Calabi Chronicles: Bloodstone Page 8

  Kean’s lips pressed into a thin pucker and he took a deep, bracing breath but didn’t answer Aideen. She looked down at the diary she held, the Book of Cenn Cruach, and the Bloodstone. The diary’s contents were indelibly imprinted upon her memory. She looked at Kean, weighing her options. He wouldn’t risk losing the diary, couldn’t know that neither would she. The muscles along his jaw-line were working furiously as he tried to drive without glancing in her direction. In his agitation, he brought both hands high up on the steering wheel.

  “Well then,” Aideen said and quickly slipped the stone between her thighs and rolled down her window.

  Her right arm across her chest, she held the diary out the window. The Jaguar jerked to the right and Kean cursed her softly. His hand shot out to pull the book back inside, but he froze as he felt the soft slide of her palm across his thigh and heard the metallic click of her thumbing the pistol’s safety off.

  “The diary, the stone, or your balls. Which is more important to you, Kean?” she asked, her voice barely audible over the purr of the Jaguar’s engine.

  Kean calmly returned his hands to the steering wheel and signaled to traffic that he was pulling off to the side of the road. For a long moment, he watched the other cars passing and then he turned his darkening gray gaze on her. He shifted in his seat until he was looking directly into her eyes and his groin was pressed flat against the pistol’s barrel. “Yes, Aideen, to Árainn,” he said.

  Aideen answered his challenge by nudging the barrel forward. She saw the barest twitch of his mouth but he otherwise remained impassive. “I’m not going to Árainn,” she said. “You’re taking me to the nearest police station.”

  “Once I know the stone and diary are secure,” he replied, his voice low and cold. “I’ll take you wherever the hell you want, Aideen.”

  “They’re mine,” she said. Aideen’s grip on the pistol tightened and her hand began to shake.

  Kean put his hand over hers and clicked the safety back to its on position. “We both know you wouldn’t kill for the stone, Aideen.”

  Aideen was struck by the sudden image of her dream from the night before. Cenn interrogating her, demanding to know how she came to possess his diary. His grip, tight on her arm, commanding her to tell him from whom she had received it. At her answer of a dead man, he queried whether it was by her own hand. She had chafed at that and replied she couldn’t imagine killing someone over a book and unknown stone. That was when his gaze had become hooded and she had realized another’s death was but a small obstacle to him in his pursuit of the stone.

  Aideen looked at Kean. His gaze was hooded, his cheeks flushed and his breathing shallow. The eyes were off, she thought, as she looked at the storm brewing in them, but otherwise Kean and the dream lover who had haunted last night’s sleep were identical. She felt moisture pool between her legs even as her heart constricted at the memory of some vague tragedy. She forced the flash of recognition away—the dream would fade in time and she couldn’t let it influence her reaction to her kidnapper.

  “You know me now?” he asked, his eyes unreadable. He didn’t wait for her to answer but continued. “I was surprised when I didn’t recognize you immediately in the store. But it’s been ten years since I last looked at a picture of you.”

  She shook her head, denying what he was saying. “I don’t know you. We haven’t met…we haven’t met.”

  “Perhaps that was an error, but your father thought it best,” he answered, a wry frown suggesting he was only humoring her. He took the gun from her and put it back in its holster. Then, without warning, he reached between her legs and took the Bloodstone.

  As unexpected as his action was, Aideen still had to suppress a moan at the brief touch of his hand against her mound. She forced her gaze out the window and tried to school her features to match the cold, stone mask Kean wore. No, not a mask, she corrected herself. She thought of the gray eyes, now as flat as unpolished granite. That is his nature.

  “How did you know my father?” Aideen asked once she was sure her voice wouldn’t tremble. She still didn’t dare look at him. Her nipples had hardened to harsh, painful peaks and her skin felt like it had been coated with acid.

  “He was my master.” He saw her confused frown reflected in the Jaguar’s window. “I was his apprentice in…in the ancient way,” he explained.

  Aideen bit back a sharp laugh, surprised by the bitterness that suddenly welled inside her. No wonder the man had been insane enough to kidnap her and displayed no fear when she held the pistol to his balls. She gave a short, hard shake of her head as if, by doing so, she could dispel the nonsense surrounding her.

  “You’ve had the Bloodstone since Sunday and still you scoff at the idea?” he asked.

  “Mold,” she whispered. She heard his soft chuckle and turned to glare at him. “Mold,” she repeated and jabbed a finger at the diary. “You. That ghost in the alley. You’ve all been infected. Some parasite eating away at your brain cells.”

  Unwanted and uninvited, the memory of the scrying ceremony she had performed surfaced. That she had gone so far as to cast a spell shamed her and she blinked against the memory. But the image remained of Cenn, so many centuries ago, standing in front of his own scrying bowl, his robes on the floor and his cock, stiff, proud, rising from the mass of blue-black curls like a directional rod homing in on her. Unable to stop herself, her gaze darted to Kean’s lap. His own excitement was evident and her tongue darted from her mouth to appreciatively wet her upper lip.

  “Mold?” he asked, his tone mocking her. His thigh muscles contracted, his cock bobbing beneath his trousers.

  “Yes,” she insisted. “And I demand you take me to a hospital.”

  Kean’s hand snaked out and captured hers. He dragged her to him, forcing her palm open, and she closed her eyes as she struggled against him. Her palm came into contact with something warm, smooth. Thick, the object filled her hand and tapped out a steady pulse against her skin. She opened her eyes to find that she held the Bloodstone.

  “You were born…no,” he corrected himself. “You were bred to possess the Bloodstone, Aideen. We both were.” She tried to drop the stone but he held her hand captive and forced it more tightly around the stone. “Don’t tell me you’re indifferent to its vibrations.”

  Aideen tried to avoid his gaze. She couldn’t. A part of her tried to force the lie past her lips that she felt nothing. The part of her that was still nine years old, stretched out on a dolmen, the cold stone penetrating the thin white shift. Her father was there, hovering above her, a dagger in one hand, a cup of wine in the other. He would pass the knife above her head and force some wine down her throat before passing the blade over her lower torso and pouring the wine from the cup to stain her gown and panties red. With every new ceremony, each pass of the knife, she trembled in fear that, this time, the knife would find her flesh, would penetrate her stomach and carve out her womb.

  “Aideen?” His hand moved to rest along the back of her neck, his heat penetrating her skin and promising peace if she would but yield to him.

  “I’m not going to Inish Oirr,” she persisted. Its rhythm equally unrelenting, the stone told her she would, indeed, go.

  Kean massaged the back of Aideen’s neck and leaned closer to her until his lips whispered against her ear. “Aideen, whatever you’re afraid of in Inish Oirr, I guarantee it’s not as bad as Donald Meyrick.”

  Meyrick. The name echoed through her, producing a small shudder that would have made her laugh only a few days ago. Michael Meyrick, reported seer extraordinaire, was dead—or, at least, dead enough to require an estate sale and a published obituary. Who, then, was Donald?

  “Michael’s heir?” she asked.

  Kean turned back to the steering wheel and put the car in drive. “In more ways than one, so it seems.” Checking his side mirror, Kean merged back onto the road. “Look,” he said, his sharp glance taking in her pinched features and tired eyes. “We’re still a good hundred and seventy k
ilometers from where we can catch a boat out to the island. Why don’t you rest?”

  Aideen, her expression wary for an instant, watched him driving. Questions bounced through her mind but the Jaguar’s smooth hum quieted them and she soon fell asleep.

  Chapter Four

  Kean stopped for petrol half an hour from Galway. While an attendant filled the tank, Kean stepped from the Jaguar and walked to the trunk. Keeping his attention focused on the front seat, acutely aware of the slightest motion of Aideen’s blonde head, he pulled a blanket from the back. For reasons he didn’t know and couldn’t guess, her clothes had been partially damp when he took her from her little Dublin store and, even with the car’s heat turned on high, Aideen was shivering in her sleep.

  He handed his credit card to the station attendant, who ducked inside to run it through the machine. While he waited, Kean spread the blanket over Aideen’s sleeping form. Her body uncurled in a sigh and he had to force his hands back onto the steering wheel, cursing the slowness with which the attendant was handling the transaction. He snapped in irritation at the young man when the card was returned. The sound disturbed Aideen and she turned to her side, drawing in to herself once again and creating gaps where the blanket covered her. Kean reached over and tucked the blanket underneath her. He caught the faint scent of fresh flowers and cupped her face before he could stop himself.

  Kean jerked his hand away and slammed the Jaguar into drive, nervously glancing down at Aideen to see if he had woken her. She continued sleeping and he relaxed a little while he silently berated himself. It was of no use, he assured himself, becoming attached to her, desiring her as he had a decade ago when, in all her freshness and purity, she had been promised to him. No, he was merely trying to keep Gerald’s daughter safe and prevent Donald Meyrick from using her to control the Bloodstone. For she was the Bloodstone’s mistress, he acknowledged, more so than he would ever be its master. The sacred stone, exposed to the world at auction, had somehow found its way into her hands.

  The Bloodstone. His gaze jerked down to where it lay curled in her hand, pressed between her breasts. But the stone couldn’t hold his attention. The cold had teased her nipples to hard pebbles and Kean felt the car slowly veering to the side of the road. He shook his head violently to clear the image clouding his mind. But his fingertips still tingled with the imagined touch of her, his tongue felt the velvet brush of her nipples. Goddess, he wondered, how was he going to control himself alone with her on Árainn, on the island, cut off from his staff or anyone in the temple that he could pass Aideen’s care and safety off to.

  Aideen stretched and emitted a soft, cramped groan. Again, the blanket slipped from her, only this time, Kean didn’t move to cover her. From the corner of his eye, he saw the pert thrust of her breasts beneath her blouse and her hand brushed over one straining peak as she sought to wrap herself in a warm hug. Keeping his eyes locked on the road ahead of him, Kean’s grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles whitened. No, his soul confessed. Even if he could hand her care off to another, he had no intention of letting her out of his sight.

  * * * * *

  Aideen woke at the sound of the Jag’s tires pulling onto a gravel driveway. At the end of the drive, she saw the bay and a small building attached to a pier. The lonely air of the building and the grounds around it told her it hadn’t been used recently. “Where are we?” she asked while she brought her seat back to an upright position.

  “Boathouse,” Kean answered, his voice tight. He punched a button on the Jag’s console and what had looked like a windowless wall slid open to reveal the interior of a garage. He pulled in and hit the button again, plunging them in darkness. He turned on the interior dome light and the car’s headlights before opening the driver’s side door. “Stay here a sec.”

  Kean popped the trunk and Aideen could hear him rummaging around in its contents. He dropped an overnight bag on the driver’s seat and put the diary inside it. He reached out to her for the stone and she reluctantly handed it over to him. She moved to open her door and found that he had parked too closely to the wall.

  “Climb over,” he suggested.

  Her legs, cramped from the long ride, protested and she found herself stuck in a rather uncomfortable position above the center console. Her palms behind her, pressed flat on the driver’s seat, her bottom on the console, she tried to push with her legs but couldn’t. She heard Kean’s irritated growl and then he tucked his arms under her breasts and hauled her into a standing position. He slowed right before she would have touched the cement slab and she felt the slow glide of his cock against her backside as he gently stood her on her feet.

  “The space is a little tight,” he said, the words clipped short. “You’ll have to press against the wall and feel for a door about four feet down.”

  The space was indeed tight and Aideen could feel the thick swell of his erection pushing against her jeans as he pivoted to close the door. Her knees went weak and started to buckle but there was no room in which to fall. She began a slow accordion fold to the floor but he hoisted her up with one arm, his hand cupped along the underside of one breast. She suppressed a moan and the desire to arch against his utilitarian embrace. She reached out and grabbed the Jag’s roof with one hand and the wall with the other to steady herself.

  “My legs are still asleep,” she grumbled and tried to pull away from him.

  “You’ll be able to stretch them out on the boat.” Instead of releasing her, Kean pulled Aideen closer to him. Again, he caught the scent of fresh flowers and he pressed his face to her soft, blonde hair.

  “You can let go of me now,” Aideen said, nearly strangling on the words as they came out. Something warned her that, if he didn’t release her soon, she would be crawling all over him.

  “Sorry.” The word came out in a mumble and was followed by the hesitant withdrawal of his hand. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, hoping she wouldn’t hear. He needn’t have worried; she was already feeling her way toward the door that led to the docked boat.

  “How many locks on this door?” she complained. The first two bolts shot back and she pushed at the door, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “Here, hold this.” Kean handed the travel bag to her. He bent down, his shoulder brushing her hip, and released a third lock. “Umm…you’re going to have to…” he paused.

  “What?”

  He could feel the impatient tap of her foot against the cement slab and he groaned. “Move…somehow,” he said. “There’s a top lock and I can’t get up from this position.”

  Aideen turned slightly to the right and found Kean’s face pressed against her stomach. She didn’t know whether to curse his height or be thankful he wasn’t half a dozen centimeters shorter. Aideen fought to catch her breath as her womb contracted in answer.

  Kean’s voice was muffled against her body as he suggested that their current position wasn’t working. It’s working for me, Aideen sighed inwardly and pressed her back flat against the door. The minute change in position was enough to allow him to slowly climb to a standing position. He used Aideen’s hips and then her shoulders to steady himself as he rose, the flat of his cheek offering her breast the briefest caress.

  “One more lock.” He reached above them to the top of the doorframe. The swell of his erection thickened against Aideen and, this time, she couldn’t resist nudging him with her body. She closed her eyes, glad that Kean had turned the car’s lights off and he couldn’t see the emotions warring across her face. He slipped his free arm around her waist and pulled her to him. “It’s going to open all of a sudden,” he warned. “Better brace yourself.”

  The bolt clicked back and their combined weight sent them crashing to the boat dock’s wooden flooring. The impact knocked the wind from Aideen and Kean had to scramble after the travel bag before it fell into the water. With the bag secured, he sat with his head between his legs and Aideen heard the soft hiccup of a laugh.

  “Really,” he promised
. “On the average day, I’m much smoother than this.” Standing, he tossed the bag into the boat and helped Aideen to her feet. “There’s a flotation bag under the bench,” Kean said as he helped her into the boat. “Put the travel bag inside while I slip the moorings off.”

  Aideen secured the bag and then shrugged her way into a lifejacket. Kean boarded the boat and handed her a push pole. They both pushed until they cleared the boathouse. Waving off the lifejacket Aideen offered him, Kean started the boat’s engine and checked the gauges.

  “Not too much longer,” he smiled cheerfully as the boat headed out into Galway Bay.

  Aideen nodded and tried to return the smile despite the tightening knot in her stomach. She tried to remember the last time she had stepped foot on one of Árainn’s islands. Well over a decade ago, she recalled. It was when she was sixteen, the summer before she lost her virginity, and it would be the last ceremony of her father’s in which she participated. On the return trip, storm waves rocked the ferry and turned her gut into a clenching ball of protest. Gerald had hinted that her participation in the ceremonies would soon change. The idea had sent her racing to the ferry’s railing to spill the remains of her breakfast over its rusted sides. From that point on, she had fasted, feigned illness, pulled every stunt she could think of to avoid any more trips with her father. And, just before their annual trip to Inish Oirr was due to roll around, she offered up her virginity to the neighborhood bad boy on what she thought were her own terms.

  Aideen remembered the soul-withering look her father had given her upon learning of the loss and wiped a tear from her cheek. She glanced at Kean, but his attention was focused on the approaching shoreline. She wondered if he had been there, at her father’s ceremonies, one of the faces behind the many masks. Only a few years older than her, he would have been barely out of his teens. Aideen felt another tear at the edge of her eyelid threatening to spill. She swiped it away and set her face to the wind.