The Compass (5 page)

Oh yes, she had indeed been clever, but not as clever as he. On that fateful night, the night Agrona had severed the Star, He had ensured that he would be able to locate where the Fragments ended up—well, at least one of them. The war goddess had been able to thwart his plan for all the pieces. But all he needed was to find the one, and he was very close. Once he had all the Fragments, the next stage of his plan could begin to unfold, one that would require instruction. How fortunate for him that in his victory over Agrona, he gained the scrolls.

The scrolls of the ancients held the secrets to the Star, and had been hidden well. Possessing them would allow him to unlock the full potential of the Star. One scroll represented one Fragment. His preference of course, would be to gain all the women now. In his current state however, there was only so much he could accomplish. Though his strength was returning, it was not happening as fast as he desired.

Mortals brushed passed him, and each time it happened, he read their minds, took energy from those with strength, and ignored the ones who were lacking. When he came across the few that possessed abilities, he marked them, sending their information to James. They would be needed later. In regards to his dilemma, he knew exactly what he needed. He needed chaos.

Chapter Five

Sitting at a bar on a Friday night served two purposes in her opinion, and one of them, Ali didn’t need to qualify because it had been ages since she had gone out on a date. She was here for the
one
thing a noisy bar could do—help her drown her sorrows. Tossing back the rest of her drink, she knocked on the bar top to signal for another. New York on a Friday night was no joke. Besides, after the pain meds had worn off and she had successfully closed her mind off to the illusions, she had had nothing to do but mull. She hated mulling. Well, unless it involved work in which case she didn’t mull, but rather dissected.

Oh, if her mother could see her now. She could just picture it, in a flurry of silks and suffocating perfume, her mother would have her whole life packed up in a tiny box before the count of three. Better yet, Ali was sure her mother would just trash everything in her apartment. Groaning over it, Ali waited for her refill. It wasn’t just her mother that had brought her tonight. Her ordeal at the precinct, and the events it had triggered, a.k.a. the returning voice, played a huge role. She still couldn’t wrap her head around what had happened. Being called in for one thing, and then being totally blindsided with another. It just didn’t make sense. Why could her life just be simple?

When it came to her work, she was a champ at staying focused. The outside world ceased to exist and she could pretend, for the duration of the case, that she was just a regular person. One who had rent to pay, food to buy—bills. There was no thought of her childhood, or the years she had spent being scrutinized by Dr. Ward and her mother. Now, because of her interrogation—of the emotional upheaval it had caused, her carefully crafted bubble was about to be popped.

She was fooling herself if she believed the detective would forget about her. He may not do so right away, adhering to his superior’s orders, but he would keep her in the forefront of his mind. Her drink was placed before her. Ali eyed it thoughtfully; she would have to stretch this one out. Paying for it with thanks, she took a nip, and then put it down.

Detective Ballen had known exactly what buttons to push without even knowing he was. He had been looking to break a crime ring, correction, what he
thought
, was a crime ring. She couldn’t fault him for that. He was just doing his job. However, could she stay in New York, constantly looking over her shoulder, waiting for him to pop up somewhere? The case was an active one. He hadn’t believed her when she had told him she didn’t know the man in the picture. Then there was the whole weird, personal attack. His eyes had gone all cloudy; talk about creepy to the tenth degree.

A man sat down next to her, bumping her elbow. On purpose she was sure. Giving him a smile in response to his apology and wink, Ali shifted her body on the stool. The hope of it being enough of a signal was dashed as the man enquired her drink of choice. The pickup line wasn’t original, neither was his cologne. She had a hard time sitting still through his blatant inspection of her person. It went with the scenario she supposed. A woman, drinking alone, equalled prey. The guy tried a few more lines, and Ali made sure he understood she wasn’t biting by telling him he wasn’t her type. She delivered it with a wink of her own. He could take it anyway he wanted to, as long as it got him to move along.

Sitting in the corner of the bar, Finn watched Ali. The place was full to the rafters with people. But it didn’t matter to him, all he saw was her. Having established their connection, her scent had filled him, pulling him to her. Upon seeing her for the first time, as she had exited her building, his breath had been knocked out of him. She was a slim woman with a tiny frame; reminding him of the fae that he and Cian used to look for as boys. She wore her hair long and loose, adding to the image of a mischievous, out of place fairy. Though her face hadn’t been clear to him, Finn had known it would be as delicate as her stature.

He had watched as she had scanned the streets before stepping out fully into the night. His instinct had been to go to her then, to chastise her for being careless. There were too many dangers hidden in the shadows, but he had held back. He had allowed her to get halfway up the block before he had fallen in behind her. When he had touched her mind lightly, he had felt the confusion, the sorrow and the need to block out the world.

Yet, despite her emotional state, she had held her head up as she walked. He had admired how she moved, with purpose and determination. She intrigued him as no other mortal woman had. When she had entered the bar, he’d chuckled, and waited a few heartbeats before going in. Now her scent drifted to him through the crowd, his nostrils flared as he dragged it in. It wove through his system, creating a restless feeling. A waitress asked for his drink preference, though he had no interest in one, not ordering would look too suspicious. Ordering a shot of whiskey, he settled back and continued his observation.

Are you just going to gawk at her then?

Finn smiled. He had wondered how long Cian would wait before situating himself in this.
And what do you suggest cousin? Wait for her to leave, then bind, and gag her?

He felt his cousin’s laugh and smiled again. The waitress had returned with his drink and assumed the smile was for her benefit. Finn thanked her for the drink, paid for it, and then winced as she left her number on a napkin. Cain spoke through his laughter.

It would make this easier—Drake grows restless.

Keeping his eyes on Ali, Finn continued his conversation.
Drake is always restless. Tristan will keep him in check
.
I will find a way to convince the woman to come with me.

Cian’s laughter was hard to resist, but he did. A lone man laughing for no reason would bring unwanted attention. Swirling his drink, he stayed focused on Ali. When she raised her hand for another drink, he relaxed. She was in no hurry to leave, and that suited him just fine. What wasn't fine however, were the number of men that hit on her.

A scowl creased his face, as he watched the one currently trying to gain her favor. The man’s hand casually reached out to lightly touch her shoulder as he bent close to her ear. The hand drifted down her back, stopping at the base before coming back up to rest once again on her shoulder. Seeing enough, he began to rise, then stopped when Ali took care of the problem herself by pushing the offender’s hand off of her shoulder. Finn smirked, the lady had spunk; he liked that. As the would-be suitor slunk away, he once again allowed himself to relax.

Ali shook her head in astonishment. Really, did the guy think she was some kind of airhead that she would fall for such a pathetic line? She had tried to be subtle, as she had been with the others who had tried to pick her up. However, this one had been persistent and only blunt talking could get him to leave her alone.

The new drink she had ordered, so much for stretching out the last one, sat off to the side. The condensation created by the melting ice, produced a watery ring on the aged bar top. Sighing, she spun the glass around. She had given up trying to figure out what was happening and why. The way she saw it, she could use a few hours of oblivion, and when she crawled out from it, she would be able to tackle the mess with clarity.

Blowing out a breath, she began to gather up her belongings. It was time to go home, no sense putting off the inevitable. She slid off the stool, turned, and bumped into a pitcher of beer—which was attached to a very impressive male. Half of the contents of the pitcher sloshed over the rim soaking her shirt. Ali closed her eyes against the shock of the cold beer. They snapped open when the man yelled at her.

“Watch it lady!”  His eyes bore down on her.

He was impressive yes, but totally ticked off. She blurted out her apology. “I am, so sorry.” It went over like salt in a wound.

The man glared at her, “Yeah? Well you better be, you owe me a pitcher—unless—”

He gave her the once over, Ali winced. His demeanor swiftly changed, his eyes cruised over her body, lingering on her chest. She could only imagine how she must look. A wet t-shirt contest came to mind. Oh God. She quickly shoved a hand into her purse and grabbed her wallet. She extracted some money and held it out to him. When his fingers closed over the money,
and
her hand, she tensed. Pulling her hand, she tried to make her escape without creating a scene. “Look, I said I was sorry. Just take the money, okay.”

His hold tightened. “We can call it even if you’d join me at my table—or, we can call it a night.”

There was no mistaking his meaning. Ali searched for an answer that would make him go away. However, she never got the chance.

“I don't think the lady is interested.”

The voice was like a sucker punch to her system. Images of Ireland, England and Scotland—heck the whole United Kingdom swirled through her imagination. Ali swiveled her head to look at—and up, at the new arrival, and her mouth went completely dry. Holy. Hotness. Looking like he had just walked out of a fantasy book, the man was what every woman hoped for when at a bar; and that he was single, and not gay.

He towered over the beer guy by a foot, easily. His hair was dark and on the long side—nearly brushing his shoulders, which she found she didn't mind. What woman would want a Clark Kent hair-do, when an unruly pirate was in her presence? Strong facial features lent to the fantasy persona. Not in the classic sense, but more of a rugged mountain man sense. But it was his eyes that really had her knees wobbling. They were brown. Not a mousy, flat, brown—but a rich brown, like chocolate. They were locked onto her even though he had spoken to the beer guy.

Beer guy took the offensive. “Mind your own business, buddy.”

Finn clenched his jaw. This was a predator. A quick scan of his mind showed his plan was to offer aid in the form of helping Ali out of her clothes. The desire to drag the man out back and soundly thrash him was difficult to quash. Ignoring him, Finn addressed Ali. “Are you alright, lass?”

Her eyes went wide and she was afraid they were about to cross. Come on Ali—talk. He’s going to think you're an idiot. He smiled, and she silently cursed. Dimples—well, that was just great—dark sinful eyes, and dimples. Then, something clicked inside of her. His voice, that accent where—realization hit her hard; so hard that she had to take a step back. Then she went into survival mode. She had to get out of here. “Um, yeah, I'm good. Thanks.” It was a lie. She was so far from being good. The voice that had been in her head earlier was flesh and bone.

Her mind scrambled to try to make sense of it. He was a delusion, or, was supposed to be. She needed to get away from fantasy man. Fighting the urge to look at him, she pulled on her jacket to cover up her wet shirt. By now, beer guy realized he wasn’t going to scare and he mumbled something about crazy redheads, and left. As much as she would have loved to respond, her mind was already on an exit plan.

Finn had to rein his desire. She was bewitching. Now that he was close to her, he could see the color of her eyes. They were green—not like the muted shade of mortals, but the brilliance of emeralds. Hair the color of hushed fire tumbled about her slim shoulders. Her features were indeed delicate, yet, he could see strength in her. Something murky in her shifted, and he grew suspicious. But before he could do anything more, she was brushing past him, sending sparks of energy up his arms. Cursing, he tried to stop her, but a crowd had formed at the bar and had swallowed her up. Cian’s warning came then, adding to his frustration.

You better get moving Finn. Trouble is headed your way.

Cursing again, he quickly made his way through the crowd, to the door. Once outside, he stilled his mind and searched for her.
Cian.

It was Tristan who answered.
The woman is like a beacon. Something has been triggered, something more than just your contact with her. I will do what I can to keep the mortals unaware. Drake will run whatever interference he can. Cian is trying to discover the identity of the one coming for the woman.

In the distance, thunder rumbled. Finn knew it was the calling card of their approaching guest. He had to get to Ali fast. The energy was coming off of her in waves. He doubted she even noticed. Dodging mortals milling along the sidewalk, he took off in her direction. Darkness pressed down upon him making it difficult to move with any fluidity. Such power told him that whoever was coming was going to be several notches above the puppets Mikel favoured. He had to get Ali to safety. Catching sight of her, he increased his speed.