“Impossible.” But the proof of it was right there before his very eyes.
He’d never seen it before—verily, he never thought to see it—but the Draghar had.
The Dark Glass.
One of four unholy Unseelie Hallows.
At one point, the glass had actually been in their possession. They’d never been able to translate the spells necessary to use it, though not for lack of trying. Nor had they ever discerned its purpose.
It was a mystery to him as well, but he knew all he needed to know: His legendary ancestor of allegedly epic moral turpitude had one of the forbidden Unseelie Hallows in his possession.
And he was alive. And here in present day.
What the blethering hell was a Keltar Druid doing with the blackest of black magycks? They were Seelie guardians, not Unseelie!
The situation was far grimmer than he’d thought.
Rubbing his jaw, he pondered his options. They were few. He’d felt the power in his ancestor. He didn’t delude himself for a moment that he’d be able to subdue him with magyck, unless he called on some of the Draghar’s tricks, a thing he was highly reluctant to do.
Nor could he hope to use brute force without the possibility of innocent bystanders getting caught in the fray. Especially not if the formidable Druid simply lashed out with a spell to stop him.
Yet he needed to get the man to Castle Keltar.
Once there, mayhap together he and Drustan could bind him, question him, discover what was going on, and what to do about it.
His gaze slid back to the Dark Glass.
It exerted an unpleasant pull on him. Made him hunger to touch it. He’d heard tell that the Dark Hallows tended to have such a dangerous effect on men with power in their veins. He’d never experienced it before and hoped not to again. He felt both a constant, irresistible urge to reach for it, and also a bone-deep chill warning him away.
Eyeing it warily, the simplest solution occurred to him. One that would keep his need to touch it to a minimum.
His ancestor wasn’t the only one who could use Voice. Dageus excelled at it too. Though he doubted he could outright contradict anything his ancestor had commanded, he was fair certain he could work around it.
Placing a hand on the salesman’s shoulder, he instructed him quietly but forcefully, “You will give me the keys to that SUV. And when he returns for his vehicle you will tell him he will find it here.” Plucking a pen and one of the young salesman’s business cards from the pocket of the glassy-eyed man’s crisp white shirt, he scribbled the address of Castle Keltar. “You will give him these keys, and direct him to that vehicle.” Handing the salesman his own set of keys, he pointed down the street to the vehicle he’d recently purchased, a Hummer it was called, though in his estimation it leaned more toward a roar than a hum.
The salesman nodded blankly.
Dageus had no doubt his ancestor would come, sword swinging, to reclaim the Dark Glass. The man was fiercely aggressive by nature and, given that he was freely dabbling with black arts, he would be even more so.
Like as not, he’d be dangerously violent. He and Drustan would be wise to sequester Chloe, Gwen, and the young twins away.
Carefully, without making contact with the glass, he rearranged the blanket over the mirror.
Then, circling round to the driver’s side of the SUV, Dageus tossed Chloe’s boots onto the passenger’s seat, climbed in, fired up the engine, and headed for home.
“But he’s your descendant, for heaven’s sake!” Jessi exclaimed. “How can you just walk away from him?”
The moment she’d seen the man “Dageus” scowling at Cian, she’d been struck by their sameness. The more she’d stared back and forth between them, the more convinced she’d become that they had to be related somehow.
Though Cian’s descendant had been dressed in expensive, tailored black trousers, a black turtleneck, and a buttery-soft leather jacket, though he’d been well groomed and polished, his civilized appearance had failed to conceal an innate primitiveness that was just like Cian’s.
She’d tried to point it out, but they were kindred even in their edgy tempers and excess testosterone. She’d not been able to spit the whole sentence out because they’d kept talking over her.
She’d continued her assessment, periodically attempting to interject her thoughts, to no avail.
Both had long dark hair, both had strong, chiseled Celtic features, both had arrogance shaping the very curve of their spine, conquest in the cant of their heads upon their shoulders, and an extra something running in their veins besides very blue, very pure blood.
Both had a base, seething sexuality. Both had powerful, highly developed physiques. And there was no denying it, Dageus was incredible looking.