Page 6 of Rekindled Prophecy
Devon’s eyes narrowed with contempt as he assessed the carnage lying around the alley. In two long, quick strides he was within inches of her face. Greylyn stood her ground.
“If you wanted to get me alone,” Devon’s lips curled into a suggestive grin, “all you had to do was ask.”
She wiped her bloody blade on her white tank top. The move was enough to attract Devon’s attention. He blinked, causing his gray irises to flash their true demon red. “Nice knife. Looks familiar. A guardian’s blade, I see. Should’ve guessed considering your,” he waved his hand to indicate the bloodbath in the alley, “work.”
Still, his eyes remained deadlocked on the dagger. Deciding to capitalize on his fascination with the weapon, she waved it in front of his face. Moonlight reflected off its pearly surface, the jagged edges darkened with demon blood. Devon made a lightning-fast grab for the dagger but came up empty-handed.
“Gotta be quicker than that, cowboy!”
Devon took a step back to get a better look at her. He shook his head, his long dark locks swished over his eyes as a pearl of sweat streamed down his face. He made another unsuccessful grab for the knife. “There’s something familiar about you.”
“Who I am is irrelevant. What I am is the means to an end … yours.” She lunged at him with whirlwind speed. As she attacked, she envisioned all the nasty, evil things he had done to countless humans. There were no telling how many lives he had shattered since her last failure to kill him. Tonight, those souls would be avenged.
They charged each other with roars of fury. He was strong and fast, faster than his entourage had been. With a powerful kick, the tip of his boot smashed into her sternum, knocking the breath out of her lungs. Falling, Greylyn barely escaped another bash to the chest from his boot heel with a quick twist to the side. She jumped up and sprang over the demon’s head to land on the trunk of the limo. Her feet slid on the smooth metal, but she planted them firmly against a slight ridge on the edge. Despite the pain ravaging every muscle, despite the broken bones, and despite the blood gushing down her face making everything in her sight blurred in heavy crimson, she could not resist a grin at the riled-up demon.
He dove to tackle her. They both tumbled off the car onto the sharp, graveled pavement. Locked together in a battle for control, they rolled for several feet. Devon grabbed her wrists just as the dagger’s point pricked the skin at the base of his Adam’s apple. Her wrist bones snapped and sent shocks up her arms. Unable to withstand the pressure, her hold on the weapon weakened. Devon successfully turned the blade around towards Greylyn’s chest. The tip pierced her skin.
She head-butted him with all her might. Blinding pain exploded through her skull. His head shot back with a howl of rage. The reprieve was just enough to loosen his grip. Greylyn twisted the weapon around, now clutched in her hands, and scraped the edge across the jugular vein throbbing in his neck.
Devon’s hands clawed at his bleeding throat. She pushed him off her. Blinded by pain and blood, Greylyn crawled in the direction of the gurgling sound of the soul stealing demon in his death throes. Once she came in contact with his hard form writhing on the asphalt, she straddled his body while holding his arms down with her knees. He thrashed wildly trying to toss her off him, but she held on tight, digging her heels into his sides. Raising her arms high above her head, she thrust the dagger down with all the strength she could muster in her tiny frame – right into his heart. Greylyn felt the jagged edges tear through the skin, muscle, and bone to the beating organ. Another push and twist of the blade, the heart of the demon burst with slimy, blackish blood.
Devon the soul stealer was dead.
***
“Well, my boy,” saidthe larger man in a Dolce & Gabbana suit whilehe slapped the other man on the shoulder. They had watched the petite guardian ravage the pack of soul stealers behind the bar. They had the best vantage point for the battle, hidden in the shadows atop a crumbling service station a couple blocks away. “You’ve done a fine job of keeping track of our girl over the years. I will admit that I am thrilled you defied my brother so long ago and chosenotto kill her. Not many can get away with such disobedience. But this gamble has really paid off.”
Smiling, Kael replied, “Always glad to be of service to you, sir.” Teaming up with one of the most notorious tyrants of Hell had been dangerous, but he would not change a thing.
“Not much longer now until we can set things in motion with our little angel. I’ve waited long enough.” Without so much as a farewell, the large, hulking man vanished into a whirling tunnel of air with only the sound of his laughter continuing to resonate in stifling humidity.
Alone, Kael breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Oh, he had every intention to keep a close eye on Greylyn. Things were just starting to go his way. After everything he had done, after all he had endured, an end was in sight.
He whispered out into the dark night, “Soon, Greylyn. I promise. Soon.”
Her silhouette paused at the end of the alley and turned towards his location for a moment, her emerald eyes sparkling even from this distance. Kael knew she could make out his outline against the night sky, but more than that … she sensed his presence. Undoubtedly, she had felt it before she even confronted Devon. The same way he always knew when she was near.
His lips curled up in a smile as he watched her instinctively grip her dagger again with one hand and the chain around her neck with the other. A second’s pause, she turned away and raced off into the night as sirens blared in the distance.
Chapter 2
Gaelic Haven
5 years later
Wind ruffled her raven hair and pulled strands from her ponytail as Greylyn sped towards the closest thing she could find to Ireland hidden amidst the rolling hills of the Shenandoah. Every mile she drew closer, the better she felt. After battling vamps in Utah and saving a truckload of immigrants from a demonic smuggler in Arizona, she craved some rest and relaxation, preferably someplace with a milder climate and some green scenery.
Well, one did not get much greener than the foothills of the Shenandoah Mountains in early summer. Virginia was a vast landscape of varying shades of green during the spring and summer months, with spectacular red, yellow, and orange foliage in the fall, and dreary gray all winter long. Right now, the peaceful valley soothed her weary soul, but also stung with a bit of nostalgia for the never-ending hills and dales of Ireland.
Her memories of her homeland were scant, aside from the night of her rebirth. Those still replayed vividly in her mind. Of course, waking up in a grave would not be something one could forget. Anything before that fateful night remained a mystery.
One hand absently twirled a small, metal ring hanging from a spaghetti-thin platinum necklace around her slender neck while tapping her other hand on the steering wheel in time to a Kenny Chesney tune. The ring served as her only physical remnant of a life she did not remember.
Turning off the main highway, tension that had been hammered into her shoulders for months melted away. Two right turns and a hard left onto a shady tree-lined street, and she had her first sight of the inn. Greylyn drove up the ambling driveway, her breath taken away by its simplistic beauty as the magnificent manor stood atop a hill, framed by the rising mountains behind it. She had visited the Gaelic Haven Inn over a decade ago and had longed to return, but her job kept her busy.
Pebbles crunched underneath the tires of her British racing green, 1968 Camaro as she pulled into the mostly empty parking area adjacent to the main house. As the roar of the engine died, Greylyn immediately looked around for signs of the pint-sized, fifty-something innkeeper, Maureen. Just a few yards away, she was dressed in her garden scrubs, pruning rose bushes by the expansive white gazebo overlooking the rectangular koi pond where the loudest bull frogs in the southeast took up residence – guests were even provided ear plugs in each room to block out the continuous croaking during the nights.
Maureen had transformed the picturesque setting into her own version of a traditional Irish estate, as her very ownGaelic Havenfor travelers and those looking for a peaceful retreat from the world. The hilltop Edwardian mansion had quite a history of its own, being the site of a notorious Civil War encampment. While the inn was maintained as a historical preserve, the crumbling antebellum manor and grounds had been renovated into the grand 19thcentury Irish estate it was today.