crack of a twig.
A hiss of breath.
Rogan spun about and pounced.
The burly demon had thought to sneak up on him and Rogan would have laughed at the very idea, but he was too busy, swinging a sword he had carried for eons. The very balance of the heavy blade felt a part of him, an extension of his arm as he whipped it through the air with such power the wind sang as it caressed the finely honed metal.
His blade hit home with a smack of steel against flesh. The demon howled in fury and pain and charged Rogan in desperation. Wild, burning eyes flashed in the darkness and long, lethal claws swiped at him. But Rogan was more than ready. He’d been bred to fight, and over the hundreds of years that had passed since his death, his abilities with a blade had become legendary—even among the Guardians.
The demon snarled, his jaw dropping to reveal jagged teeth nearly two inches long. The stench of demon blood fouled the air and Rogan hissed in a breath. His heart pounded frantically and his blood rushed. He dropped into a crouch, swinging his blade in another wide arc from which the demon leaped back to avoid. Minutes ticked past, and the wind around him tossed dirt and leaves into the air.
And Rogan hardly noticed. His focus was on his opponent. On the battle. He fought because it was his duty. Because a warrior was all he was.
Because he knew nothing else.
Again and again they clashed viciously. The defender and the beast. “You should have stayed in hell, demon. There’s no place in Ireland for the likes of you.”
The demon spat at him, and its saliva mixed with blood, bubbling into a frothy acid on the ground at Rogan’s feet. “Guardians are few and we are many.”
Rogan leaped through the air, and as he came down, he brought the hilt of his sword crashing into the demon’s skull. The solid hit staggered the beast, and it dropped to the earth, stunned. Rogan planted one boot on the small of its back and held it pinned to the ground while it cursed and screamed. In a moment he’d secure the bloody damn thing and cart it off back to the portal and its rightful dimension. Demons were hard to kill here on this plane. The most a Guardian could do was capture it and send it back to hell.
“Bastard!” The demon twisted and writhed in a futile effort to free itself. “You’ll pay for this! I’ll see to it! Armies of demons will descend on you and yours.”
Rogan stepped heavier on the beast until it ran out of air to shout with. “Many you may be,” he agreed, smiling now that the fight was ended, “but we’ll outlast the lot of you.”
And while his captive fought desperately to escape him, Rogan slid his sword into its scabbard and lifted his face to the night sky. Victory and one less demon to threaten humankind this night. He’d done his duty. Done what he was meant to do.
Yet still the emptiness inside him rattled as it had for too many years to count.
“Casey?” Aly called quietly and stepped into their shared bedroom at the Radharc na Oilean B and B on the banks of Lough Mask. There were two twin beds covered by handmade quilts in beautiful shades of blues and greens. A wide dormer window overlooked the fields stretching out behind the farmhouse, and the lamp on the small table between the beds gave off a soft, warm glow.
Along with enough light for Aly to see that Casey wasn’t back yet.
A flicker of worry sputtered into life inside her, but Aly told herself to calm down. She closed the door behind her, crossed the room and stared out at the sweep of open fields that lay at the feet of the Partry Mountains. There wasn’t enough moonlight to see much, but she made out the blurred white patches of the sheep huddling together in the field for warmth. The end of March in Ireland was cold, even for the animals used to the biting wind.
Turning back around, Aly frowned as she stared at her sister’s empty bed but told herself that Casey was an adult, old enough to take care of herself. She’d be back before long and no doubt be lording it all over Aly for the good time she’d missed because she’d had to deal with Rogan Butler.
Just the thought of the man’s name had Aly rubbing her arm again. She could swear she still felt his touch on her skin. Which was just weird.
Her heartbeat quickened a bit as she remembered the cold gleam in his clear green eyes as he touched her. He’d felt that buzz of something molten between them as well as she had. And he hadn’t looked any happier about it than she was. Small consolation.
Sighing, she eased her suitcase off the bed, then stretched out atop the quilt. Not bothering to change into her pajamas, she lay in the soft glow of lamplight and stared up at the sloping ceiling. But she wasn’t seeing the clean, white paint over the eaves of what had once been the attic of the working farmhouse.
Instead, she was seeing Rogan Butler, frowning at her. She heard the rolling music of his accent and the deep reverberation of his voice as it sizzled along her spine. She remembered every moment with him so clearly it was as if it had been etched into her brain.
“Now, isn’t that a lovely thought?” No. It wasn’t. She didn’t want to think about him. Didn’t want to consider what that hum of electric charge between them might have meant. And surely didn’t want to see him again.
And yet…
His face filled her mind as her eyes closed and her body surrendered to the jet lag tugging at her.
Casey still hadn’t returned by morning.
Aly fought down a cold lump of fear in her belly and told herself there would be an explanation. Car trouble, maybe. No. She was going to catch a cab. Then perhaps an accident. Oh, God. That wasn’t a good thought.
She went downstairs at the crack of dawn, but since the B and B was situated on a working sheep farm, her hostess was already up and busy. Aly accepted a cup of coffee, got directions on how to get to the city of Westport, then climbed into her car and took off.
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
