hand on Justine’s thin shoulder. “In our defense, we thought at the time that we were trying to save humanity from the Apocalypse. Now we’re looking for another way…one that doesn’t end with more de Moray casualties.”
Aerin stood. She may be new at this, but she could read something not altogether honest in the other witch’s emotional signature. “And just who the fuck are you?” she demanded. “And why did no one tell me that our aunt tried to kill Moira?”
“It sort of never came up,” Tierra said, as though the fact also surprised her.
Aerin kind of understood that, she wasn’t at the top of the list of dangerous people after them at the moment.
“My name is Gwen,” the blonde was saying. “I’m High Priestess of the Olympic Coven of Thirteen.”
“Well ain’t you just the tomcat’s batter sack.” Visibly shaking with anger at this point, Moira made what looked like a weird southern insult with her finger. “And then get the fuck out. Both of you.” Clouds began to gather over the calm waters of the bay, blocking the light from the moon.
“Moira, calm down,” Tierra murmured. “Last thing we need is a storm right now.”
“No, I think she’s right.” Claire stood and moved next to Moira in a show of solidarity. “They should leave.”
“I agree.” Aerin crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “Didn’t the knife thing just predict that enemies would cross our threshold?” God, she couldn’t believe she’d just said that.
“A knife fell from the table to the floor?” Justine’s eyes widened as she turned to Tierra, who’d frozen with the kettle in her hand, her eyes bouncing from her aunt to her sisters with indecision.
“Yes.” Tierra nodded.
“Then the Horsemen are closer than we thought.” Instead of retreating she went to Tierra, searching for the only friend she might have left in her family. “I know I made mistakes, immense ones, but you have to believe me, Tierra, my heart is in the right place, and we came to warn you. To help you.”
“That makes about as much sense as a shoeshine in a shit storm,” Moira said, clearly unconvinced.
Tierra brought the coffee to the table, biting her lip, conflict heavy on her features.
Gwen stepped forward. “Would I have been able to get past your wards if we meant you harm?”
Aerin only had a second to wonder how the Priestess knew that detail before the splintering of wood and breaking of glass shattered the two windows flanking the table, as chaos and violence erupted.
38
Two powerhouse men unfurled from the glittering shards of glass, landing on their feet, braced for battle before the remains of the window finished hitting the floor. The one next to Moira was empty-handed and swarthy, clad in black jeans and a tight t-shirt the color of blood. The other, a lighter specter of the first, had eyes and hair more the color of an amber whiskey than the black stout of his companion. The moment he landed, his strong arm reached over his head and produced a bow from an invisible quiver, and an arrow appeared between his fingers as he pulled back the string and trained it on Claire.
Neat trick, conceded the only part of Aerin’s brain that wasn’t freaking the fuck out. A rather polite knock sounded on the kitchen door, and she whirled to see Julian push it open, ripping the deadbolt through the wood as though it were nothing.
“What the fuck, Julian?” Aerin demanded, trying not to let the regret pooling in his eyes calm the waves of betrayal and anger building within her.
“I warned you we’d be coming,” he murmured.
“I didn’t know you meant like—right now!” Aerin bitched. He looked so different than the man she’d spent the afternoon with. This was the gentleman she’d met at the airport, calm, cultured, suited, and hiding a cold heart and lethal intent behind a veneer of manners and platitudes.
“I’m taking back what’s mine.” The red-shirted brute held his hand out and said something in a language that sounded harsh yet lyrical, Gaelic maybe?
From the floor above, a crash then a drag, muffled by heavy rugs and heavier floors, preceded a flash as a blur of silver raced past them all. He caught the heavy sword with one hand as though the monstrous weapon weighed nothing. Then turned and flashed dark eyes at Claire, his features tightening into a sinister smile of victory as he raised the sword above Moira. “Only one of you has to die,” he said. “If you