it was effective enough. He knew neither of the two policemen would remember anything amiss. A simple accident with a deer. The car was impounded, but that could be sorted later.
They had Heather’s name and her id number for their reports, as did the paramedic. That would have been too big of a gap for him to fill in. The accident would be on record, as would her information. But he had wiped recognition of her from their minds. They would remember no more than she was pretty and foreign, but not the details. Most likely they would not remember him at all. He had assured himself there would be no mention of the famous Vogue model at some pub tonight.
The hardest part had actually been to make the paramedic release her to him. The man had been insistent she be brought in to the hospital. Aidan was quite sure Heather was fine, his psychic skill made him confident of that, but the paramedic had been a man devoted to his profession. Aidan had to be rather cruel in the end, but there had been no time for anything else. He had been damn near burning alive by that point.
He had barely gotten them to the B&B in time, even with enthralling the guards enough to drop Heather and him off at the edge of Rathkeale.
The host had been a snap, since once out of the direct light of the sun, Aidan had been able to breathe a hair easier and take a little more time with his psychic meddling of the older woman’s natural caution and curiosity.
He had given her the story of a famous woman exhausted and suffering from a mild illness, taking her health in the country air for a day or two with a devoted 'friend'. Aidan had also eased both her ridiculously old-fashioned sensibilities and her obvious distrust of his appearance by indulging her greater love of fattening her pocketbook. He'd engaged her two best rooms and miraculously the woman's countenance had cleared. After that he'd whisked Heather upstairs in his arms and things were grand. Or near as one could hope.
Aidan would have thought very differently of that if he knew the B&B had another guest. One who had witnessed him checking in and his carrying Heather upstairs from the shadows of the hall outside the kitchen.
A guest who hadn't recognized her, but who had recognized Aidan quite readily . A man he'd never seen in real life, but whose portrait he passed in the house of his master every night. It was impossible, but those eyes and face were unmistakable. Aidan O’Neill. The man had shivered in the shadows with fear and an unholy excitement.
The vampire prince was home, and walking around in daylight . Two very improbable things, things the man was sure would be of monumental importance to his master. He would be rewarded greatly for this.
He only hoped his payment would be in blood.
At last.
A hundred miles to the north, a woman in white walked the hills of what had once been Connaught. A waxing moon was on the rise, gilding the land around her in gentle sweeps of silver and pale gold. She loved this land as she loved few things. She missed the days when fierce warriors darkened these hills and their cries of rage and fury had rang from sea to sea. The Red Branch, Finn MacCool, the high kings at Tara. Niall of the Nine Hostages and more. Cúchulainn. She knew their songs, their triumphs and their pain. Their blood had tainted the Shannon red and she had drank of the water as if it were wine.
Those days were gone. Those glorious days when her power had been feared and men had trembled to hear her name. So few were left who recognized her, even fewer who believed what they had seen…but there was still one .
Even if he was far from human now. And he would never forgive her for that. Not ever. She had teased him once that he would have a thousand lifetimes to forgive her and that she could wait. His answer, a thousand, thousand lifetimes granted against my will is never ever going to replace the heart you stole from me, Bav.
Her love. Her Aidan.
He knew her. And
Michele Boldrin;David K. Levine