been ready to order Alison Blair off his property when she’d found her spine and given him a dressing-down like no one had dared to do in centuries. And with that outburst of temper, she’d won a glimmer of admiration from him, a glimmer strong enough to allow her into his home—however briefly.
“Say what you must, then, and be on your way.”
“If this is Irish hospitality, it’s sadly lacking.”
“Ah, but you’re not a guest now, are you?” He turned from her, walked to his favorite chair and sat down, kicking both legs out in front of him and crossing his feet at the ankles. “You say you’ve a mission to fulfill. Then fulfill it and be done.”
He watched her and saw anger flash in her blue eyes quickly before she was able to hide it from him. Instantly, he wondered what kind of woman it was who buried her emotions so completely. The women he’d known in his life had all worn their hearts in the open, risking bruising and hurt but unable to do anything else.
And as that thought sneaked into his consciousness, it was followed by an ancient memory, one he rarely allowed himself to entertain. The image of a woman rose up in his mind. Her long, black hair flying about her head in the sea wind. Her blue eyes shining, laughing. Her mouth curved in welcome for him. And before he could pause a moment to enjoy them, the images shifted, changed, becoming the nightmare that haunted him still from time to time.
Rogan shut off his thoughts with the ease of long practice and turned his focus to the woman still standing across the room from him. Irritated suddenly, he said, “Sit, will you? And say what you’ve come to say.”
Her boot steps were muffled on the thick carpets as she moved to the chair nearest him. She perched on the edge of the chair, folded her hands in her lap and squeezed until her knuckles turned white. That was the only sign of her agitation, and again Rogan was forced to admire her self-control.
While the fire crackled and hissed in the hearth and tree limbs driven by the ever-present Irish wind scratched at the windowpanes, she watched him steadily for a long moment. Then she said softly, “One of the Chicago seers has had a vision.”
He gave her a half smile. “Wouldn’t that be a seer’s job?”
She didn’t answer that jibe. Instead, she began to give him a bloody lecture.
Her surprisingly prim voice carried just over the hiss of the fire. “As you know, the Society psychics are some of the most powerful in the world. Society membership is hereditary. For centuries, the same families have protected the secrets of the Guardians and done all we can to help you in your fight against the demon incursion—”
Scowling, he snapped, “If you’ve come only to give me a history lesson, Alison Blair, I’ll remind you I’ve been living history for longer than you would care to consider.”
She frowned right back at him. “Each generation, ” she said, a bit louder than before, as if daring him to try to talk over her, “more psychics are born into the Society, and with each generation one or two of those seers has incredible strength.”
“And would you be one of those with the power of second sight, darlin’?”
“I would not,” she said, pausing just long enough to give him an irritated nod. “I have some psychic abilities but nothing in the range of the seers. Reginald, the seer who sent me here, is extremely powerful. His visions are always clear. His messages have saved countless lives, including those of your fellow Guardians.”
“We’re immortal, love,” he said, hooking his arms behind his head in a lazy move that belied the tension coiling in the pit of his belly. “We’ve no lives to be saved.”
“Immortal, yes, but you can be desperately wounded, taking years to recover.”
Annoyed, he said, “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.”
“I’m trying to impress on you just how important it is for you to listen to Reginald’s message.”
“Then deliver it, by damn.”
She drew her head back and stared at him. In the firelight, her blue eyes shone with the reflection of the flames until it looked as though light were dancing within her. Her mouth was tight, her posture was so stiff it was as if she’d a poker stuffed down the back of her jacket and her knotted fingers were almost white with her repressed fury.
“You are the rudest man I’ve ever met.”
He brushed that aside. “Ah, but I’m not a man, am I? Besides, you’ve not seen rude yet, Alison Blair, but if you don’t get on with it, you very well may.”
She ground her teeth together as if trapping inside words that wanted to spill from her mouth. It was almost entertaining to watch. Almost. But time was flying by and Rogan had no interest in sitting by the fire with a woman, no matter how attractive he found her; it was past time for him to be out on the hunt.
“Fine, then,” she said after a long moment’s pause. “Reginald has seen the rise of a very dangerous power. Here. Soon.”
He laughed. And when her features stiffened in shock, he laughed harder. “This is the so important message? Your seer’s looked beyond the veil and seen trouble, has he?” He rubbed his jaw and pretended to give the matter great thought. “What kind of trouble do you think, then? Could it be…demons?”
“Are you really so arrogant you can’t accept help when it’s offered?”
“I don’t need your help. Or apparently the help of your gifted seer. I know there’s trouble, don’t I?” He stood up and looked down at her from his great height. “Demons are nothing new to me, Alison Blair.”
“This isn’t an ordinary demon,” she said quietly, as if she were measuring each word and weighting it down with patience before speaking it. “Reginald saw an extreme amount of energy surrounding the nearest portal. He says that it’s building daily and that there’s a danger beyond the normal threat.”
Rogan scowled at her and thought about the seer’s message. He’d known for days now that something unusual was happening. There had been reported cases of people mysteriously vanishing all over Ireland. And there’d been more demon activity lately as well. He didn’t like any of it.
She stood up and that flicker of admiration, respect he’d felt for her earlier, sharpened a bit. She wasn’t put off by his great size or by the reputation and legends surrounding him. He’d give her points for foolhardy bravery if nothing else.
“I’ll do what I can to look into the seer’s vision,” he said, though it cost him. He didn’t want to take orders from a psychic. Nor from a woman.
“Thank you. I’ll make my report to the Society.”
“You do that.”
“You don’t have to like me or the Society,” she said, clearly irritated that he wasn’t more appreciative of the effort she’d gone to in delivering this oh-so-very-vague message. “But you could at least show some respect.”
“Respect?” His voice boomed out before he could stop it. “For psychics and seers who sit in the background and make proclamations? Who have visions too late to help?
