Darklove (Dark Ink Chronicles #5)

Darklove (Dark Ink Chronicles #5) Page 20

“Och, girly,” Tate says. “We hardly limit ourselves tae vampires only.”

“Aye, that would be bloody boring,” Gerry claims.

I turn, looking at Noah. We can use their help. We’re running in circles right now, and Jake and the other WUP members are tied up in a wolfy war.

They’re humans, Riley. No offense, but any one of them could be killed, at any given time.

Noah. We’re outnumbered and alone. Rhine and these guys? They run in packs. You take a lion. Fierce. Lethal. Deadly. But you surround it with a pack of angry men with spears and guns? Lion doesn’t have a chance. We need them.

We stare at each other, me convincing, Noah deciding.

“Och, you two are bloody talkin’ tae each other, aren’t ya?” Tate asks.

I slide a look his way and lift an eyebrow.

“Magic,” he says in a low voice. I soon realize Tate is the Ness Boy with no filter.

All right, Riley. I guess we’ve got no choice.

We don’t. And I trust them. Whatever happens, I trust Rhine. He went through some major shit as a kid. It’s made him stronger. Like me.

Noah gives me one last, long stare, then turns to Rhine. “There’re a few things you need to know.” He inclines his head to me. “About her.”

Rhine meets my gaze and nods. “Then it’s best if the whole lot o’ us knows at once.” He smiles. “I dinnae know ’bout you, but I hate repeatin’ myself. You can stay at our place.” He looks at Pete and the others. “Meet the boys o’ the ’Ness.”

Noah gives me a quick glance, and I nod. Pretty cute bunch of guys. Yeah, they look like punks, but if you look deep and hard enough, you’d think you were staring at a hooded lot of Abercrombie models. Yet they fight vampires. Who would’ve thought?

“Let’s pack up,” I say.

So we do. As Rhine and the others wait, Noah and I gather what little belongings we have, throw our weapons into our gear bags, and clean out the fridge. An unexpected turn of events, to be sure. I mean, who in the hell would ever have guessed a gang of human boys was running the show in Inverness? Rhine being the only one with a tinge of tendencies. It blows my mind. They all must be some tough little bastards.

Being good tenants, we place the trash in the can outside, and the key in the drop box. Rhine walks up to me at the curb. “Your chariot awaits.”

I glance over his shoulder at the two Rovers, parked with engines running.

“Need a hand wi’ those?” he says, inclining his head to my two duffels.

I shrug out of the one holding my clothes and hand it to him. “Thanks.”

Rhine takes it and walks to one of the Rovers. He opens the hatch and throws it in. Noah’s at the other Rover, and he glances at me. “See ya there,” he says, and climbs in.

“Guess you’re ridin’ wi’ me then,” Rhine says with a mischievous grin. “Let’s go.” He quickly introduces me to the driver, Chess, and we head out.

The Scots, I notice again, have a wicked accent. I never tire of hearing it. We climb into the backseat, and both Rovers pull out onto Montague Row.

“Where’re we headed?” I ask Rhine.

“My da’s brother left me a fair bank account when he died,” he says. “I used it wisely, as he had advised me. Invested some, saved some, and bought the Rovers, a motorbike, and an old hotel on the other side of the river.” He stares at me. “So tell me about this fiancé o’ yours.” He mock-frowns, his dark eyebrows stark against his alabaster skin. “You sure you want tae marry a bloodsucker? Or is there a chance you might fancy a younger human wi’ no’ so many tendencies?”

I shake my head. “Obviously excessive flirting is one of them.” I glance out the window as we cross the river. “I’d die trying to save Eli from whatever fucked-up hell he’s in,” I say, then turn back to Rhine. “But I’m not sure that’s going to happen.”

Rhine’s eyes soften. “I dinnae mean tae be disrespectful,” he apologizes. “Although I’d be lying if I said I wouldna give it a go if he weren’t a factor.”

I grin. “I can read minds, junior. You could lie, but I’d catch you.”

His eyes flash, then move to my inked wing at the corner of my eye. “You took a glance into my past,” he says. “Tell me about yours.” He nods to my ink. “I see you fancy body art. I gotta admit, I fancy it on ya.”

I can’t help laughing. Rhine is kinda like a junior version of Noah. “Before . . . all of this, I spent my days and a lot of nights at my ink shop. I’m a tattoo artist by trade.”

“Interesting. And that dragon’s tail winding round your arm there,” he says, inclining his head. “Where does that lead?”

I smile. “My back. I’m slightly famous for my work in the States.”

Rhine nods appreciatively. “Well, then, we’ll just have tae exchange ink shows once we’re settled.”

Pete turns around from the front passenger seat and looks at me. “Master ink artist, aye? Have you more than just your dragon and wings, then?”

I grin. Pete’s cute, with expressive blue eyes, wiry, and a scar on his chin in the place so many kids get them after slipping off the monkey bars on the playground. “A few more.”

Pete returns the smile. “Then a fine exchange we shall have.”

“Pete here’s chicken tae get inked,” Rhine says. “Scared o’ needles.”

“Shut the fook up,” Pete argues.

“Scared o’ needles but doesna mind pokin’ a bloodsucker in the heart with a blade,” Chess adds. A little older, maybe twenty-one, Chess has a matter-of-fact mannerism that belies the mischievous glint in his hazel eyes. He grins at me through the mirror, and I grin back.

I stare at the three Ness boys with interest. They’ve all taken me by surprise.

It doesn’t take us long to reach Rhine’s hotel-turned-slayer’s shack—and it’s far, far from a shack at all. After we cross the river, the Rover turns down several streets until we’ve just reached the edge of the city limits. Chess turns down a long tree-lined drive that leads to an ivy-covered stone building, four stories high. It’s flanked by enormous trees with wide spread branches.

“Welcome to the Crachan,” Rhine announces, and he puts on a proper British accent, so different from his sharp guttural Scot’s brogue. “I do hope you enjoy your stay immensely.”

Laughter erupts from Chess and Pete. We pull in, winding around a large half-circle drive. It sort of reminds me of Gabriel’s Crescent . . . just not as creepy. There are a few vehicles parked along the front, and several motorcycles. The Rover stops, and we get out. The other one arrives, and Noah joins me. We stare up at the Crachan, pronounced Cracken. It’s a pretty big place.

“Welcome to the Hotel California?” I sing to Noah.

Noah eyes me. “Should I worry about the kid?”

I move my gaze to Rhine, who’s now on his cell phone a few feet away. His back is to us, but I hear the muffled snort. “He heard you,” I say, and smile. “He’s a lot like you, Miles.”

“That’s why I asked if I should worry.”

I shift my duffel on my shoulder, the weight of the blades and scatha almost a comfort. Rhine stuffs his cell in his back pocket, shoulders my other duffel, and joins us. He nods at Noah. “This way.” He turns and we follow, making our way up the graveled walkway. I notice it’s not too shabbily kept for a bunch of guys. Impressed again.

We walk through a pair of tall, intricately carved and thick wooden doors and into a cavernous open hall. Like many old manors, I notice, it has a massive fireplace occupying one wall. A huge flat-screen takes up another wall, and a few sofas, several chairs, and a long wooden coffee table sit before it. A few guys occupy the chairs and sofa. They glance our way.

“I’ll show ya tae your rooms,” Rhine says. “Most of the others aren’t home yet.” He leads us to a sweeping staircase at the end of the foyer. “One of the top requirements to reside here.” He glances at me as we start up the steps. “Gotta be employed.”

“Good idea,” Noah says. “What’s another requirement?”

Rhine stops at the second floor and steps onto the landing. He grins. “Can’t be a fookin’ scaredy-cat.”

“Good requirement,” I say. Rhine inclines his head, and we follow.

“I’ll put you two across the hall from each other,” Rhine says, and looks at me as he stops. The room number is 208. The door is wide open. “I’ll get your keys whilst you both settle in,” he says, and walks into the room, sets my duffel on the floor in front of the bed, and comes back out. When he passes Noah, he grins. “Aye. You’ve plenty tae worry about.” Then he hurries up the hallway at a jog and disappears down the steps.

Noah looks at me from the hallway. “He’s a little more intense than I first thought.”

“I told you he heard you. Besides, he’s got a lot on his young shoulders,” I return. “He’s all right in my book.”

Noah smiles. “I know that.” He shrugs on his bag. “I’m going to call Andorra and give him an update. And check back with Gabriel about Carrine.”

“I’ll be over here,” I say, and turn and walk into my room. The hotel itself is old, as in a hundred years maybe, and although large, it’s modest with a blue-and-black-plaid theme, sparsely furnished, but clean. A double bed stands against one wall, a tall chest of drawers, a straight-back wooden chair and desk. Walking to the bed, I drop my weapons duffel on top of it. I unzip the bag and pull out my scatha.

“That’s a wicked piece of armor,” Rhine says at my side. I’d heard his footfalls as he climbed the steps, so it didn’t surprise me for him to be speaking in my ear. “What is it? A crossbow?”

I like the way his r’s roll and his o’s sound like ooh. “It’s an ancient device, newly built.” I hand it to him, and he palms it gently. “It’s a scatha. Medieval design.”