Novels 03 After Twilight Read online

  “Where are you going?” She placed a timid hand on his arm. She’d never seen him this angry.

  “Out.”

  “But the storm …” She gestured toward the torrent of rain pounding the paving on the patio.

  “It beats the hell out of being here, with you.” She flinched as if she’d been struck, watching helplessly as he headed out into the storm.

  “Alex, wait.” She followed him, the wind snatching away her words.

  Coughing, she fought her way forward, urged on by the dark silhouette of her husband heading for the beach.

  A violent clap of thunder split the night. For an instant, Alex was illuminated clearly. Behind him, green in the eerie flash of light, a huge wall of water served as a backdrop. There was a roaring sound and she opened her mouth to scream.

  One minute he was there, and the next, he was gone, leaving nothing but darkness and rain. Again, the lightning lit the beach, but this time it was empty.

  Horrifyingly empty.

  The dock, the boat … Alex.

  They were gone….

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  To Robert,

  the love of my life.

  There is a moment after twilight when the world

  hangs in balance, neither here nor there, and

  anything is possible….

  Prologue

  Southampton

  “I DON’T WANT a divorce, Alex. I want a husband.”

  Lightning flashed as the glass pane shook with the force of the wind. Kacy felt it vibrate under her fingertips. Rain pounded against the French door, running in rivulets down its face, partially obscuring the wildly gyrating trees outside. The path to the beach, beyond the trees, was totally invisible, the downpour acting like a moving curtain, obliterating almost everything.

  “I am your husband, Kirstin.” Alex’s voice was tense, a low counterpoint to the fury of the storm.

  She turned to face him, alarmed at how his use of her first name could sound so wrong, so foreign. “Maybe in name, but …”

  He cut her off with the wave of a hand. “In all ways.” His eyes narrowed, telegraphing his meaning.

  She shivered. “It isn’t like it used to be.”

  His smile was slow, almost lazy, and it didn’t reach his eyes. “Well, perhaps it’s time you learned to be a little more adventurous.”

  She clenched her fists, wondering how she’d managed to get herself in this position. By marrying a stranger, the little voice in her head calmly announced. Thunder rattled through the living room. The lights flickered, went out, and then came on again. She squinted as her eyes adjusted. “I need someone who loves me, Alex—”

  “Loves you?” His look changed to derision. “And that’s why you eloped with someone you hardly knew? Come, Kirstin, be honest, you married me for the same reason I married you.” His hand snaked out and he jerked her to him, his tongue tracing the line of her lips. “You want me, Kirstin.” He pressed against her. “You want this.”

  “Alex, I …” She tried to push him away, to find the right words, to face the reality of what he’d become. “Not like this, please.”

  “Fine.” He stared down at her, his jaw tightening, then he released her, his handsome face mottled with anger. “Have it your way.” The words exploded from his lips and he pushed past her, throwing open the door. Rain lashed into the room, instantly soaking them both.

  “Where are you going?” She placed a timid hand on his arm. She’d never seen him this angry.

  He shook off her hand and turned, his hair already plastered to his head. “Out.”

  “But the storm …” She gestured toward the torrent of rain pounding the paving of the patio.

  “It beats the hell out of being here, with you.” Each word was clipped, designed to wound. She flinched as if she’d been struck, watching helplessly as he headed out into the storm.

  “Alex, wait.” She followed him, the wind snatching away her words. He was only a dim shadow now, moving down the path toward the beach, illuminated at off moments by a flash of lightning. She took a step toward his retreating figure, surprised at the strength of the wind. For every step forward, it seemed to beat her back two. She sniffed, her nose filling with rain and tears.

  Coughing, she fought her way forward, urged on by the dark silhouette of her husband heading for the beach, feeling the wet sand suck at her feet. Alex was almost to the dock, his frame bent at the waist as he tried to maneuver. Their little sailboat bobbed violently in the roiling ocean. Surely he wasn’t going to try to go out in that?

  “Alex,” she screamed. Again the wind tore away her words, throwing them back at her with an almost angry savagery.

  She neared the ocean’s edge, still a hundred feet or so from Alex and the boat. He’d managed to climb out on the dock. In the recurring lightning, she could almost make out his features. It was like watching him in strobe lighting. There and gone, there and gone, there and …

  A violent clap of thunder split the night. For an instant, Alex was illuminated clearly. Behind him, green in the eerie flash of light, a huge wall of water served as a backdrop. There was a roaring sound and she opened her mouth to scream.

  One minute he was there, and the next, with a flash of the strobe, he was gone, leaving nothing but darkness and rain. Again the lightning lit the beach, but this time it was empty.

  Horrifyingly empty.

  The dock, the boat … Alex.

  They were gone.

  Kacy fought against the wind, its strength almost a physical blockade. Driven by fear, she pushed forward, finally reaching the edge of the water. She screamed his name over and over, certain that he was there, that the storm and the lightning were playing tricks on her. Her eyes searched the horizon, looking for something, anything.

  For Alex.

  Alex.

  Oh, God. Alex.

  She realized she was still screaming his name, and with a force of will honed from years of practice, she shut down her terror, forcing herself to find calm. Panicking wouldn’t help him.

  Nothing was going to help Alex, the little voice sang in her head.

  She walked into the surf, feeling the powerful pull of the water, jumping to avoid the crashing waves. She stared into the pouring rain until her eyes ached, hoping for a sign— hoping for a miracle. Only when the waves threatened to swamp her did she retreat to the beach.

  She shivered as much from horror as cold and wrapped her arms around her waist.

  “Alex,” she called again, this time knowing it was hopeless. He was gone. Forever.

  She sank on the sand, sobs ripping through her, the sound of them adding to the cacophony of beating surf, rain, thunder, and wind. She pounded the ground with her fists until her fingers and palms were bloody, her hair whipping around her, tangling in the wild wind.

  Everything she loved went away.

  Everything.

  And this time, as always, it was her fault.

  All her fault.

  The wind blew and the waves crashed, the water sucking at her, its greedy fingers carving a channel around her, until she was left totally alone on an island in the sand.

  Chapter 1

  Lindoon, County Clare, Ireland—two years later

  KACY MACGRATH SAT on the stony promontory and stared out at the ocean. Sky, mist, and sea melded together, obliterating the horizon, the somber coloring reflecting her mood.

  Gulls darted back and forth between land and water, their cries echoing off of the rocky cliffs. Mac chased each and every one, joyfully barking and leaping into th
e air, blissfully unaware that he was physically incapable of catching one of the darting birds.

  Kacy sighed. Maybe Mac had the right idea. Perhaps ignorance was bliss. She stood up, brushed off her skirt, and whistled for the dog. Mac bounded over to her, pushing a cold nose against her leg. The wind whistled across the meadow, the sound melancholy in the half-light. She shivered, suddenly grateful for the enveloping warmth of her fisherman’s sweater.

  She turned to face the tumbled ruins of Dunbeg. The shape of the old ring fort was obscured by the mist, tendrils drifting in and out of the fallen stones. Centuries ago the fort had served its owners well, defending them from invaders and protecting them from the harsh Irish weather. There was something romantic about it. A sense of timelessness. She shook her head at her own fancy and turned her attention to Mac, scratching the dog behind his ears. Mac’s liquid brown eyes smiled up at her.

  Kacy smiled back. “I think it’s time you and I were heading for home.”

  The dog wagged his tail in agreement and took off in the direction of Sidhean, a blur of black and white against the flat green and gray of the rocky meadow. The cottage wasn’t visible over the rise, but Mac knew it was there. He stopped about fifty yards away and turned back, barking as if to say, “Where are you?”

  “I’m coming. Just let me get the basket.” She turned back to the edge of the cliff and bent to retrieve the remnants of their picnic. Mac barked again, but something in the tone sent a shiver of anxiety up her spine. She jerked upright and spun around, heart pounding, looking for something out of the ordinary in the shadows of the misty twilight. Nothing moved.

  Mac arrived at her side, his teeth bared, a low growl issuing from deep in his throat. She laid a hand on his head, comforted by the silky feel of his fur. “What is it, Mac? What do you see?”

  Her eyes darted around the clearing. In the far corner of the fort, against the stark contrast of the stone wall, something shifted, moved. She closed her eyes, stepping back involuntarily. Mac growled again.

  She sucked in a breath and blew it out forcefully.

  This was silly. There was no sense in jumping at shadows.

  “Shadows,” she repeated the word out loud, and opened her eyes, ready to face whoever was out there.

  The fort was empty.

  Nothing was there.

  She stroked Mac’s ears. “It was just our imagination, a trick of the mist.” She spoke more for herself than the dog. Still, she could feel him relax. “Probably just a gull.” She forced herself to sound positive. Mac wagged his tail.

  “Come on, let’s go home.”

  * * *

  Braedon Roche took a slow sip of his beer and eyed the other patrons of the pub. It was early still and there were only a few people nursing the requisite pint. An old man in one corner sat with eyes closed, an open newspaper in front of him. A couple in the back halfheartedly threw darts at the tattered wheel on the wall, stopping often to exchange kisses, another type of bull’s-eye on their minds.

  The bartender—Fin, he called himself—polished the spigots with a flourish while having an animated conversation with someone on the other side of a small pass-through. It had been a long time since Braedon had been in a pub like this. The ones he frequented these days were the trendy places the elite liked to meet. It felt good to be here. Almost like he was home again.

  Almost.

  He finished the beer and walked over to the bar, setting the empty glass on the counter.

  “Will you be wantin’ another, then?” Fin nodded at the glass.

  “Yes, please.” He paused, feeling like a duck out of water, or more accurately a man without a country. “I don’t suppose you have an egg sandwich?”

  “Not on me.” The man looked down at himself with a grin. “But I suspect my sister, Caitlin, can make you one faster than you can finish this pint.” He set the glass back on the bar, foam running down its sides. “And would you be wantin’ chips with that?”

  Braedon felt his mouth water. It was good to be back in Ireland. “No, but if you’ve a packet of crisps, I’ll take those.”

  “Name your flavor.”

  “Salt and vinegar.”

  Fin placed the crisps beside the beer and rang up the sale on an antique cash register. Its chinging pulled Braedon farther back into his past. He could almost see his mother, smell the lilac she always wore. Going to the pub had been a special treat. “For me very best boy,” she’d always say.

  The register drawer opened with a ding and he jerked from his reverie. There was nothing nostalgic in his past. Only pain and misery. And he’d put that all behind him. Or at least he thought he had. Hell, if all it took was a packet of crisps to bring the memories back, they couldn’t be buried as deeply as he’d thought. Maybe this had been a mistake.

  “Your change.” Fin held out a handful of coins.

  “Keep it. Buy yourself a pint.”

  The big man smiled. “Don’t mind if I do. But I can’t be drinking it alone, now can I?” He motioned to a barstool nearby.

  Braedon sat and opened his crisps. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to get friendly with the locals. They might even be able to help him.

  The bartender looked toward the door, a smile of genuine delight breaking across his face. “Well, look what the dog’s brought in. Come to escape the fairies, have you?”

  Braedon followed the bartender’s gaze. The man hadn’t been exaggerating. The woman in the doorway was indeed accompanied by a dog. A large Border collie.

  But Fin had only been half right. The woman wasn’t escaping the fairies, she was one. Tiny and perfectly formed, she had silvery hair that hung like silk around her shoulders. Her face was as delicate as her body, with a tiny upturned nose and rose petals for lips.

  Rose petals? Had he actually thought that?

  She smiled at the bartender and pulled off her jacket. “I haven’t come to escape anything.” She was enveloped from head to knees in a cable knit sweater, the kind that looked perfect on a woman, but clearly belonged to her lover. Braedon was surprised at the twinge of jealousy he felt at the thought.

  Her skirt only added to the ethereal image she presented. The same color as her hair, it was gauzy, reminding him of cotton candy. In fact, she reminded him of a confection. A confection he desperately wanted to taste.

  He took a sip of his beer, trying to pull his libido into control. It had obviously been too long since he’d had a woman. And his poetic mind had run amok. Cotton candy. Hell. Maybe she really was a fairy.

  The dog sniffed at Braedon’s shoes, and then, seeming satisfied, walked over to the fireplace and plopped down on the hearth as if he’d been doing it all of his life. Probably had, Braedon’s mind whispered. He watched as the dog idly scratched, thinking that the New York Board of Health would have a field day with that. But, he sighed, this wasn’t America. It was Ireland.

  Home.

  “I just thought a bit of company might do me some good.” She crossed the room to the bar, her stride at once appealing and hesitant—almost shy.

  “And you chose me. Well, now, there’s a thought to make a man’s day.” The big Irishman handed her a half-pint of pale ale. She smiled and took a small sip, her lips caressing the edge of the glass.

  Braedon shook his head, trying to clear his traitorous thoughts. He had more important things to dwell on, like saving his business, not to mention his reputation. He forced himself to focus on the conversation, wrenching his mind from the elfin woman in front of him.

  “So you’re sure the fairies haven’t been bothering you? I mean, you do live at Sidhean,” Fin was saying.

  She laughed, a deep, throaty sound that made Braedon’s groin tighten. “Just because I live on a fairy knoll doesn’t mean I’m intimate with the fairies.”

  Braedon choked on his beer and struggled not to spit it out. She had one of those indiscernible accents. The kind that privilege produced. Private schools and money. Her voice itself was deep and raspy, a complete contrast to the
way she looked. It stroked down him, filling him with—

  “Here’s your egg sandwich.” Fin slapped the plate on the bar, his interest in Braedon apparently evaporating in favor of his newest patron. Not that Braedon could blame him. She was more than a looker. There was something vulnerable about her. The kind of woman a man wanted to take care of. The kind of woman that he’d best avoid if he was going to accomplish anything.

  He picked up his food and glass and settled into a chair at a table across from the bar. It was close to the fire, he reasoned, but knew it was also the perfect place to watch her. Fin bent forward, whispering something in her ear. She laughed and answered, but he couldn’t hear her words, only the smoky resonance of her voice.

  Kacy listened to Fin, smiling at the appropriate moments, following the gist of his conversation, but her attention was still riveted on the man by the fire. He looked all at once right and wrong.

  He wore jeans and a sweater, but even in casual clothes the man reeked of wealth. His loafers were shined to perfection and she’d bet a pint those were ironed creases in his jeans. His hair was deep brown, almost black, and it curled slightly at the neck, as though it were trying to rebel. The rest of it was combed firmly in place, not a hair out of line.

  A reflection of the man, no doubt.

  But there was more to him, something deeper, primordial, and it called out to her. She let her eyes follow the strong line of his jaw down to his neck and across his broad shoulders. He was a tall man. Well over six feet, if she had to guess. She sipped absently from her glass, trying not to stare.

  Mac, the traitor, had already made friends with him. He’d left the hearth and curled up at the man’s feet. A man and his dog. Her fingers itched to paint it. Heavens, what was she thinking? A man and her dog. Her dog.

  “He’s from New York, you know.” Fin was leaning in conspiratorially. “Cosmopolitan, like you.”

  “Really?” She fought to keep her voice cool, determined to sound uninterested. She’d had a heck of a lot of practice hiding her emotions. She certainly wasn’t going to let one over-pressed pretty boy ruin her average. “What’s he doing here?”