Night Angel (2 page)

“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.

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.”