause a lot of trouble.” Lightly, he touched her arm, nodding toward the criminal.” Here, let's move away from the scoundrel, so you don't have to look at him.”

"The police,” she reminded him after they moved next to a newspaper dispensing machine.

"Yes.” He dug in his pocket and handed her his car keys, indicating a Mercedes parked across the Boulevard.” Whilst I hold the gun on this criminal, please go unlock my car and fetch my cell phone. You must forgive me for asking you to brave the traffic, but better that than to leave you alone with this thug.”

"Hey, no problem,” Stephanie said, wishing she had a cell phone, but it was another expense she'd have to forego.

The rush of oncoming cars kept her on the curb for precious minutes, but after an old pickup truck rattled past, she saw a break in the traffic and hurried across the wide Boulevard. Within a couple of minutes, she retrieved the phone, then with another break in the traffic, returned and handed it to him. After he called the police, he pocketed the phone and smiled, turning the full force of his considerable charm on her.

Despite her agitation, she returned his smile. He had that effect on her.

As they waited for the cops, she searched for the right words to thank her rescuer. He'd saved her from a robbery and maybe even--she shuddered to think about it--he'd saved her life. But how had he knocked the gun from the man's hand? It had happened so quickly.

Her gaze roved over the stranger again, this man with a gentle voice but a face comprised of sharp lines and angles. Here was a man who'd just saved her from a dangerous encounter, one whose smile could make her forget she'd ever been in danger.

Across the street, the #3 MTA bus rumbled past on
Biscayne Boulevard
.” There goes my bus,” she groaned,” and who knows when the police will arrive!”

Lightning scorched the southern sky, one burst after another, followed by loud claps of thunder. A gust of wind whipped strands of hair across her face, and she tucked the locks behind her ears. The temperature dropped several degrees; now, a rainstorm would catch her for sure.

He inclined his head.” You must let me drive you home,

Miss . . . ?” 

"Stephanie Nov--everyone calls me Stevie, which I prefer.” Her teeth chattered. She didn't even know if she made sense, her narrow escape still gnawing at her nerves.” Thanks for your offer, but I can't expect you to drive me home.” What was she doing with this stranger in downtown
Miami
--at night?”  I sure want to thank you for . . . for what you did. If you hadn't come along . . . well, I--I don't know what I would've done, Mr. . . . uh?”