Phoenix Contract: Part Five (Fallen Angel Watchers) (6 page)

“But only half,” Rory, or maybe Culkin, said.

“We had different moms,” the other twin added.

“But not Tristan,” Kieran continued, ignoring the interruptions.

“Actually, those two had the same mom, but they’re not so bright, so don’t expect too much from ‘em,” Tristan said, throwing out the sarcastic barb with a smirk. He drew dirty looks from the twins.

“He’s a second, third?” Kieran frowned. “Cousin. Somethin’ like that.”

“Third,” Tristan interjected.

“Okay, that’s established,” Aiden agreed, laughing. “What about your dad?” Different mothers implied that at least Kieran and the twins shared the same father.

“Do you mind if I borrow this?” Kieran asked, indicating the .45.

After a hesitation, Aiden thumbed the safety into place and handed him the weapon. Since he had deliberately avoided her question, she wondered what was up.

The twins exchanged a wordless glance before one of them spoke: “Jonathan McLachlan,” he said. “Father heard threw channels that Watcher Bunson had died, so he sent us to fetch you home.”

Aiden’s jaw dropped. Her mind halted, drawing a perfect and complete blank. “Brothers?” she squeaked. Niall Talcott had only mentioned one. “As in
my
brothers?”

“Look at that. She’s speechless,” Culkin cackled.

“Hardly surprising,” Rory agreed sagely. “Going from being an only child to part of the McLachlan clan will do that to a person.”

Past Kieran’s shoulder, she caught a glimpse of Tristan’s face split in a wide grin as he too reveled in her bewilderment.

Kieran was the only one of the four who wasn’t laughing at her. He opened the chamber of the .45. Visible relief showed on his face when he discovered the weapon wasn’t loaded.

“You three are my brothers?” Aiden repeated, indicating Kieran and the twins while excluding Tristan. She had to be sure she’d heard right.

“Yep,” said one twin.

“Yup,” drawled the other.

“That’d be right,” Kieran agreed.

Dry mouthed, Aiden swallowed. She felt like she’d been led to a dessert buffet and then told she wasn’t allowed to sample anything on the menu.

“Damn,” she muttered, her disappointment vast and obvious, sending the twins into howling hysteria.

“I’m still available,” Tristan volunteered with an amazing arrogance, an outrageous self-confidence that defied both gravity and modesty.

“I doubt that Aiden is interested in cradle-robbing,” Kieran reprimanded, drawing an angry glare from Tristan.

“I can decide that for myself, thanks,” she said, feeling a touch snappish. Not that she necessarily
wanted
to date Tristan, who was only two or three years younger than Aiden, but she disliked having her “older brother” speak for her.

Kieran shot her a knowing look, and Tristan smirked, obviously assuming that her protest signified more than it actually did. Aiden veiled her exasperation behind a sigh and rolled her eyes.
Men!

Kieran had the .45 in his hand and was in the act of tucking the gun into his jacket. Aiden opened her mouth to protest when a shadow passed overhead and an oh-so-familiar aura of power spilled over them all like a fine, thick mist.

Oh no! She’d forgotten about Magnus, and the Celt moved too fast for Aiden to intervene on the young men’s behalf. The Celt descended straight out of the sky, his leather cloak billowing like great black wings.

“This is mine,” Magnus announced, snatching the .45 from Kieran’s hand.

Aiden’s heart leapt into her throat, and her mind raced, shouting warnings, but her voice was frozen. The Celt’s boot caught Kieran in the side of the head with a kick that looked powerful enough to break a man’s neck. The force sent the young man flying into a hedge.

Exclamations and curses tore from the throats of the men who spread out to surround Magnus. “Vampire!” shouted one of the twins. “He’s undead!”

“Don’t hurt them!” Aiden shouted, finally finding her voice, but her plea fell on deaf ears. She hurried to Kieran and checked for signs of life. She found a steady pulse, and sweet, blessed relief flooded her.

Rory and Culkin rushed Magnus, tackling the Celt from opposite sides. Arms outstretched, Magnus stood his ground and intercepted a twin with either hand. He rammed the pair together, creating a head on collision that slammed the twins’ skulls together. Aiden cringed as the red heads dropped to the ground and landed in limp heaps. Thankfully, both were still alive but out cold.

Arms stiff and extended, Tristan moved forward holding a Ruger, a .45 caliber firearm, aimed at Magnus. A burst of muzzle flashed and a booming succession of shots were fired. Magnus jerked in response to each bullet drilled into his torso. Tristan aimed for the Celt’s heart as he tried to destroy the vital organ which even the undead needed to survive. He could’ve aimed for the head, but Magnus’ hood obscured his face, making a precise shot impossible.

Magnus took a full clip of bullets into his heart, and the Celt didn’t once try to evade. He didn’t lose his footing either. Tristan’s gun clicked empty, and Aiden released her held breath with an explosive exhalation.

“My turn,” Magnus drawled, sounding both vicious and amused. His tone terrified Aiden, because she knew that he meant to kill.

Aiden leapt forward and placed herself between the two men. The act was the height of stupidity and bravado, but she couldn’t stand by and watch Magnus murder the boy.

“Magnus, do NOT hurt him, or I swear to God I’m going to…” Aiden left the threat hanging and turned to glare at the Celt with her hands on her hips. Behind her, she heard a distinctive click.

Tristan had taken advantage of the opportunity to reload. Hardly reassuring, because now she had weapons aimed at both her front and back.

“I might point out that you called me. You can’t just change your mind in the middle of a cry for help,” Magnus replied, irate with her inconsistency and illogic.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, it violates the damsels-in-distress code,” Aiden muttered. “So sue me.”

“Aiden, what’s going on?” Tristan demanded. “You know this
thing
?”

The insult struck the soft underbelly of Magnus’ ego, and a low snarl issued from the Celt.

On a gut level, Aiden sensed Tristan was testing Magnus. Her newly learned spellcasting abilities allowed her to perceive the mystical energy crackling in the metaphysical miasma about them. Tristan’s power was solid and rooted in the earth, an immoveable and unyielding force. What Tristan lacked in flexibility, he made up for in sheer, stubborn cussedness.

In contrast, Magnus’ distinctive power swelled through the alley, constantly shifting, swift and supple, never fully revealing his entire ability. The fog obscured the true extent of the Celt’s power. He was darkness and mystery, both beautiful and terrifying.

Electrically charged currents streamed through the air as their auras clashed, and the entire cloud roiled, a building storm hanging above their heads. And she stood in the center of the tempest, trying desperately to prevent the psychic conflict from escalating into further bloodshed.

“Jesus, he’s ancient. I’ve never seen one this old,” Tristan murmured in the distant, dreamy whisper of reverie. “Thousands of years, centuries crushing centuries, chaos and creation...”

“Your young friend has a bent for the poetic, Aiden,” Magnus observed with an amused chuckle.

Struggling to shake off the weight of the enchantment enshrouding them, Aiden stared at the Celt. “What’s with this ‘thousands of years’ stuff? I thought you were a millennium max?”

“Maybe he’s mistaken,” Magnus suggested mildly.

“Would it kill you to give a straight answer just once?” Aiden asked.

“Maybe.” Magnus gave an elaborate Gallic shrug.

The fluid movement seemed to shock Tristan out of his spellbound state. “You’re under his influence. He’s exercising some sort of mind control over you,” Tristan concluded, his voice thick with tension. He adjusted his stance slightly, this time taking aim at Magnus’ head.

Aiden could see him working through the dynamics of taking the shot, calculating his chances of killing and survival.

“I am not under his control!” she exclaimed, thoroughly exasperated with the very suggestion which was both outrageous and insulting.

“It’s hard to explain, but he’s a friend of mine.” Friend was a gross exaggeration, but she wasn’t quibbling over technicalities now.

Magnus had already proven that he was bulletproof, and Aiden wasn’t suffering any delusions. He was both tall enough and good enough to shoot over her head without hitting her. The real question that remained was whether he’d had an opportunity to reload the gun. She knew he was fast. But how fast exactly?

Magnus snickered. “I have to agree. That’s a ridiculous accusation if you know her. Aiden is as stubborn—”

“Oh, be quiet! You’re not helping.” Aiden glared at Magnus and then slowly swiveled to face Tristan. She raised beseeching hands.

“Move out of the way, Aiden. I understand that you have no control over what you’re doing,” Tristan instructed. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if you give me no other choice.”

Aiden realized with fresh fear that the gun was aimed at her. She hadn’t expected him to threaten her, although maybe she should have, because she knew less about Tristan Talcott than she did about Magnus.

“Tristan, I know this is hard to believe, but I am not under his control. Look in my eyes.
Listen
to me. I’m in full possession of my faculties.”

“I’m going to tell you one last time,” Tristan rasped. “Move out of the way. Stop protecting him or you’re going to force my hand.”

“She’s protecting you from me, you halfwit,” Magnus muttered in disgust. “I’ve had enough.”

Magnus moved past Aiden so fast that she only registered a blur as he seized Tristan’s wrist and forced the gun’s muzzle toward the ground. A single thunderous roar sounded as the Ruger discharged once.

Tristan reeled, staggered, and barely kept his footing. Magnus punched the boy in the face, plucked the Ruger from the teen’s hand, and casually tossed the gun aside. Another punch rendered Tristan unconscious, and he dropped to the ground.

Magnus and Aiden were left standing amongst the fallen.

“They’re still alive,” Magnus said, plainly expecting recognition for the effort he’d made.

“Thank you,” Aiden snapped. “I realize how much of a hardship not killing them was on you.”

“Not so much of a hardship,” came the disgruntled reply. “Matthew frequently asked me not to kill.” The sound of the priest’s name spoken aloud hurt, and Aiden averted her gaze from Magnus.

Aiden allowed her gaze to move from one young man to the next, thankful that they were still alive, but full of misgivings over how easily they’d been defeated. Kieran, who’d seemed to be the strongest of the four, had been taken down with a single blow. The same was true of the twins, and Tristan had withstood two whole punches before he also succumbed.

“I can’t drag them into this. I’ll only get them killed,” she muttered with a dawning realization. These men were strong, vital, but were only human.

“Who are they, anyway?” Magnus inquired, conveying only casual interest with those expressive vocals that carried emotion like music.

“Members of House Armaros,” she said, offering the simple explanation, the one that would satisfy him. “They were sent to retrieve me.”

“Ahh.”

Through narrowed eyes, she regarded the Celtic warrior she’d inherited from Father Matthew. How long would this odd relationship last? Honestly, she’d halfway expected to find him gone once he was released from his final promise to the priest.

“An unlikely ally,” Aiden mumbled, too low and incoherent to be heard except in her own thoughts.

“Aiden, did you say something?” Magnus strode toward her, a towering silhouette in his black leather bat-cloak, both killer and protector. The brief battle had made no impression on the Celt who had only the barest comprehension of human frailty. And he was powerful beyond imagination...

She had no idea whether she could trust Magnus, especially in light of the Celt’s bloody past and Matthew’s recent death. And yet, she had no other choice, because she couldn’t risk the lives of innocent people. If she needed an unlikely ally to aid her cause, then Magnus certainly fit the bill.

“It’ll have to be you,” Aiden announced.

“Will it?” Magnus tilted his head to the side, conveying curiosity.

Aiden reached out and grabbed hold of his hand. “Get us the hell out of here before one of them wakes up,” she told him.

“As you wish. Hold on.”

“To what?” Aiden asked.

Magic coalesced around them with a stunning jolt, like they were standing at the center of a lightning strike. A pair of enormous black wings unfurled from Magnus’ back.

The explosive takeoff forced the air from her lungs and left her clinging to Magnus for dear life. Aiden grabbed hold of his arms and hung on with all of her strength. The ground fell away at a dizzying rate.

The wings, pure physical embodiments of magic, were sleek and solid black, an impenetrable darkness denser than the surrounding night. Fully deployed, they spanned at least thirty feet. Fascinated, she stared with longing, desiring nothing more than to run her fingers over them. Were they covered in sleek feathers or suede-soft hide? Bird or bat?