Night Angel

  Night Angel

  Copyright © 2014 by Lisa Kessler.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Visit Lisa’s website at www.LisaKessler.com

  Edited by Double Vision Editorial, Danielle Poiesz

  Cover design by Luminari Studio, Eva Layne

  Interior Design by Angela McLaurin, Fictional Formats

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition March 2014

  Other Novels by Lisa Kessler

  The Night Series

  NIGHT WALKER

  NIGHT THIEF

  NIGHT DEMON

  NIGHT ANGEL

  NIGHT CHILD

  The Moon Series

  MOONLIGHT

  HUNTER’S MOON

  BLOOD MOON

  Stand Alone Works

  BEG ME TO SLAY

  FORGOTTEN TREASURES

  ACROSS THE VEIL

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  For my Night Angel Legion…

  You are the best readers any author could ask for.

  Thanks for all your support and for encouraging me to write this one.

  Juliana lifted the water-filled bucket of sunflowers and placed it inside the refrigerated case for the night. Hopefully, she’d be able to use them in a bouquet tomorrow before they started withering. Seeing a sunflower go to waste pained her. The big, bright flowers emanated pure joy, like a smile from Mother Nature herself.

  She slid the glass door closed with a sigh. Finally. Time to go home for the day. As she tucked a stray hair behind her ear, she caught the reflection of a man in the glass. He was standing directly behind her. Her breath hitched, and she slipped her hand into the utility pocket of her apron, gripping her canister of pepper spray before she turned.

  He put his hands up in mock surrender and grinned. “Don’t shoot, lass.”

  Her heart didn’t stop racing but her expression softened into a smile at the sight of him. She couldn’t hear Benedict’s voice, but she imagined it was deep and dark like his eyes, mysterious and cultured. And reading his lips was a pleasure. He had a generous mouth of stunningly white teeth, and he moved his sensual lips slowly, as though he was slowing his speech just for her. Heat blossomed in her cheeks and she tamped it down quickly.

  He was a new customer in her flower shop. He’d first come in just a couple of weeks ago, but it wasn’t the first time she’d seen him. His face had haunted her dreams before he’d ever set foot in her store.

  For the past few weeks, the faces of two men came to her while she slept, leading her to believe they would both wander into her life soon enough. But recently a Banshee’s wail had also invaded the dream. Her grandmother had instilled a respect for the old Irish legends in her, and she recognized the shriek, waking her from the dream. The Banshee symbolized a coming death, but for who?

  Since the bombing that stole her hearing and nearly took her life, she’d grown accustomed to glimpses of the future invading her sleep, but usually they were vague, brief events, and rarely did a clear face appear. And never a Banshee’s cry. Until now.

  The other man in her dream was the stark opposite of Benedict, with dark-red hair like liquid fire and eyes as green as Belvoir Forest. Their paths hadn’t crossed.

  Yet.

  She knew their lives were meant to collide—otherwise they wouldn’t have appeared to her at night—but for now she wasn’t sure how or why.

  Still smiling, she withdrew her pen and tattered notepad from her pocket. Good to see you. I was nearly closed up.

  He grinned, placing his large well-manicured hands on the counter. “I am in need of a few long-stemmed red roses.”

  She nodded, dropping her pad and pen back into her apron. The roses were already tucked into the cooler, but she made her way over to retrieve five stems. Most customers requested an even number of buds, but Benedict’s usual request was for five.

  She clipped off the ends and pulled a length of cellophane from the roll. She held up a branch of baby’s breath, but he dismissed it with a shake of his head. Only roses. Easy enough. She began to wrap the flowers and couldn’t help but wonder about the lucky lady who’d captured his fancy. A wife? A girlfriend, maybe? Before Juliana’s father had died, he’d made it a habit on Fridays to bring her mother fresh bouquets of wild flowers from their property. Back then, she’d imagined her husband would do the same. But life had changed quite a bit since she was a girl.

  She shook off the thought, stapling the cellophane around the roses, and returned to the counter. After ringing up his purchase, Benedict handed her an extra bill and smiled. “Thank you, Juliana.”

  He tilted his head slightly, and she nodded in reply, closing the door behind him. She glanced at the clock and tucked her notepad and pen into her purse before untying her apron. If she hurried, she could get to the pub before the regulars.

  Giving the shop a final once-over, she set the alarm and locked up.

  Colin stretched and stepped out of Belfast International Airport, breathing the mist of Ireland into his lungs. He’d flown back on a bloody airplane. How far the once-mighty God of the South had fallen.

  He’d never fly on his own again, never experience the freedom he found in his spirit animal form.

  He yanked up the collar on his wool coat and wove through the bustle of travelers waiting on the curb for transport. It would’ve been even worse during the day, coming in on the red eye wasn’t all bad. At least he still had his preternatural speed. He remained a Night Walker. The demon could not take that from him.

  Once he was free from the mortals, he broke into a run. They’d never even seen him pass by.

  He slowed as he approached his estate and walked up the cobbled drive. The chill in the air sent a shudder down his spine. After spending a few weeks back in the jungles of the Yucatan, his true homeland, he’d already adjusted to the heat and humidity. While Ireland also boasted rain and moisture, with it came the bite of frigid wind off the churning sea.

  “Colin? That you?” His groundskeeper held up a lantern, illuminating his young face. He had dark eyes and hair to match, but his smile, exposing the dimples in his cheeks, was infectious.

  Even in Colin’s current state, a halfhearted grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Aye. It’s me Bartley.” He shook the man’s rough hand.

  “Ye came in on foot?” He tugged the brim of his hat. “Was expectin’ the giant red-tailed hawk to soar through the window one night and scare the crap out of Claire.”

  Bartley’s younger sister, Claire ran the household for Colin. Acting as human resources, literally, she made it possible for the farm to run without requiring him to have contact with the staff. Claire handled hiring and firing, paid the bills, and ordered supplies. She kept Sea Haven running smoothly and his secret from being discovered.

  Colin rotated his mangled left arm under his jacket, ignoring the mental pull of his spirit animal. The hawk didn’t understand his reluctance to shift forms. “Looks like I’ll be on foot a lot more now.”

  Bartley frowned. “W
hat happened? Anything I can do?”

  “Nope.” He draped his right arm over Bartley’s shoulder. “That’s the bloody hell of it. There’s nothing any of us can do.”

  “Did someone bespell ye?”

  Colin shook his head. Although Bartley and the previous generations of his family had tended Colin’s property and knew his immortal secret, he had no desire to share the details of his recent battle with the Night Demon. “Catch me up. What have I missed?”

  Bartley walked with him toward the house. Colin tried not to focus on the sound of his pounding heartbeat. Inside his mouth, he teased the tip of his fang with his tongue.

  “That bastard Benedict is back in town. Claire caught sight of him walking the paths in Belvoir Forest.”

  “Dammit.” Colin clenched his fists. If Benedict discovered his new handicap, the aughisky would be a thorn in his side, and potentially deadly to the women in his care. Damn water spirits were like that. “I’ll find the bastard and remind him of the boundaries of my territory. In the meantime, be sure Claire warns the rest of the staff. Benedict can be charming.”

  “He’s a brick shy of a load if he thinks he can measure up to you.”

  Colin wished that were still true. It used to be. Now… He bent and straightened his left arm. He wasn’t so sure.

  Bartley tugged his gloves from his pocket. “I better finish up in the barn. Those sheep aren’t gonna feed themselves.”

  Colin nodded and watched Bartley walk over the rise. Benedict dared to stalk Belvoir Forest in his absence. He’d only been away for a few weeks. Cocky bastard.

  He’d first met the aughisky shortly after landing on the shores of Ireland centuries ago. Water horses were more common back in those days when magic and myths still walked among the Irish people. The aughisky were shape-shifters who lived on land as handsome gentleman and lured ladies and children to the lochs and the oceans where they transformed into red-eyed horses, racing their prey into the cold waters to drown them and feed on their flesh.

  Not the type of man he wanted anywhere near the people in his care.

  Shortly after Colin had landed on the green isle, he’d rescued a maid from Benedict’s clutches, and the damned creature had never forgiven the slight. Later, when Colin had fought alongside Brian Boru, the first High King of Ireland, Benedict had allied himself with the Norsemen, and the rivalry had continued as the aughisky race faded into legend.

  If other water horses still lingered, Colin hadn’t found any of them in the past century. Only Benedict raised his wicked head occasionally, but he never dared trespass into Colin’s territory.

  Until now.

  He dropped his bag inside the entry to his estate, but he didn’t remove his coat. He wouldn’t be able to keep his new deformity a secret forever, but he wasn’t ready to explain it, either. Besides, he needed to feed before the sun came up. Jamming his hands in his pockets, he escaped into the shadows and mist to hunt. Pubs were usually a good place to start. Alcohol lured criminal minds with the promise of numbness. Colin hoped there would be more than one out tonight.

  There wasn’t enough fresh blood on the island to fill the void growing inside of him.

  Two black points surfaced in the dark turbulent waves. Below, powerful legs churned, propelling the large animal toward the shore. The moment his hooves made contact with the rocky seafloor, the mighty horse stood, water sliding off his smooth coat. He walked up the beach with slow, steady strides.

  From a distance, the humans often mistook him for a Frisian stallion, but those who came close enough to discover his true identity, to witness the hellfire burning in his eyes and the living seaweed threaded through his mane and tail, didn’t survive to warn the others.

  He stopped in the sand and shook the excess saltwater from his body. Letting out a snort, he pranced down the shore, invigorated with new life, his belly full of the flesh of the young woman he’d found walking in the park. The black beast reared up on his hind legs, thrusting his front hooves to the sky. Gradually, his form shifted back into a dark-haired human. He stretched his arms and stared up at the stars, some as old as he. Most of his kind had died out as the mortal world around them left its legends behind, but Benedict refused to walk away. Not yet. Not as long as that intruder from the Yucatan still walked among them.

  He’d been reclaiming his power with the Night Walker out of his way. This side of the island wasn’t hostile as long as the enemy was gone. And it offered more beaches and lakes for Benedict to feed than the territory where he’d been banished. No more struggling to build trust with women so they would accompany him on a long journey to the water. And now that he had fed three times in the past two weeks, his strength was replenished.

  Benedict walked to the outcropping of rocks where he’d left his clothes, dressing quickly and slicking his hair back. His lips curved into a twisted smile as he turned toward the city. When the Night Walker returned, he would be ready.

  Time for the mighty Mayan god to get the hell off Benedict’s island. He’d been a part of the waters of Ireland before man first sank a foot into the bogs. This was his land, his people, and he was through being told where and when he could feed.

  He zipped his pants and started buttoning his shirt. The five roses were still strewn across the rocks. He smirked, kicking one into the tide.

  He’d discovered recently that a man with roses and sad eyes attracted his prey, and a heart-wrenching tale of betrayal or loss assured they would listen long enough for him to cast his spell. Then he’d bring the hypnotized women to the source of his power. They’d stand transfixed while he shifted into his true form. He’d bow before them as a mighty steed, and they’d climb onto his back, eager to meet their watery fates.

  Benedict smiled, abandoning the roses on the rocks. He would never be banished from this place again.

  Rich piano chords bled into one another, the sound swelling like angry waves crashing against the cliffs. The music drew him closer to the door. Colin frowned. Classical piano pieces weren’t typical live pub music, but he’d never been inside the Bridled Pony before, either.

  He reached for the weathered wooden handle on the door and pulled it open, drenching himself in the music as it embraced him. His gaze shot to the piano. A woman sat on the bench, and the bar’s dim lighting didn’t dull the shine on her long dark auburn hair. Or her obvious passion.

  He took a step inside, the door closing behind him, and he nodded to the bartender. He shifted his attention back to the pianist. She played the old upright in her bare feet, her shoes sitting neatly on the floor beside the bench. Interesting. He took a seat at a small table to the side of the piano. The woman’s profile revealed warm features, full lips, round cheeks, and a determined countenance. Her fingers caressed the keys, making the worn instrument sing.

  He lost himself in the tune, his new shortcomings forgotten.

  When she reached the final cadence, her fingers remained on the keys, her foot sustaining the sound with the pedal until it faded into silence.

  Colin applauded, but she never moved. Not even a flinch.

  The blonde behind the bar called over to him. “She can’t hear ya. But I’ll let her know she has a new fan.” The bartender headed his way. “What can I get for ya?”

  He forced himself to stop staring at the fiery-haired angel and glanced up at the blonde. “She can’t hear me, but she plays the piano?”

  She tipped her head toward the woman at the keyboard. “That’s my cousin, Juliana. She was a piano prodigy before her accident. She can’t hear anymore, but she still loves to play, says she can feel the vibrations.”

  His ancient heart skipped a beat. He furrowed his brow, processing the information. “She’s deaf?”

  The blonde nodded, her thick, bobbing curls punctuating her answer. “I’m Muriel. Can I get ya somethin’?”

  “Pint of Guinness, please.”

  “You got it.” She gave him a wide smile and went back to the bar, only straying to tap Juliana’s
shoulder and point toward him.

  When Juliana turned, her dark eyes met his, and he reveled in the mystery wrapped up in the mortal woman before him. What compelled her to play music when she was denied the ability to hear it. Wouldn’t the playing pain her, reminding her of her disability?

  Questions filled his head, but he cautioned himself not to tap into her mind. As a Night Walker, the thoughts of mortals around him could be overwhelmingly loud, but Colin had shields, only reaching for people’s thoughts when it suited him. This woman had made him forget his injury, for a brief moment there was only the passion in her music. He longed to understand how she moved past her injury, but peering into her mind for answers would steal the pleasure of discovery, of getting to know her. So few people surprised him anymore. He wanted to savor it.

  But how would he discover his answers if she couldn’t hear his voice and he didn’t read her thoughts?

  It didn’t matter anyway. He should be locating Benedict and reminding the slick monster of the boundaries of his territory, not swooning over some girl in a pub. The aughisky could feed elsewhere. This county was under Colin’s protection. He rubbed his right hand down the deep divot in his left arm where his bicep had been.

  How much was his protection worth now?

  He looked up to see Juliana slip her feet into her shoes and smile in his direction. His lips parted in a crooked grin he’d forgotten he had. Color flushed her cheeks as she nodded toward him and walked to the bar.

  He ached to go to her. Curiosity was a rare sensation for a being as old as he, but he stayed in his chair. He had nothing to offer and no time to keep hiding in this pub. One drink to clear his head and then he would hunt.

  Muriel brought over his Guinness, and he lifted it to his lips. Most of his kind couldn’t tolerate drinking anything other than blood, but he’d lived on the island so long that he’d built up a tolerance and a love for a good, dark Guinness. He wouldn’t be able to drink all of it, but he could enjoy a few sips.