Night Angel, Page 2

  Muriel wiped the bar and called over. “Where’re you from?”

  The jungles of the Yucatan. “The other side of Belvoir Forest. I own the Sea Haven Farm.”

  She glanced up from her work. “That’s the place Bartley tends, right?” She grinned. “How come he’s never brought ya here before?”

  Because I don’t eat pub grub. “I travel a lot on business.”

  “Didn’t mean t’ pin ya down for an excuse.” She raised a brow. “I know I’m not the fanciest place in town.”

  “I just don’t get out much.” He almost smiled. “Really.”

  He noticed Juliana watching him. She peered over at him from beneath her auburn mane and gestured to the stool beside her.

  How could he resist? He’d only stay a few minutes.

  Colin picked up his Guinness and approached the bar. “Is this seat taken?”

  She watched his lips and then shook her head.

  He pulled out the stool and sat down. “You play beautifully.”

  Juliana withdrew a pad and pen from the pocket of her coat. Thank you… I don’t know your name.

  “May I?” He pointed to her pen.

  She handed it to him, a playful spark lighting her dark eyes.

  Colin. He returned her pen. “You’re Juliana?”

  She nodded and offered her hand. He shook it, the warmth of her skin teasing his hunger, his thirst for blood surging. Her smile faded, and she released him to take up her pen.

  You’re freezing. Muriel makes a great hot toddy.

  He shook his head and pointed to his glass. “Just holding my cold Guinness too tight.”

  Her expressive features gave her recognition of his words away, and he tried to imagine the sound of her voice.

  Muriel came back over. “Want me to leave a tab open?”

  “Nah.” He laid a bill on the bar. “I can’t stay.”

  She took the money, shaking her head. “More to life than work, ya know.”

  “Maybe so.” His gaze remained fixed on Juliana’s. “But there’s no rest for the wicked.”

  She picked up her pen. You don’t look wicked to me.

  He took a swig of the stout and winked. “Looks can be deceiving.”

  “Thanks, Muriel.” He walked to the door, glancing back at the redhead on the barstool. “I hope I see you again, Juliana.”

  The door closed behind him, and Juliana glanced at Muriel. Her cousin was giving her a decidedly guarded look.

  “You invited him to sit beside you.”

  Juliana shrugged and feverishly wrote, You saw him. You would have done the same thing.

  Muriel smiled and pressed her finger to her chest. “I would sure, but that’s not your style.”

  Juliana rolled her eyes. I don’t have a style.

  “Bah.” Muriel grabbed the glass of Guinness and shook her head. “What kind of self-respecting man leaves a half a pint of Guinness behind?”

  Juliana’s gaze shifted to the door. Colin. The second man from her dream. What did it mean? She reached up to toy with the silver triquetra pendant around her neck. The Celtic trinity knot had been a gift from her grandmother, passed down through the family. She’d taught Juliana that all lives were intertwined, every thread binding to the other, no matter how distant.

  And now she sat on her cousin’s barstool wondering what connected her with Colin and Benedict. She didn’t know either man well at all, but if her dreams were any indication, that was about to change.

  She ran her index finger over Colin’s name, feeling the indentation of the paper. He’d had a glorious smile, but it had never reached his eyes. Muriel waved a hand in the periphery of Juliana’s vision, interrupting her thoughts. She glanced over to her face.

  “I was still talking.”

  Juliana smirked and jotted, Sorry.

  “I said you need to be careful. Ask Bartley about his boss next time he comes by. Find out who he really is before you waste your precious thoughts on that one.”

  Juliana sighed. Being deaf does not make me stupid or naive. I have pepper spray, and I’ve been through self-defense classes. I’m just as capable as you.

  “You and your mother are all the familyI have left, and she’d kick my arse if I let anything happen to you.”

  Juliana laughed and quickly pressed her lips together. She tried not to allow any sound to escape her throat. With no ability to hear herself, she had no idea how loud she might be. To be safe, she kept silent.

  Her pen scratched across the paper. I’m careful.

  “See that you are. There was something about that guy…”

  Juliana nodded, focusing on the door again. There was definitely something about him all right. He commanded attention. The moment she’d seen him, his smile had warmed her all over. He carried an aura of power, but it was his eyes intrigued her. Over the years, she’d learned to read the tiny lines around a person’s eyes, the nuances most people missed. He’d been playful with her, but when he mentioned looks could be deceiving, she’d recognized a flash of pain. There was a shadow lurking in the depths of his beautiful dark green eyes.

  His life was being woven into the fabric of hers, and she wanted to know why.

  Colin wandered the alleys in search of a heartless mortal to quench his thirst for blood, someone no one would miss. But his mind kept returning to the woman he’d met inside the pub. Her dark eyes haunted him, and her warm smile seemed strangely void of the bitterness he expected from someone who’d had her hearing stolen from her.

  What made her tick, he wondered.

  He turned a corner into a shadowed alley with tiny lights draped from above. Romantic if it weren’t for the muffled struggles of a woman. He focused on the sound, tracking it with his acute hearing.

  A drunken thug had a young lady pinned against a car, one hand over her mouth and one hand fumbling with his zipper.

  “If ye can get yer pants down one-handed without catchin’ yer snake in the zipper, yer too plastered to get it up anyway,” he called, allowing an Irish brogue to seep into his voice as he approached.

  “Bugger off. This is none of yer business.”

  Colin’s tone sobered, his already-deep voice lowering with each step. “Let her go.”

  The woman’s struggles picked up a notch, and her knee connected with her attacker’s groin. He slammed her head against the top of the car door. “Bitch!”

  Her eyes drifted closed, and Colin moved in. Before the man could utter a word, Colin’s fangs were deep in his neck. Pulling in deep draughts of rich, warm, alcohol-laced blood, the man’s memories flooded Colin’s senses. A life full of excuses. Everyone owed him a break, and he pissed away every opportunity, again to no fault of his own.

  Colin searched the man’s chaotic thoughts for the name of the lass lying unconscious in the alley beside the car. Finally, he saw her face. She’d been serving him drinks at a pub down the road, and he’d jumped her when she’d gotten off work. Scumbag. Her name was Penny.

  He braced the man’s weakened body with his good arm, drinking until the man’s heart finally stopped. Colin cut the tip of his tongue on his own fang, allowing his blood to heal the wound on the man’s neck.

  He rushed to the woman’s side, tapping her cheek gently. “Penny?”

  She groaned, slowly blinking. Suddenly her entire body tensed, her eyes going wide. He shook his head. “Yer safe now. He’s gone. Look at me, Penny.”

  She stared up at him, and he allowed his power to build in his gaze, flooding her mind and mesmerizing her to his will. He wiped the nasty incident from her memory, replacing it with a bad fall that caused the bump on her head. He walked her to her car and released her from his spell.

  “Goodnight, Penny. Take care of yourself.”

  She clicked the locks on her car and nodded. “I’ll have ice on it as soon as I get home.”

  “See a doctor if you start feelin’ ill.”

  She nodded and got inside, and Colin went back to the alley to clean up his mess. H
e bent to lift the man into his arms, a simple task with his inhuman strength, but his left arm made it difficult to maneuver and support the other half of the body.

  “Dammit!” He growled, anger flaring at the reminder of his permanent injury. His eyes burned. They’d be crimson red if anyone came around the corner, but at this point he didn’t care.

  Once he had the body settled in his arms, he ran for the coast and threw the body off the cliff to the sea below. He stared up at the stars. He used to love to shift into a huge red-tailed hawk and soar off of these cliffs up to the stars, skimming over the water, and glide over his farmlands.

  Never again. Now the stars just taunted him.

  Deep inside, his hawk stirred. He closed his eyes, forcing the desire back. He hadn’t shifted since the night when the Night Demon had captured his hawk and ingested part of his left wing. His Night Walker blood healed the wounds, but regeneration wasn’t possible.

  How could he make the animal spirit within him understand he could no longer fly? The thought of shifting and fluttering about, unable to take off, chilled him. It made eternity too bleak to face.

  Best not to think about it.

  Walking off his frustration, he continued along the coastline and down the hillside until the wind cooled his temper. The cliffs gave way to a gentle slope down to the shore. He jogged down to the sand, and a crease marred his brow.

  Abandoned on the rocks were scattered red roses.

  Juliana gave Muriel a hug and promised to text her when she got home. The wind pulled at her hair, and she tugged her coat tighter around her. Although she couldn’t hear their voices, she caught a few words from reading the lips of the couples passing by. Mostly questions about where to eat or inquiring about each other’s days. No depth but the simple pleasantries still made her sigh.

  She’d had a couple of relationships after she’d graduated high school, but it hadn’t worked out. One boyfriend could hear and had never seemed to get past the idea that she never would. He’d kept encouraging her to seek more doctors and to try expensive surgeries with no guarantee of success. He saw her as handicapped, and that was something she couldn’t tolerate.

  Being deaf had changed some parts of her life, but it didn’t make her any less of a person.

  Her other long-term relationship had been with a man who shared a hearing impairment. She’d thought they’d have a better connection, but in the end, his bitterness over his “disability” soured her infatuation with him.

  Revisiting past relationships wasn’t a usual pastime for the walk back to her little stone cottage next to the flower shop. She’d actually spent this last year enjoying the freedom of being single. Her two-bedroom, one-bath home was just the right size for her, and she could come and go as she pleased.

  But tonight she’d met Colin. And he’d written his name on her pad.

  Reading lips was simple—she did it without even thinking now—but something about him lifting her pen and writing it down had touched her. As if he’d wanted to be certain she had his name correct, a promise their paths would meet again.

  She rolled her eyes at the romantic rubbish running through her mind and unlocked her door. Brian, her orange-and-black Tabby cat, met her in the entryway, making a serpentine path around her ankles. He was named after the first High King of Ireland, fitting for the cat who ruled over the tiny kingdom of her cottage. She bent to stroke his sleek coat and went to the kitchen to get a can of food. But Brian didn’t follow as he usually did.

  She frowned and backtracked to find him at the front door, tail swishing. Brian was her ears, and if he heard something, he usually waited for her to find him. Juliana rose on her toes to peer out the peephole, and her breath caught.

  Colin turned to go, and she hesitated. Had he followed her home? Unease slithered down her back. The banshee’s call from her dream whispered through her memory. Maybe she was in danger. Or Colin. Or Benedict. It could be any of them, but she’d never discover what was unfolding, when it was coming and how to handle it, if she stayed hidden inside her home. Between the eagerness to decipher the message of her dream and the desire he stoked inside her, Juliana found it difficult to gauge her recklessness.

  She rose up on her toes again to see Colin walking down the tulip-lined path without looking back. She turned from the door and breathed a sigh of relief. It was probably better this way. Safer. She took a step and stopped. Would a stalker just turn and walk away when she didn’t answer the door?

  Maybe he’d seen her walking out of the pub and had called to her. She wouldn’t have heard him.

  Juliana rushed to the coffee table and slid open the drawer depositing a slender canister of pepper spray into her pocket. Better to be prepared. She opened her door and Colin glanced back at the sound. He smiled as she stepped out, closing the door behind her.

  He met her on the walkway. “Forgive me. I hope I didn’t frighten you.”

  She shook her head and realized she didn’t have her notepad. Holding up a finger to signal him to give her a minute, Juliana went back inside and returned with her pen and notepad.

  How did you find me?

  “Bartley told me you owned a flower shop. When I came by to see, you were coming up the walk. I called to you but…”

  I don’t hear so well. She smiled and then wrote again. Do you need flowers?

  He laughed, and she wished she could hear it. In that brief moment, the sadness lurking in his eyes lifted, the corners of his eyes revealed the lines of a face prone to laughter, and in that moment she caught a glimpse of the bright soul caged within, like a bird trapped behind bars.

  “Flowers were not why I came by.” He glanced around her porch like the answer might present itself. Finally he met her eyes again. “Forgive me. I should not have bothered you.”

  She shook her head. If I was bothered, I wouldn’t have opened the door.

  Colin stared at her words. The clever quips he’d taken for granted for centuries escaped him now as much as the miracle of flight. What was he doing? There was no reason to get to know her better. He was curious—perhaps more than curious about this beautiful resilient flower—but that was all. It wouldn’t change the fact that he was a Night Walker, and a damaged one at that. He had no right to draw this intriguing woman into his dark world.

  When Bartley had mentioned Juliana owned a flower shop, he was reminded of the roses on the rocks along the shore. Knowing Benedict was hunting in his territory, he couldn’t help but imagine the flowers were tied to the water horse somehow.

  It was unlikely they came from Juliana’s shop, there were plenty of florists in Belfast, but he’d wanted to see her again.

  “I came by to see if a man has been visiting your shop to purchase roses.”

  I sell roses to lots of men.

  He wanted to smack his forehead. Of course she did. Being so close to her made it difficult for him to think clearly. “Of course you do. That was a stupid question. Just be careful. Some women have gone missing and I found long-stemmed red roses on the rocks by the shore.”

  She frowned. Are you a detective?

  “I’m no detective, but I’m looking into all of this for a friend.” He tipped his head and took a step back. “Sorry for bothering you.” He stared into her dark eyes allowing himself to come closer again. “But I am glad you opened the door.”

  Before he could censure himself for his lack of willpower, she smiled. His immortal heart pounded in response, his spirit lifting like she wielded some kind of magic. She broke eye contact, and he pulled in a slow breath. She smelled like lavender and roses. It wasn’t a perfume, just the pure scent of her skin.

  I’m glad Bartley told you where to find me.

  He leaned in closer to see her words as she lifted her gaze. Having her this close to him made him ache to read her thoughts, to know what questions lingered behind her dark eyes. “I want to know you better.”

  Her full lips curved, drenching him in a sudden desire to kiss her.

  I
close up my shop at six o’clock tomorrow.

  He pointed to her words and waited for her to see his lips before he spoke. “Does this mean you want to know me better, too?”

  She caught her lower lip in her teeth and nodded.

  He grinned, feeling a dose of his lost bravado returning. “Shall I pick you up at six thirty?”

  He still needed to search for Benedict, but if the bastard was wooing his meals with flowers it would be best to keep an eye on Juliana’s shop. It didn’t hurt that he would get to spend time with her in the process.

  She scribbled quickly. I’ll be ready.

  Juliana shivered. The biting wind and cold seawater stung her face as she stumbled through the darkness. She spun around, desperate to find her bearings. Then she heard it, the banshee’s lone wail over the angry tide.

  Sound only came to her in dreams making it easy to recognize she was sleeping. Although she knew this was a dream, that didn’t change the message. Someone was going to die unless she could find a clue, some way to change the outcome.

  She walked further down the beach, the froth of the waves tickling her bare feet and the moonlight shining on the water. Her eyes gradually adjusted to the dim light as she stared out at the ocean. The mist and fog mutated into faces. She recognized Colin and smiled, then her customer, Benedict, came into stark focus and her skin flushed with warmth.

  The two men must be connected, but how?

  Hoofbeats caught her attention, pounding the sand like rhythmic cracks of thunder. In the distance, a large black horse tossed its mighty head. She gasped when it turned toward her, its eyes glowing red.

  Juliana sat up in bed, her nightgown stuck to her perspiring body.

  A banshee and a black horse. Both were omens of death.

  But whose?

  She reached for the silver triquetra at her neck. Her, Colin, Benedict, a black horse, and a banshee. Their lives were all entwined somehow. And if she’d learned anything about her prophetic dreams, one of them was going to die.

  After a shower and a hot bowl of oatmeal, the day ahead occupied her mind, the mystery that woke her at daybreak fading away. Juliana tied her hair back in a ponytail and started for the door. With any luck the shop would be busy and the hours would pass by quickly.