Stone Song: The Isle of Destiny Series Page 2

  No time for fanciful daydreams, Clare thought, but she slipped the necklace over her head anyway, as it was a gift from Branna. The charm settled between her breasts, the metal cool against her skin, its touch both intimate and unsettling.

  And Clare swore she could feel the heat of the stone, dead center in the necklace, pulsing gently near her heart.

  Chapter Three

  The weather conditions hadn’t improved by the time Clare finished closing the shop, counting the till, and putting in the inventory order. Not atypically for a January night in Dublin, the wind whipped down the alley and threatened to snatch her wool cap from her head. Clare tugged it down lower and huddled into her coat, keeping her eyes on the slick pavement in front of her as she hustled to get home before the dampness soaked straight to her core.

  It wasn’t all that surprising that the streets still bustled with activity. A bit of wind and rain did little to keep people from their evening pints at the pub. A warm glow of light spilled from the front window of a pub and Clare caught a glimpse of a pretty woman laughing next to a man who was tuning the strings on a fiddle. It was a cozy scene and almost made Clare itch to go in for a pint.

  Until the man’s eyes shifted to molten silver and met hers through the glass.

  The moment hung suspended between them as Clare gasped for breath, the wind pummeling into her and whipping her curls across her face. When she pushed the hair back from her eyes, the man was just a man, his dark brown eyes gleaming in the light of the small fire next to him. Calling out, he lifted the fiddle to his shoulder and began to play, a chorus of voices rising to meet his.

  Tossing her hair, Clare turned and pressed against the increasingly insistent wind, her head bowed as she tried to shake the chill that had come over her – a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. The necklace, still strung around her neck, seemed to burn into her skin. Digging into her coat, Clare grabbed the pendant and held it up, and gasped when she saw that the little stone dangling in the middle seemed to glow in the dull light of the streetlamp.

  Had she not gotten enough sleep last night? She knew she was stressed – wasn’t every graduate student stressed? Between the pressures of school, holding down several jobs, and still trying to maintain a semblance of a social life, Clare wasn’t exactly taking the best care of herself. She would let herself sleep in tomorrow, she decided, and hopefully the extra hours of shut-eye would stave off any further weird instances of glowing silver eyes.

  Her body gave an involuntary shudder as she thought about the man in the pub again.

  Clare pushed her way through the wind, turning down a side street that wound its way to her building. Hurrying now, the sounds of the busier part of the city fading, she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. With a jolt, she whipped around and stared at the empty street behind her. For a moment, her eyes searched the areas where the light didn’t quite reach – crevices behind dumpsters, shadows cast by buildings. Was someone following her?

  Finding nothing, Clare turned and ran headlong into a brick wall.

  Or at least so it felt.

  Clare shrieked as she realized that the wall was in fact a man – a very muscular, very leather-clad, and very menacing-looking man. Bringing her knapsack around, she moved to swing it at his head and gasped as he deflected her, his arm wrapping around her waist as he swung her behind him.

  Shielding her.

  Clare froze as the man’s arm struck out, a silver dagger gleaming in his hand an instant before it sliced through the person who’d appeared virtually from nowhere behind her. Clare choked as the dagger slid through the heart of the silver-eyed man from the pub. Her breath caught, and she squeaked as the man slipped to the ground in a puddle of liquid silver light before vanishing completely from sight.

  Locked in place by a muscular arm, Clare’s entire body began to shake as she tried to process what she had just seen.

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” she finally gasped, and the arm released her. She stumbled forward a few feet and bent at the waist, retching a little. But only stomach bile came up; she hadn’t eaten in hours. Wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, Clare turned, faint trembles still shivering through her, and faced the unknown.

  “Better?” His voice, like a razor blade dipped in honey, sliced through her core.

  “Who… what are you? What is this?” Clare’s voice shook, but she stood straighter, looking around the alley for any other attackers.

  “I’m your protector,” the man said simply.

  Clare tilted her head in question, her mouth dropping open. She gaped for a moment, but no words came.

  “And you shouldn’t be walking down dark streets alone at night,” the man continued, pulling out a rag to clean the blade of his dagger before sliding the knife into his waistband. Clare’s eyebrows rose.

  “Excuse me?” she finally said as she studied him.

  The man easily had a foot of height on her, his shoulders so broad he could have been a rugby player, and the leather coat he wore hugged his muscles like a second skin. Fitted jeans, dark boots, and midnight hair just long enough to tousle in the wind completed the look. Everything on him was sharp – and the energy radiating from him was like a tightly coiled spring. Only when he angled his face into the light did she see that his eyes were a distinct and almost startling blue.

  Black Irish, Clare thought dumbly.

  “You should be paying better attention to your surroundings. Especially in this time.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about – nor do I know what you mean by ‘in this time.’ This time at night? Why, it’s not quite half nine in the evening. That’s positively early for a Dubliner,” Clare scoffed.

  A brief hint of a smile crossed his handsome face, the flash of his teeth slicing through the craggy features.

  “Your turn. Your time. Four months,” the man elaborated.

  “Sure and you haven’t been drinking this evening?” Clare asked, making no sense of his words. Her mind still scrambled to process what she’d seen on the street.

  “No, no drinks for me this evening.” A ghost of a smile crossed his face again.

  “Nice dagger. Care to tell me about that little magick trick you just pulled?” Clare asked, gesturing to where she’d have sworn she’d just seen a man melt into the pavement in a silvery puddle.

  The man studied her for a moment and then turned and let out a stream of curses that echoed down the empty street. Turning back, he looked at her, those blue eyes burning into hers.

  “You don’t know, do you?”

  Clare shook her head at him, raising her hands in confusion.

  “Go home.” The man cursed again, turning to leave.

  “Wait.” Clare jumped forward, surprising herself by grabbing his arm. Hot waves of energy seemed to pulse beneath her hand and she dropped it. “What’s your name? What do you mean you’re my protector?”

  The man sighed and ran his hands over the stubble on his jaw, turning to look back over his shoulder at her, his eyes searing her to the spot.

  “Call me Blake. Stay out of dark corners, Miss MacBride.”

  And with that, he disappeared as quickly as he had appeared, leaving Clare staring at the empty street and wondering briefly if she’d been drugged.

  It didn’t stop her from running the entire rest of the way home.

  Chapter Four

  Blake followed Clare from a distance, slipping from shadow to shadow, his movements silent and precise. He knew every dip and curve, every hiding spot along this route to her home. He’d walked it for years.

  He refused to let himself think about the fact that he had been instantly attracted to Clare from the moment he had first seen her years ago. And touching her just now? It was enough to drive him crazy. Blake cursed again. There was no time for dalliances and the distractions they could provide. Not when there was so much at stake.

  Blake watched as Clare raced to a brownstone apartment building, nestled
in between two mismatched walkups. He waited as she shoved her key in the lock of the front door and in seconds she’d disappeared into the foyer. Blake didn’t need to see her to be able to track her as she raced up the stairs to the third floor. If he was within a mile of her, he could to sense her exact location – even her mood.

  Some would say it was a gift – while others considered it to be a great curse.

  All Blake knew was that it was his destiny.

  Turning, he made his way to where his Range Rover sat parked in front of Clare’s apartment building. Climbing into the back seat, Blake pulled a tattered novel from a bag on the floor and began to read in the faint light of the streetlamp.

  It was going to be a long night.

  Chapter Five

  “Well here she is,” Bianca exclaimed as Clare blew through the door. Her roommate’s cheeks were tinged faintly with pink, and Clare could surmise what had been happening prior to her entrance.

  “I’ll just grab you a pint then,” Seamus said quickly, rising from where he’d been sitting next to Bianca on the small settee in their cramped living room. Bianca smoothed her hands down her rumpled navy skirt and smiled brightly at Clare.

  “How was work then? You look a little stressed out,” Bianca said, finally zeroing in on the look on Clare’s face.

  “I… I…” Clare looked at Bianca helplessly, her mouth working as the words struggled to get out. Just what was she going to say, exactly?

  “Why, you look like you saw the ghost of ol’ paddy who looms over the hills,” Bianca said, rising to cross to Clare. Seamus pushed back into the room, a can of Guinness in his hand.

  “Hey now, what’s the problem?” Seamus asked, concern crossing his face.

  “I think she’s seen a ghost,” Bianca said, dragging a still wordless Clare across the room and pushing her into a tweed armchair. Seamus silently handed Clare the can of Guinness and Clare immediately guzzled it, the cool liquid soothing away some of the panic that still laced her stomach. She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing the wash of liquid to hit her empty stomach, praying that it would stay down. When it did, she finally opened her eyes to look at her friends.

  “A man stopped me from a mugging tonight,” Clare finally said, deciding that she needed a little time to process everything she had just seen. Plus, if she had seen something that she wasn’t supposed to, the last thing she wanted to do was drag her favorite people into it.

  “No!” Bianca gasped, settling onto the couch again, Seamus at her side. Together they leaned forward, their elbows on their knees, mirroring each other’s position.

  “Aye, and the man was tall, dark, and handsome too,” Clare said, knowing that would distract her roomie.

  “Ohhhh, that sounds amazing,” Bianca breathed and Seamus sat back, annoyance crossing his handsome features.

  “Seamus, can you get me a scone or a biscuit? My stomach is really upset,” Clare asked, deciding to give her lab assistant something to do before he stormed off in a huff.

  “Tell me everything,” Bianca said, her bright blue eyes alive with excitement. Once her fear of Clare being hurt had passed, Bianca was ready to settle into a good story.

  “You know he’s a liking for you, right?” Clare hissed, pointing her beer at the swinging door to the kitchen.

  “Sure and I’d say so – he kissed me right before you burst through the door like the hounds of hell were chasing you,” Bianca hissed back.

  “Is that a good thing?” Clare asked.

  “I’m still making up me mind,” Bianca said, then smiled at Seamus as he walked through the door with a plate of biscuits.

  “Thanks, Seamus,” Clare said, balancing the plate on her leg and eagerly biting into a biscuit. Washing the buttery crumbs down with another sip of her beer, she launched into her story – changing only the parts about the silver puddle, the dagger, and what he had said about protecting her.

  “It seemed like he’d been following me, though,” Clare said through a mouthful of biscuit. Now that she’d started eating, she was having a hard time not shoveling the biscuits down her throat.

  “The mugger? Or the handsome stranger?” Bianca asked while Seamus slid a glance at her.

  “The handsome stranger. Blake,” Clare said.

  “Blake. Sounds hot,” Bianca gushed, and Seamus shook his head.

  “Listen, I’m going to leave you two. Call me if you need me to walk you to the lab tomorrow,” Seamus said, standing up and patting Clare’s shoulder lightly as he passed her chair. Clare reached up and grabbed his hand, squeezing it briefly.

  “Thanks, friend. I’ll let you know.”

  Seamus paused by the door, his eyes on Bianca as he shoved his hands through his already messy hair.

  Clare tilted her head and raised an eyebrow at her roomie.

  “Oh, well, yes, Seamus, I’ll just see you out then,” Bianca said, jumping up quickly and following Seamus out into the hallway.

  Clare leaned back in the chair and considered their living room as she waited for Bianca to stop kissing Seamus. A pretty woven rug in colors of mossy green and yellow covered the worn wood floor. The tweed chair she was currently curled up in picked up the same tone of green, and the walls echoed a faded version of the same color. With mismatched prints of the Irish countryside cluttering the walls and pretty lace curtains in the tall windows that ranged the front of the room, it was a cozy and welcoming – if slightly threadbare – room. Bianca and Clare had decided not to spend too much of their money on decorating. Instead, they’d invested their time and energy into updating their wardrobe and doing their best to wash away their country girl looks. Here and there they’d added little touches to the apartment, but for the most part, the girls kept the place uncluttered, sparse, and fairly clean.

  Bianca slid back in the front door, a guilty look on her face.

  “What? Why do you look so guilty?” Clare demanded.

  “He likes me. And you work with him. And I liked kissing him. And… and… I don’t know,” Bianca wailed and dramatically collapsed on the couch.

  Despite herself, Clare found her lips twitching into a smile.

  “I like Seamus. You could do far worse,” Clare pointed out.

  “Yeah, but he’s so not my type! I mean, he’s tall and awkward, and sort of gangly, but when he kisses me?” Bianca fanned her face dramatically as she stared up at their ceiling from the couch. “It all falls away and I just want to jump him.”

  “So jump him,” Clare said with a smile.

  Bianca sat up and pushed a lock of blonde hair behind her ear.

  “You think? I mean, I should?” Bianca asked, her face serious.

  Clare chuckled, taking another swig of her beer. The normalcy of the conversation was beginning to push the weird events she’d experienced earlier to the back of her mind.

  “I think you should do whatever you feel like doing. But, here’s a suggestion, maybe let him woo you a bit first.”

  “Woo me?” Bianca said in the same tone as if she’d just spotted a cockroach.

  “Yes, woo you. You’re always so quick to fall head over heels in love with the wrong guy. Why don’t you just let it unfold naturally?”

  Bianca blinked her blue eyes at Clare, an expression of awe dawning on her face.

  “Woo me, she says. Woo me,” Bianca muttered to herself, as though the concept was entirely foreign to her.

  “Yes, woo you! Give him the chance to take you out to dinner. That kind of thing. He’s been watching you for a long time, you know. Asking after you,” Clare said.

  “He has not!” Bianca all but squealed, her eyes dagger sharp as she narrowed them at Clare. “You’ve said not a thing. Not one thing.”

  Clare shrugged. “It wasn’t for me to say. You were always involved. Now you’re not.”

  “Seamus.” Bianca shook her head, bringing her fingers to her lips. “I’d never considered Seamus. He is quite cute though, isn’t he?”

  “And he’s a good guy,”
Clare agreed.

  “Enough about him. Tell me more about this handsome stranger.” Bianca waved it away and then jumped up. “Hold on. I’ll be getting us another pint for this round.”

  Clare smiled and stretched her feet out, the shock of her earlier encounter beginning to fade away in the warm glow of her living room and the cheerful banter with her roommate.

  Bianca breezed back in with a bottle of Middleton and two whiskey glasses.

  “I think whiskey is in order,” Bianca declared, setting one glass down by Clare and pouring her a generous splash. Clare picked up the glass and studied the amber liquid before she held it up in salute to her roomie.

  “Sláinte.”

  “Now, tell me why you think he was following you,” Bianca demanded, bringing Clare right back into the confusion and fear she’d felt an hour ago.

  Clare pressed her lips together as she considered just how much to tell Bianca.

  “He said something like… ‘you don’t know?’ And something about protecting me,” Clare finally said, taking a small sip of the whiskey, enjoying the burn of it as it settled in the pit of her stomach.

  Bianca fanned her face dramatically again.

  “Protecting you! A mysterious handsome stranger sent to protect you. It’s like a fairytale!” Bianca gushed, her enthusiasm radiating through her.

  Leave it to Bianca to jump right to fairytales and legends. This was right up her alley, Clare thought, as she took another sip of her whiskey. Speaking of…

  “You wouldn’t know anything about silver eyes would you? Er, or anything to do with protection from silvery something or another?” Clare mumbled, before clamping her lips down on the words. It sounded just as ridiculous as it had seemed in her head.

  “Well, silver eyes would be fae,” Bianca said automatically, then scrunched up her pert nose as she thought. “But I’d have to look up the protection thing. I’m certain I’ve heard various stories regarding protection spells or protectors. You know me, I’ve loads of mythology books.”