Kelvin palmed the back of his neck and mentally mapped the foot route to the Kerr castle. "Goin' through the Scottish countryside with a human in tow is gonna take me a few days."

"Aye, and be sure to remember she's a human. Fragile, their kind is. I'll dig up as much as I can while you journey back and I'll have some answers for you when you arrive. You know the Solstice is only a few days out." Ian's concern was obvious, and he wished he could lie to his brother better.

Kelvin's breed, Razorback Pookah, was affected by the darkness. And with the lengthening winter nights, control over his inner beast was slowly slipping away from him.

"I'll have her back in time. Nay to worry."

Kelvin and his brother were the only surviving offspring of Cesan Kerr. After their father was killed by the Campbell clan, Ian, being the firstborn, had taken over with grace and valor as he had been brought up to do. Ian always grew anxious over any move Kelvin made, which annoyed Kelvin to no end. Pookahs were arguably the strongest immortals in the realm, and when they surrendered to the animal within they were simply terrifying. Maybe that's what worried Ian the most.

Kelvin shifted his weight, hopping on his toes.

"Kelvin?"

"I know, Ian!" he bit out, his temper rising.

"Look, this isn't stupid banter I'm givin'. You've no' found your female yet, and with the darkness comes lack of control. The human should be untouched, in every way, 'til we know more. Do you understand me?"

He hated being talked down to. He also hated that he had found his female and was unable to tell his brother. Although he rarely looked beyond war and strategy, Kelvin had thought the day he did finally find his mate would be a day of pride. He'd scent her skin, see home in her eyes, and truly be at peace. Fate had a cruel sense of humor.

"Aye, brother." Kelvin didn't need a babysitter. He was a fierce warrior, goddamn it. Battle Chief of the Kerr army, for fuck's sake!

"Be well, brother."

Kelvin snapped his cell shut, his mind choked with anguish. He slowed his pace, stopping in front of the window. Peering in, he found Izel lying on the bed, still unconscious.

Sprawled out on the mattress, her breasts nearly jutted out of her bra as her chest rose and fell with each breath. Her lean torso was sun-kissed, and dark jeans that once barely stayed up around her slim frame now clung to her newer, fuller curves. He ran a hand over his mouth as he raked his gaze over her flat belly and flaring hips.

God help me...

Duty calls, Ryo thought as she strutted down a long hall of the Kerr castle, heading toward Ian's chambers. Would it kill the Pookahs to incorporate some color in this joint? Yes, the castle was modernized, but seriously, ever heard of pastel?

She leaned against the open door frame of Ian's room. "You wanted to speak with me?"

Confusion plagued the Pookah's face. When would they learn that she was all-awesome and could see into the future? Well, kind of.

"Aye. It's regarding Kelvin."

She lifted a long platinum lock of hair off her shoulder and examined it in front of her. "Uh-huh."

"He has the McCall, except he is a she, and she appears ta be-"

"Human." She interrupted with a yawn. Tell me something I don't know, Pookah.

His brows drew close. "Aye, human. I need information. She's said ta have a prophecy, set by the Dryads."

"Oh, the mortal has much more than that." She dropped her hair from her fingers, making a mental note to schedule an appointment with her stylist. I could pull off red hair.

Ian was practically leering a hole through her.

"She's part Aztec," she informed him. "Her mama was a pretty big deal, but I'd be more worried about the curse surrounding the human, not the prophecy."

Judging by Ian's perplexed expression, he was lost. So typical for a boar. She rolled her eyes and continued. "She's cu-rr-ss-ed."

"I heard ya the first time, witch. What the bloody hell kind of curse does this human harbor?"

"Ah, the bad kind." She wished she could tell Ian more. Unfortunately, this was Kelvin's problem. And if Ryo dished too many details, she'd alter not only the human's course of fate, but Kelvin's as well. "Just tell Kelvin to come see me," she glanced at the ceiling. "You know what, never mind. He'll seek me out in a few weeks all on his own."

Chapter 3.

Izel felt a presence. A foreign weight surrounded her and a fiery, masculine scent caused the sides of her mouth to turn upward. She could feel his heat engulf her and she loved it.

Mine...

Her eyes shot open. It was him. The stranger. Hovering over her body. His face was in the crook of her neck, heavy breaths hot on her skin.

"What the hell!" she cried, bouncing into a sitting position, clutching the sheet to her chest. He jumped off the bed and stood, looking almost as startled as she was, but he recovered quickly, his glare boring down on her so strong she felt the sting of his gaze on her skin.

She was panting and confused to her core. She wanted to scream at this man who apparently had never heard of personal space and thought it was appropriate to wake her with his mouth.

"Where is my shirt? And why-"

"You ripped it off when you came at me like a sodding maniac."

Izel froze. Her eyes widened. The timbre of his voice accompanied by his sheer size was overwhelming. He was so tall that she had to crank her neck up to meet his eye line. She clutched the sheet against her-larger?-breasts. "I-I did no such thing. I... you," She began to stutter, trying to recall her last memory before passing out. Her stomach twisted in fear, remembering this man shoving his sword at her throat.

The air in her lungs hurt as she tried to breathe. This stranger had attempted to kill her. Kill her! For whatever reason, he had postponed his intent, but she wouldn't cower. Not this time. If he was coming for her, she'd sure as hell put up a fight.

Izel felt like a fire had been lit inside her. Adrenaline raced through her veins. Her blood pumped hotly, her skin warming. Her body was buzzing, vibrating with life. It was as if her soul had finally awakened after a twenty-five-year slumber.

He hovered near. His ice-blue eyes smoldered with intent. She watched the muscles in his chest flex and release, as if breathing was laborious. Just the sight of his ridged torso, tensing beneath his shirt, stirred her arousal.

Arousal?

Izel took deep breaths, comprehension hitting her like a Mack truck. She was feeling. Feeling! Although the emotions were confusing, she happily welcomed them. Finally, she was alive.

She wanted to cry, to scream. She wanted to do it all. She had almost died a pitiful, poor excuse for a Poet Fionn. Now emotions coursed through her, pricking her skin and searing her belly. And it stung so good.

She looked at the handsome male before her. Under different circumstances, she might take a second to appreciate his strong body, dark hair, and stunning eyes. But these weren't different circumstances.

She couldn't afford to be distracted, even if this man was ungodly handsome and every cell in her newly ignited body responded to him. No! She'd figure out what was happening to herself later; for now, she needed to fight.

Izel's gaze left the gorgeous Scot long enough to find the small dagger lying on the night table next to her. She released the sheet from her chest. Did the stranger just smile? Straining across the bed, she leaped, grabbing the knife.

"Stay away from me!" she threatened with more conviction than she'd ever used before.

The man chuckled with amusement and inched closer, far from disconcerted by the weapon she held. "That's no' gonna happen, little human. Why don't you be a good lass and drop the wee knife there, eh?"

Did he just call me a human? She held the knife out farther, finding the skin of her forearm a lovely olive color, not the typical pasty pale pigment she knew.

Izel's heart pounded, her breaths growing erratic as the waves of emotions kept hitting her. Oh, frick, frick, frick! She could not possibly want to tear off his clothes, throw him to the ground, and ride him until she could no longer walk. What the hell was wrong with her?

Her sex grew wet, body helpless against the rushing desires. Another wave hit. The emotions of fear and survival kicked in. The man took another step forward.

"I mean it, beast! Get back!" Her hands trembled as she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out. These rapid changes were causing physical pain.

The blood in her veins ran cold, then hot. Tiny white dots winked in her vision. Pressing the back of her free hand against her mouth, she gulped hard, swallowing back the bile rising in her throat.

Taking a deep breath and lifting her chin, she looked him in the eye. Finally, she had a life worth living, and by God, she would.

The stranger seemed insulted by her remark. He took another deliberate step toward her. She gripped the dagger in her sweaty palm, knuckles white on the hilt. Every emotion was coming at her full force with no explanation in sight.

"Beast?" he scoffed. "If your jabbing skills are anything like your intellect about my species, then I'm right to no' fear you or your weapon."

What an asshole. Izel wanted to challenge him-show him he was wrong and she was strong and knew exactly what she was doing. The truth was, she didn't know much about her own kind, let alone others.

"Who are the girls in your pack?" Did she just hear him right?

"Are you referring to the photo in my bag? You went through my things!"

He gave a guiltless shrug of his shoulders. "Who are they? You no' seem so happy with them."

"They are my friends back home. My roommates."

"Friends?" he tilted his head. "You must have been a pretty poor friend if you were unable ta feel emotion and reciprocate any kind o' joy or loss."

It felt like a thousand wasps stung her. Biting the inside of her cheek, she forced her head to stay high.

To her, the world was simple: Fionns, good. Vampires, bad. Humans, extinct. Everything else was unknown. Of course there were several species, with various subcategories of lineage. Although, for the most part, Izel never had to worry about these things.

Her only two friends, whom she currently lived with, she'd known since birth. Lorna and Ava MacAvoy were Fionns, which was about the only thing the sisters had in common.

"I did no' see a photo of a man in there. Can I assume-?"

"That is none of your business."

"Aye, so no man." His faced stretched into a victorious grin as his eyes roamed over her body.

Is he staring at my breasts? Izel remembered she was shirtless. He slid closer, now only inches away from her outstretched arm.

"Come now, female, drop the blade," he said in an amused undertone.

"Never!" she yelled back, trying not to think about his sexy smirk. She was losing her mind. What sane person was attracted to a killer? A dead sane person, that's who. Okay, so he hadn't killed her and he definitely could have. Who knows how long she'd lain unconscious, a total sitting duck. But he hadn't hurt her.

Still, she couldn't take any chances.

He stepped closer, allowing the tip of the blade to touch his chest. "You gonna stab me then?" he mocked, rather dared, her. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. I don't think you have it in ya, lass."

"If it means my life, I will not hesitate to plunge this into your heart." This new sense of self was rather enjoyable.

His bright blue eyes bore into hers, staring at her face with a look of... hunger? He was beautiful. Deadly. She marveled at his large hands, desperately wanting them on her skin. She fought the urge, yet again, to throw herself at him.

"You donna wanna stab me, lass." He tilted his head. "In fact, I think you wanna do something else entirely to me." His voice was laced with such potent seduction it made her knees weak.

Stupid knees.

Eyes locking on hers, he closed in, using his large body to surround her. Izel swallowed hard, trying to ignore the emptiness in her stomach as it clenched with need. "That's where you're wrong. I do want to stab you."

Liar.

He smirked at her words but didn't move. "Death blow to the heart, eh? And what will you take my head with, then?"

The killing of an immortal required a "death blow" and decapitation, which was why many immortals not only carried guns, but heavy blades and swords as well. When she was young, Izel had once asked her grandfather, Why can't you just take their heads?

Because, child, you must first kill the last human essence they hold, hence the death blow. In a world of immortals-humanity and mortality extinguished, replaced by superior genes and survival skills-the theory is that we all still have humanity, somewhere buried deep.

"Without my head, lass," the Scot continued, "I'd simply heal and be on your arse in no time."

Izel choked down the lump in her throat. "I'd... I could outrun you-"

The man threw his head back and roared with laughter.

"I can run fast." She hated feeling stupid. Fionns were renowned scholars. Most had to practice and study to harness and strengthen their abilities. Not everyone could be blessed like the MacAvoy sisters. Lorna, a Poet Fionn, had only to whisper and her lips instantly reddened with persuasive power. Ava was such a strong Mystic that the magic in her blood would actually make her skin glow. Izel, however, had logged countless hours rehearsing persuasive phrases, but unfortunately she still had not come into her power.

"Ah, lass, you give me a good laugh, but come now, enough games. Put the knife down and let's get goin'. We have a long journey ahead of us."

We? Us? Suddenly this guy wanted to be road-trip buddies? Not in a million years! "Now it's my turn to laugh, because you must be off your meds if you think I'm going anywhere with you, beast!"

In a flash, he gripped her wrist and spun her around, clutching her middle. Izel went from pointing a dagger at him to having her back flush against his chest and the blade at her collar.

"Do no' call me a beast again." His lips skimmed her earlobe, and the stubble on his chin tickled her sensitive skin. Shivers ran down her spine. Although she still clutched the dagger, his massive hand was wrapped around her wrist, preventing her from striking. His other hand snaked up her stomach. She felt the rough calluses of his palm sweep across the smooth flesh of her belly.

His hand continued its slow slide up her torso, finally ending at the base of her neck. He hooked her throat in his palm. She trembled in-fear? anticipation? desire? She didn't know.

Fighting against the odd attraction, she clung to her dignity and stifled a small groan before speaking. "Look, I'm not going anywhere with you." She shook her shoulders slightly, emphasizing her protest.

Seriously, what was wrong with her, or should she say right? Not long ago she had cowered in a corner and accepted her coming death. Now, locked in this guy's grip, she was fighting, passionate, determined. This sudden sense of feeling was drugging.

She closed her eyes, reveling in the warmth of his large body against hers. She loved it! Wait... hated. She hated it. Ugh! She wanted to scream with frustration. But before she could, the man buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply. She barely made out his mumbles.

"A ghra mo chroi..."