The bucolic Irish countryside did nothing to dispel the sense of urgency bubbling inside her. Something was desperately wrong. She felt it. Aly knew her sister, and though Casey liked to have a good time, she wasn’t stupid. And she wasn’t the kind of woman who would have gone home with a man she’d just met.
Which left only one possibility.
Casey was in some kind of trouble.
The owner of the B and B had made a couple of phone calls for her, checking in with the local hospitals, but there was no record of an American woman being treated or admitted. So fine. She wasn’t in the hospital. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t be lying in a ditch somewhere and…
“Stop it,” she told herself. She wasn’t going to let her imagination take over. There would be a reasonable explanation for this. Maybe Casey hadn’t been able to get a cab back and had stayed at a hotel in town. “But if she’d done that, she would have called to let me know.”
The narrow road unwound in front of her like a black ribbon snaking through lush fields of green. On either side of the road, gorse bushes sprouted tiny yellow flowers in clusters so rich and thick that you couldn’t see through them to the farms beyond. On her right, Lough Mask lay spread out into the distance, a watery sun splotching the gray surface with flashes of brilliance.
When a car headed toward her, Aly gulped in a breath and held it, steering her car as far over to the left as she could. The gorse bushes scraped at the car, and as the other driver passed, he lifted a hand in greeting and drove on.
Aly blew out that breath and took another. She couldn’t imagine driving these roads all the time. It was terrifying. But at the moment, she had more to frighten her than tiny roads, careless drivers and the sheep that suddenly wandered out in front of her.
Stomping on the brake, Aly jerked to a stop and waited while the white-and-black sheep stared at her as if she were an intruder. And, hell, she was. She should never have come here, Society or not. And she certainly shouldn’t have brought Casey with her.
Casey.
Honking her horn, Aly eased off the brake and crept up on the sheep as slowly as she could. But she didn’t have the time to simply sit parked while the damn animal decided where it wanted to go. Clearly irritated, the sheep glared at her, then bounded across the road and Aly was once more flying down a narrow strip of asphalt, muttering unintelligible prayers as she went.
The local police, the Garda, weren’t too concerned when Aly faced them down with tales of a missing sister. But she’d been all over Westport. She’d visited dozens of pubs, talked to whoever would listen and, nearly frantic, had finally discovered the place her sister had last been seen, a pub called the Sidhe, which sat on the corner of the main street, just across from the river that snaked alongside the bustling city.
And the waitress at the Sidhe remembered serving Casey. Even remembered her leaving. Alone. About twelve o’clock the night before. Then, it was as if she’d slipped into a hole in the earth.
“If you don’t mind my sayin’ so, miss,” the sergeant at the broad wood desk said with a smile, “you’re worrying for naught. I’m sure your sister is simply enjoying her first trip to Ireland.”
Aly bit down on her frustration. The man was trying to be nice, after all. “The question, Sergeant, is where is she enjoying herself?”
He gave her another smile that flashed briefly in his clear blue eyes. “Ah, well, now. She’s an adult, isn’t she? There’s no sign of foul play. You’ve said yourself, the waitress at the Sidhe says she left under her own power, none the worse for wear.”
Around her, the police station hummed with activity. Somewhere down the long, narrow hallway a woman was crying, and Aly hoped to heaven that wasn’t an omen. She heard snatches of English mixed in with the musical sound of Gaelic. Burned coffee stained the air, and the sergeant in front of her had bread crumbs on his uniform jacket. It was as if she were outside herself, noticing all the little details of the room in a blind effort to keep calm. To keep from screaming that her sister was in trouble and no one was listening.
“Now, if you’d like to leave the number of where you’re staying, I’ll be sure to let you know if I learn anything.”
“Sergeant,” Aly tried again, desperate to make him do something to help her. “My sister and I are traveling together. Casey wouldn’t simply disappear without telling me. She would know that I’d be worried.” Calm. Collected. In control. Hysteria would only make him dismiss her entirely. “Something’s happened to her, and I need you to help me look for her.”
Sighing, he pulled a piece of paper in front of him, picked up a pen and, giving her a look that clearly said she was wasting his precious time, asked, “Will you tell me again what she looks like?”
“Yes.” Aly didn’t care if he didn’t believe her. Didn’t care if he was patronizing her. All that mattered was that he was filling out an official report. She dug out her wallet, produced a picture of her sister and handed it over.
“I can’t promise you much, miss.” He studied the photo of a smiling Casey for a long moment, then made notes in a tidy hand. “Your sister’s a grown woman. She’s been gone only overnight. For all you know, she’s hunkered down in a hotel with one of the local lads, I’m sorry for saying so.”
Aly bit down hard on her bottom lip, then said, “Casey’s not like that. I’m telling you, something is wrong. I know it.”
“Ah, well, then, we’ll see what we can do.”
While he wrote down everything she said, Aly looked around the station again. And this time, she noticed the pages tacked up to a bulletin board in the entrance. Missing notices. With pictures and descriptions of young men and women. They dotted the entire surface of the corkboard and filled Aly with trepidation.
If the Garda hadn’t found any of those people…how would they find Casey?
Chapter 3
Rogan slipped through the countryside and made no more than a whisper of sound. A young moon gave fitful light as it slipped in and out of thick clouds rolling in from the sea. He moved with the stealthy grace he had learned over the long centuries of solitary battles. His gaze swept the darkness as he made his way across the open field, searching, always searching for the telltale energy traces that would lead him to a demon.
The wind was icy and tossed the branches of the trees into a tangle of limbs. But he hardly noticed. The night was home to him, the open land more easy on his soul than four walls could ever be. He belonged here, hunting. The scent of peat smoke from a nearby chimney came to him, and for one brief moment, memories crowded Rogan’s mind. Memories of other times, when he’d roamed these very hills in the company of his brother warriors. Before he’d died. Before he’d begun his eternity on the hunt.
As a Guardian, Rogan was one of many. Chosen at the moment of their death to defend humanity from the demon threat, Guardians were immortal. And with the gift of long life came other gifts. All of them were telepathic, able to read the minds of the humans they protected. Some of the Guardians had other gifts, as well, gifts that had been with them in life and were, over the course of eternity, strengthened, made more powerful.
Rogan, though, was only what he appeared to be—a warrior. A man who had known little else in life beyond the camaraderie of a battlefield and the company of others like himself. He’d served the last hereditary high king of Ireland, Brian Boru, and his last act on Earth had been to avenge his king’s death. He valued loyalty. Honor.
And told himself that the vow he’d made so long ago was enough for him.
Then