Blood In Fire (Celtic Elementals Book 2) by Heather R. Blair Page B
Authors: Heather R. Blair
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curious, intent and searching.
She pressed her lips together, her eyes wide as she stared up at Aidan, at this man she was rapidly beginning to fear might not be a man at all.
What was she thinking— not a man ? What the other fucking options were there ?
Aidan jerked back with an oath. His nostrils flared.
“What the…. Lacey?! Ye know Ronan’s Lacey?” He sounded shocked, but not anywhere near as shocked as Heather felt.
Shivers cascaded in cold waves down her spine. Her vision started to go all funhouse mirror and her knees went weak. She had to lean back against the wardrobe for support or she would have slid right down to the floor for the second time tonight.
“How…! Where is Lacey and who the hell is Ronan?” Her voice sounded all wrong to her own ears, distant, tinny and unreal.
Aidan didn’t answer her. He had turned his head away and appeared to be sniffing the air. A look crossed his face that made her already quaking insides turn to mush. It was a look close to fear—before it hardened into something calculating and bitter cold. His hand reached out to clamp her wrist and shook her once, hard.
“Things are about to go arseways again, love. Hold on to tha' thought, but keep yer damme mouth shut!”
He had barely gotten the words out before the door to the hotel room swung open.
It moved slowly. Floating until it reached the end of its hinge and started to swing back. An oddly grotesque hand slapped it down and kept it open. It was dark and gnarled with filthy, yellowed nails that had been filed into ragged points and dripped with blood.
Stark red splatters streaked the soothing mint-green paint.
Heather’s heart kicked back into roaring life at the sight of that hand. In pure instinctive panic, she tried again to yank out of Aidan’s grip. One look from those crystalline eyes of his and all the fight drained out of her at once.
His goddamn eyes were glowing.
Chapter 3
“Aidan. My dear, dear boy, how have you been?” Like spiders scurrying, that voice crawled through the doorway, pale, creepy and cold. It wasn’t possible that a voice alone could hold such terror, but this one did. Heather whimpered and Aidan’s fingers tightened warningly on her skin.
“Oh ye know me, Abhartach. A few women, a few drinks, several fights and I'm as happy as a pig in shite.”
“Hmmm.” The man came into view almost in pieces, at least Heather’s terrified mind processed it that way.
First, that god-awful hand, then the head; bloodlessly white but with veins traced thinly in blue on parchment paper skin drawn tight over a monstrous skull. Black eyes with very little whites shone in the doorway and seemed to hover in that skeletal face. The slash-like mouth was turned up in a humorless smile as those eyes slithered over Heather. “I see you have the woman part covered. Bring her if you must. She can be the entertainment at your homecoming feast. Hell, she can be the feast.”
Heather turned panicked eyes back to Aidan. She was caught in a nightmare. She really wanted to believe she was tripping, that Aidan had slipped her something and this was some sort of a fucked-up hallucination—
She couldn’t swallow that explanation, as much as she dearly wanted to choke it down. She could only look to Aidan. She was very sure he was her one shot out of this, and a long one at that.
Aidan seemed at ease. He was smiling, his head tilted with an air of polite attentiveness. If it hadn’t been for the tension in his fingers on her wrist and the glowing eyes, she would have thought he was conversing with an old friendly acquaintance instead of this demonic thing that had appeared in their room. She'd seen him like this once before, she realized. That one night in Istanbul. The night she'd almost died.
Oh fuck.
“I'm no' really one for feasts and fanfare, as ye well know.”
“Well, it is about time you got over that! Far past time for you to take your rightful place as my heir. I have been
She pressed her lips together, her eyes wide as she stared up at Aidan, at this man she was rapidly beginning to fear might not be a man at all.
What was she thinking— not a man ? What the other fucking options were there ?
Aidan jerked back with an oath. His nostrils flared.
“What the…. Lacey?! Ye know Ronan’s Lacey?” He sounded shocked, but not anywhere near as shocked as Heather felt.
Shivers cascaded in cold waves down her spine. Her vision started to go all funhouse mirror and her knees went weak. She had to lean back against the wardrobe for support or she would have slid right down to the floor for the second time tonight.
“How…! Where is Lacey and who the hell is Ronan?” Her voice sounded all wrong to her own ears, distant, tinny and unreal.
Aidan didn’t answer her. He had turned his head away and appeared to be sniffing the air. A look crossed his face that made her already quaking insides turn to mush. It was a look close to fear—before it hardened into something calculating and bitter cold. His hand reached out to clamp her wrist and shook her once, hard.
“Things are about to go arseways again, love. Hold on to tha' thought, but keep yer damme mouth shut!”
He had barely gotten the words out before the door to the hotel room swung open.
It moved slowly. Floating until it reached the end of its hinge and started to swing back. An oddly grotesque hand slapped it down and kept it open. It was dark and gnarled with filthy, yellowed nails that had been filed into ragged points and dripped with blood.
Stark red splatters streaked the soothing mint-green paint.
Heather’s heart kicked back into roaring life at the sight of that hand. In pure instinctive panic, she tried again to yank out of Aidan’s grip. One look from those crystalline eyes of his and all the fight drained out of her at once.
His goddamn eyes were glowing.
Chapter 3
“Aidan. My dear, dear boy, how have you been?” Like spiders scurrying, that voice crawled through the doorway, pale, creepy and cold. It wasn’t possible that a voice alone could hold such terror, but this one did. Heather whimpered and Aidan’s fingers tightened warningly on her skin.
“Oh ye know me, Abhartach. A few women, a few drinks, several fights and I'm as happy as a pig in shite.”
“Hmmm.” The man came into view almost in pieces, at least Heather’s terrified mind processed it that way.
First, that god-awful hand, then the head; bloodlessly white but with veins traced thinly in blue on parchment paper skin drawn tight over a monstrous skull. Black eyes with very little whites shone in the doorway and seemed to hover in that skeletal face. The slash-like mouth was turned up in a humorless smile as those eyes slithered over Heather. “I see you have the woman part covered. Bring her if you must. She can be the entertainment at your homecoming feast. Hell, she can be the feast.”
Heather turned panicked eyes back to Aidan. She was caught in a nightmare. She really wanted to believe she was tripping, that Aidan had slipped her something and this was some sort of a fucked-up hallucination—
She couldn’t swallow that explanation, as much as she dearly wanted to choke it down. She could only look to Aidan. She was very sure he was her one shot out of this, and a long one at that.
Aidan seemed at ease. He was smiling, his head tilted with an air of polite attentiveness. If it hadn’t been for the tension in his fingers on her wrist and the glowing eyes, she would have thought he was conversing with an old friendly acquaintance instead of this demonic thing that had appeared in their room. She'd seen him like this once before, she realized. That one night in Istanbul. The night she'd almost died.
Oh fuck.
“I'm no' really one for feasts and fanfare, as ye well know.”
“Well, it is about time you got over that! Far past time for you to take your rightful place as my heir. I have been
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