Smoke in Moonlight (Celtic Elementals Book 1) (2 page)

She stepped forward and gave Kate a big hug, squeezing her too hard on purpose and getting a ‘Geroff me!’ in response.

“So—you’re sure you’ve just
got
to do this, are you, Lace?” Katie sounded as if she'd like to forget everything she’d just said. Her color was coming back and she looked sheepish—and resigned. Crisis averted.

“Of course, I have to vex your well-laid plans for my future. You know that, it’s in the sistering handbook.” She rolled her eyes and smiled. A smile Kate returned, if a little weakly.

Katie sighed. “You better be safe, Lacey. Don’t do anything stupider than usual.”             

Lacey laughed and picked up her carry-on. “I promise, no walks through moonlit woods. Besides, for your information, I didn’t even pack that sweater. So, your first foray into the prophetic is officially a bust. No Psychic Friends Network appearance for you!”

Katie laughed and shook her head. She climbed back in her white Volvo and waved as she drove off. Lacey smiled brightly and waved back until her sister was out of sight.

Her smile faded as she turned toward the check-in counter. It was okay to fib a little to make someone feel better, she told herself, if it didn’t really
hurt
anyone.

How could it hurt anyone that her favorite cashmere sweater—the gorgeous emerald-green one Katie had given her two Christmases ago—was the first thing she had put into her carry-on?

Ireland, County Limerick

His woods were dark. Free of moonlight and free of beasts, for now.

He loved the inky blackness, it settled around him like a velvet cloak, allowing him to hide his true nature for a time.

Others would scoff at this, those that loved him well would deny his true nature was naught but noble—his affliction one of circumstance—not choice.

His lip curled in the darkness. How little they understood. Choice may not have been a factor in his fate, but it no longer mattered.  Fate was winning out.

And he wanted it to
.

He lifted his face as the moon, finally rising in her last night of fullness, began to silver the glassy lake. He had often thought of her as his nemesis over the years, an enemy to be conquered and defeated.

A wry smile twisted his lips as he leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the moonbeams wash over him. Such a childish notion, really. Aine’s light gave him life—the only real life he would ever know. Pain was the only thing he had ever gained from denying that. And he was weary of pain. So weary....

As the moon lit his powerful body from head to toe in her glow, his form rippled once, as if distorted in the heat of an awesome fire, then he simply …melted into the moonlight.

Smoke crept from the tree line where he had stood.

It twisted and coiled like a sentient being possessed, slinking to the water’s edge. A grey shadow slowly formed, raising itself against the purple sky. A single, savage howl tore across the lake as the werewolf vanished into the forest, leaving the night hushed in its wake.

When Lacey got her first sight of Ireland—or tried to—it was shrouded in mist. She sat back from the plane window with a sigh, after an unsuccessful ten minutes of struggling to see anything—even a hint of green—but the nothingness was so nearly impenetrable she wondered how the pilot would manage to land.

But manage he did, and as the wheels bumped down Lacey's spine tingled. She was on Irish soil, finally! Or at least Irish pavement. She smiled and bounced out of her seat the moment the seat belt sign flickered off.

Outside the plane, the traffic in Shannon Airport seemed sparse. Most airlines flew into Dublin now, she supposed. Lacey wasn’t interested in Dublin. She planned on spending the bulk of her time in the west and it had made sense to get there as quickly as possible.

She wasn’t even spending the night in Shannon, instead she planned to bunk down in Ennis, a small town a bit to the southeast. She would make her way to County Tipperary from there.

That was the grand plan, but three hours later she hadn’t even left the airport. The car agency had managed to lose her internet reservation, though she had confirmed it by telephone before her flight and had her print-out with her. Sorting it all out seemed to take forever. Lacey found herself bone-tired and starving by the time she slid into the front seat of the little red Ford Anglia.

The wheel being on the wrong side was disconcerting, as was driving a manual for the first time in ages. That wasn’t half as bad as the sensation, while driving out of the suddenly teeming city, that everyone who flew past was going to crash right into her.

The urge to swerve was nearly overwhelming. The agent at the airport had assured her it would get better once she was out of the city, but by the time Lacey had left the lights of Shannon behind; it was approaching dusk, she had a raging headache and if she didn’t eat something soon, she was positive her stomach would start digesting itself.

What a start to her dream vacation, she thought ruefully, glad that Katie couldn’t see her now.

That thought had her straightening in her seat and glaring at her wan reflection in the rearview mirror. One minor delay wasn’t going to get to her, goddamnit. She was in
Ireland
, for God’s sake. Really and truly. She was damn well going to enjoy it.

Cautiously, she pulled off the side of the road and down a little dirt path that hardly looked vehicle-worthy before rummaging around in her carry-on until she found a crumpled granola bar and a package of gum. Sustenance in hand, she got out of the car. It was cool, but pleasantly so, especially when she clamored up to sit cross-legged on the warm hood.

During her hours in the airport the mist had vanished and the darkening sky was a deep, clear azure with tatters of mauve clouds stealing across it here and there.

The sun was a molten red-gold ball half-sunken behind the rolling, black hills. Everything smelled green—even if she couldn’t see much of it— and a river was chattering along somewhere. The pleasant sound eased away her headache with gentle fingers, soft and soothing.

God, she was tired.

Lacey leaned back and laid her head on one arm and stared up at the purpling sky. By the time the first star popped out, the half-eaten granola bar had dropped from her free hand to land with a thump on the grass. Lacey didn’t notice. She was sound asleep.

Many miles to the east, the man prowled among his family restlessly. They laughed and ate and stole sideways glances at him, pierced with furtive concern. They did not voice their worries, which itself made him uncomfortable. His family were never at a loss for words. The fact that they were silent tonight underscored his own feelings of unease.

Feeling smothered, he slipped outside into the darkness, cursing the waning moon and her dying light.

Once the moon started to shrink he was locked inside this form. No escape for him this night. He laid his hands on the low, stone wall and bent his head in frustration. His fingers curled into fists. Something had been stalking him all day, a presence that he couldn’t place—not in his human form. He only recognized danger and it was maddening not to be able to identify it.

So intent was he on his internal struggles, he didn’t hear the click of the latch or the woman until she laid a hand on his arm. His head whipped around and a snarl curled his face before her smell wafted up to him. His shoulders fell and he took a breath.

“Gods, Mam! I still canna believe yer able to do tha' to me."

The woman smiled and patted his arm. “Be easy, Ronan, me boy. Yer da always did say I had a light step. And 'tis served me well a time or two with ye boys, if memory serves.”

“Ye remember it tha' way, maybe,” he mumbled at the wall, “no' I.”

She laughed and swatted his arm. When he didn’t look up with an answering smile, her laughter faded. She sighed and her eyes drifted back to the fading moon. The woman was silent so long, Ronan finally looked up and followed the direction of her gaze. He shook his head.

“Ye’re wrong to be glad it’s waning, Mam.” He said in a tired voice. “It makes nae difference, anymore. No' really.”

“Ronan, I’ll nae hear ye talk that way! Especially now.” Her voice was resolute, but her face held a knowing smile.

He turned away, trying to hide his disdain. Once he would have died rather than disappoint her, but it was much too late for that now.

“Mam, give it up. Nothing has changed, nothing will
ever
change, donna ye realize by now....” Suddenly the import of her words struck him. “What do ye mean ‘
especially now?’
What have ye seen, Mam?”

There was no excitement in his tone, only urgent necessity. Maybe his mother’s sight would illuminate this shadow he felt on his soul. What soul he had left anyway.

“Nae,” his mother said, “I donna see as clearly as I used to, Ronan, nae even in the other world. But—” her deep brown eyes left the sky and sparkled into his gray ones, brimming with anticipation. “—something is coming, some
one
that can save ye. I feel it in my bones, Ronan. 'Tis the first real hope I’ve had in—”

“Tha’s a lie!” Ronan pounded the wall once with his fists, his words slicing through hers sharply. “
All
hope is a lie, Mam. It’s just a trick the gods play on us
for fun
. Damme, donna ye know tha' by now! Whatever ye see, it isn’t going to help me!”

He took her hands into his own and shook them gently, his eyes boring into hers.

“Ye've got to stop believing tha' anything can save me, Mam. Tha's… nae longer possible. If it ever was.” His voice was bitterly final as he dropped her hands and stalked away, passing the light-silvered door and vanishing into the night.

Moiré Fitzpatrick turned her back on the moon and watched her son fade away.              

“Ah, Ronan, tha’s tha one thing I canna ever believe,” she said softly. “The gods owe me and I think it’s finally time they paid up.
Ye hear me, Aine?
” Her brown eyes flickered to the purpling sky.

“Ye give my boy a chance this time! Enough is enough. Even a goddess should know when to bow out gracefully.”

Moiré glared once more over her shoulder at the moon before slipping through the door. The breeze that sighed down the eaves in her wake seemed to trill with laughter, but the voices from inside quickly drowned it into nothingness.

She was running through the woods, the harsh light of a full moon making shadows both jagged and monstrous. Smoke was ahead of her. Twisting and alive, it infused the misty air with the tang of sulfur, but something horrible also lurked behind, forcing her to run toward those coiling, grey tendrils. She'd fallen more than once and her hands and feet were burning with pain. She could taste the coppery blood where she'd bitten her tongue. But some viciously urgent purpose pushed her on, something more powerful than fear or pain. But it was cold
—

—so cold and hard and...

Lacey sat up with a jerk, searching the darkness with bewildered eyes.

"What the hell?" Her voice sounded weak and slurred to her own ears.

It was a pitch-black world she'd awakened to, pieces of the disturbing dream clinging to her mind like a shroud. In the moment it took for her disorientation to subside, fear paralyzed her. She held her breath, heart pounding, anticipating a snarl that never came.

When Lacey saw the stars twinkling overhead and a moon just barely on the wan far to the east, she cursed her sister for her contagious dreams and her own consummate stupidity falling asleep on a
car
in a strange country in the middle of the
night
.

"Damn it, Kate! For someone with no imagination, you sure managed to paint a vivid picture."

And now, she was talking to herself.

Brilliant.

With an oath, she slid off the icy hood and dropped to the damp ground, her legs protesting with a cascade of fiery pinpricks. Lacey hopped up and down—trying to get her legs to wake up and her mind to clear—only to hear a nasty-sounding crunch from somewhere under her feet.

“No, no, no!” She reached down with a sickening feeling to pull her dew-beaded, fogged and now thoroughly cracked iPhone from the wet grass next to the car.

She wrenched open the car door and flopped inside, tossing the dead and useless phone in the passenger seat with disgust and dropping her head to the steering wheel with a moan. Maybe her first novel should be about a crazy American tourist who gets herself stranded in the wilds of Ireland and....

Shivers raced down Lacey's arms as the nightmare crept back over her. Perhaps it wasn't best to finish that thought. With a shudder, she identified that wrenching emotion that had driven her on and on in the terrible dream.

Despair. She’d only felt it so strongly once in waking life, but it was unmistakable.

She sat in the car letting the sick feeling in her stomach subside before turning the key. She may be more familiar with dreams than her sister was, but if this was the kind Kate normally had, no wonder she wished to opt out.

With considerable effort, she shoved the nightmare out of her mind and focused on
now
.  As the car hummed around her, she realized making her reservation in Ennis was out. She'd have to find a phone to call and apologize tomorrow. Or later today, rather. Since she was wide awake with that stop out of the equation, she figured she might as well head on to her real destination, County Tipperary. The place her Ryans had come from, so long ago.

Her stomach growled loudly. Lacey sighed, finding the pack of gum in her pocket and shoving a piece in her mouth. The next time she ventured on a cross-Atlantic journey she was going to make damn sure to pack a bag of food. A
huge,
lovely bag of food. With another sigh, Lacey turned the car onto the roadway and headed east, chasing the shrinking moon.

He found himself unable to sleep. Yet again. In and of itself, that wasn’t surprising. The dream, however, had been.

Ronan stretched his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling, his heart still racing. Normally, he never remembered his dreams. Even now, he could only catch flashes, bits of images, feelings. But the intensity of those feelings....

His fingers knotted in his longish, black hair. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt fear—real, human, gut-paralyzing fear.

It was ridiculous. He ripped the bedcovers from his body, feeling the cold sheen of sweat on his skin and hating it. Stalking naked to the window, his heavy, muscular body illuminated only by starlight, Ronan stared out at the night.

He hadn’t even been afraid when he’d first changed….

Well, not for long anyway. The wildness had been too intoxicating, too heady for fear. And now, while he might feel briefly guilty at the piercing thrill of transformation, that was fading. Had been fading for years. Certainly, he never felt
fear.
He craved the wildness too much. The guilt merely remained as a reflex. An offering to his family, perhaps.

But, in this dream, he'd known terror. He'd woken smothered by it. But he could not remember what had initiated it…

Who had that woman been, the one with the aquamarine eyes, who haunted him there? That part of the dream had been disconcerting in an entirely different way. Ronan snorted in irritation.

She'd been a tiny thing, but all woman. Ripe with curves that his hands ached to traverse in the real world. His palms heated just thinking of her soft skin, the cries she had made when he took her. Such a damme tempting pixie with red-gold hair and those bright blue-green eyes…

His desire for this woman surprised him. It gnawed at his belly like a raw hunger. In the dream, they had attempted to quench that desire. Over and over again. The images he recalled had him hardening in response, even as the sweat of his fear continued to evaporate into the night.

Despite the strength of his desire—or maybe because of it—she made him uneasy. He hadn't lusted for a woman like that in….

Shite. He couldn't remember. Had he
ever?
Women and sex had been a non-issue in his life for a very long time. If he got the urge, he satisfied it. With as few complications as possible.