In The Dark Read online

  In The Dark

  Book One

  GUARDIANSHIP TRILOGY

  Sarah K. Jensen

  In The Dark, Book One Guardianship Trilogy

  Copyright © 2021 by Sarah K. Jensen

  Published by Books to Live By Publishing

  All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version.

  For information contact:

  Sarah K. Jensen

  [email protected]

  Book and Cover design by R. Tucker and S. Jensen

  ISBN:

  First Edition: February 2021

  Also by Sarah K. Jensen

  THE GUARDIANSHIP TRILOGY:

  In The Dark

  FIGHT FOR FREEDOM SERIES:

  Passing Through Sorrow (Book 1)

  Piece by Piece (Book 2)

  COMING SOON:

  LEGENDS TRILOGY:

  Legend of the Protectors

  FIGHT FOR FREEDOM SERIES:

  Pushing the Limit (Book 3)

  Acknowledgements

  Liz, you are so very dear to me. Thank you for keeping me straight in my writing, reminding me that if I don’t put it on paper, others can’t see into my head and know what I’m talking about. And thanks for pointing out my mistakes so others don’t have to roll their eyes and wonder, “What was she thinking?”

  John, my love, thanks for believing in me. Ryleigh, Craig, Kaylee, and Matthew, you are the best kids any parents could ask for.

  Thank you all for supporting my dreams.

  Kim, thanks for reading this before it became public.

  Sharon, your support and help have meant the world to me.

  Tiffany, wow. I don’t even know where to start. Thank you!

  Dedication

  As a little girl, I wanted to be an actress, then I found the joy of writing. In truth, it became necessary. I can never thank my Heavenly Father enough for blessing me in my writing, nor can I thank my family enough for supporting me in this. I’m sure it helps that some of my children feel this same draw and need themselves. So, to my family, I dedicate this book to you!

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  EPILOGUE

  Irish Glossary

  About the Author

  Prologue

  The Isle of Éire, 1393

  Lightning split the sky, the heated current raising the hair on Ciaran’s arms and neck. The power coursing through his body added to the excitement. A smile played across his lips, causing the young woman tied to the altar to shrink back and scream. Her fear thrilled him.

  Backhanding her brought an end to the awful noise and a smear of blood to her lips. Bending over, he licked at the blood. The metallic taste pleased him. Soon, much more of her blood would spill. Soon, she would offer herself to his god.

  As Ciaran etched an inverted pentagram on the soft, rounded stomach of his sacrifice, the smell of copper wafted around him. Her blood dripped. and pooled on the smooth, grey granite beneath. She thrashed and strained against the bindings, but only caused herself more pain. He didn’t mind; her agony would call his master forward—her blood would open the gates of Hell.

  Strong and powerful wind gushed through the oak trees as if to purify the air. Ciaran laughed. Nothing could clean away the smell of sulfur and hell. Holding burnt earth in one hand and a bowl of saltwater in the other, he chanted ancient words as he dumped the water over the pentagram. Then, while the salt caused the sacrifice to scream even louder, he rubbed the dirt into her marks.

  When Ciaran brought the burning torch forward, reciting the ancient rites of the damned, careful to get all the words right, the sacrifice began to buck again. Stirred by her pain, he thought to sate his needs, yet could not interrupt the ceremony. It could only be performed on a new moon. His lust would have to wait. For now.

  Her spirit began to drain away with her blood, so Ciaran held the torch to the pentagram. Fire and Spirit were the last two components needed for this offering to be completed. And this woman of seventeen would give her spirit.

  As Ciaran lit the oak branches around the altar, her screams and pleas grew weaker, until she was engulfed with flames. Her body arched up, almost coming off the altar, one last piercing screech escaped her lips before she crumpled back on the stone and died.

  A roaring rumble came from the earth just before the ground began to break and crack around him and the altar. Accomplishing what he’d intended, Ciaran fell to his knees, as the first of the demon shadows sprang from the molten crevice created at the foot of the alter.

  The fractured earth gaped wide. The wall between earth and Hell opened and with it came the Oíche Scáthanna. The Night Shadows.

  According to the spellbook of the Tuatha Dé Danann, there was only one way to close the fracture between the two worlds. To join the blood of the fae and the blood of druids and for that blood to be pure. He laughed. The blood of a fae and a druid would never run pure.

  Ciaran stood, bowed his head, and welcomed the firebrand of a pentagram on his chest where the demon touched. His work was done. Now, it was time to play.

  Chapter 1

  Texas, Present Day

  The darkness held no sign of life. At least not human life. Memphis’s muscles tensed as a cold breeze flew past her.

  Her lips twitched into an almost smile. Tingles of electrical current slithered from the nape of her neck, down her spine, and caught fire at the clawed fist of the griffin.

  It had grown on the left side of her stomach after her first kill. The image had started out as what she’d believed was a birthmark in the shape of an eye. Over the years the eye had become an eagle head and neck, then spread into wings. With each kill, another element of the beast appeared.

  Laughter erupted on all sides and she braced for battle, her hand on the hilt of the fae-made dagger sheathed on her thigh. Just as the first shadow shifted into a crouch, a strong, lightly calloused hand grasped hers and pulled, forcing her out of the dark alley.

  First, she tried dragging her feet, but the body attached to the hand must have been solid muscle, outweighing her by at least fifty pounds.

  “Let go!” She yanked her hand, which only resulted in a tightened grip. Memphis knew better, but the angle made pushing into the grip impossible.

  “Don’t be stupid,” the deep, masculine voice said, sending a shiver through her body. He stopped long enough to glance back at her and ask, “Are you crazy, hanging around in dark alleys?” Then he was tugging her along again.

  The fact that she couldn’t very well fight off this idiot-wann
abe-hero without seriously hurting him, and possibly herself, she raced with him through the streets of Austin. For a good fifteen minutes, they skated through alleys and avoided any lit streets before he finally stopped. After fumbling in his pocket, he withdrew a key fob. With the push of a button, a dark car just ahead of them roared to life, dispelling the silent night. He opened the car’s passenger door and all but pushed her inside.

  “Stay,” he said in a clipped voice.

  She did, much to her own surprise. She wasn’t winded and could have outrun him if he felt the need to chase her down. So why then, was Memphis McLoughlin, a mostly intelligent woman of twenty-six, just sitting there, waiting for Mr. Macho to slide behind the wheel of his very sleek car?

  Maybe it was because when he’d touched her, a kind of knowing swam through her senses. The gift of Sight wasn’t one of Memphis’s gifts, but she’d always trusted her instincts. And her gut told her that this man was important. Even if he infuriated her with his sharp tone. A simple “I’m trying to help you,” wouldn’t have killed him.

  He didn’t say anything as he sank into the seat and shifted the car into gear. Memphis waited, expecting some sort of explanation. After all, he had grabbed her and dragged her around the dark and deadly parts of Austin. Even if she frequented those very spots at night.

  She tried to study him but couldn’t make out any features. All she got was tall and rangy. His console lights were barely visible, leaving the interior of the car nearly as dark as the outside moonless night. Streetlamps occasionally gave off a hint of illumination, showing a strong, stubborn, square jaw and a long, straight nose. When he still hadn’t said anything after a few minutes, she took it upon herself to start the ball rolling.

  “You kidnapping me or what?”

  He snorted, it almost sounded like a chuckle. “Not exactly.”

  And the silence ensues, she thought. Okay, he didn’t want to talk. What did he want? Worry began to bubble up, but she fought it. Deep, cleansing breaths released the fear wanting to break free. The smell of fine leather and new car permeated the air and gave her some comfort. Not that a psychopath couldn’t have a clean, new car.

  Where was he taking her? Instead of letting fear get the better of her, she went to her go-to fear-kicking emotion. Brooding. A long time ago, she’d learned that fear did nothing but make her sick and anxious. Instead, Memphis channeled any emotion she didn’t care to feel into anger. And she did anger well.

  As she let her frustration at the situation brew, she thought of the two hours’ worth of work he’d screwed up because he wanted to play do-gooder. It wasn’t always easy tracking down that many Oíche Scáthanna. Even during a full moon, they hid in dark corners or took up residence in idiots.

  That’s what she’d always thought of those who weakened their spirits with alcohol, drugs, and sex. Not that she hadn’t been one of the idiots once upon a time, but that was neither here nor there.

  She did feel sorry for the idiots though. Most people didn’t know they lost part of themselves when they allowed those outside forces into their lives. The ones that did, well, they went beyond idiots.

  Memphis glanced at The Hero again, catching a little snarl marring his lips. She couldn’t believe it, he was mad at her?

  Well, let him be, she thought. I didn’t ask him to snatch me out of danger. Not that I was in danger, even if he wants to think I was. And why did he think I was in danger?

  Some had sensitivities to the dark forces on this earth, he must be one of them. And this man, who didn’t know her from Eve, had rushed into a situation he couldn’t possibly understand and tried to protect her.

  Well, darn. Put into that perspective, she’d have to be nice. When she started to thank him for his good deed, he snarled, “Don’t,” before she got out more than a syllable.

  Perfect. She didn’t have to be nice after all. But since she did want to make it to their destination—wherever that was—in one piece, she sank back in her soft leather seat and waited. Soon, they’d have a nice chat, and she might just knock some sense into that thick head of his.

  The city had given way to suburbs, the single-family homes yielded to the grand estates of the wealthy. What a shock. This car probably cost more than her childhood home—of course, he lived here. The gated, white brick house sat back on what had to have been at least five acres of land. She almost laughed when she saw an honest-to-goodness statue of two fairies—one boy, one girl—playing in a fountain of water in front.

  Memphis rolled her eyes. “You’re kidding, right?” At his puzzled look, she added with a sneer of her own, “You live here?”

  He didn’t respond. Instead, he stopped, killed the engine, and climbed out. Before he could skirt the hood and open the passenger door, which Memphis would bet money he was planning on doing, she climbed out onto a cobbled stone drive. She made sure to keep her limbs loose, just in case. If need be, she could take him out and make it home before dawn, but that Knowing deep inside made her think that wouldn’t be necessary.

  Macho Man grabbed her hand and tugged her up the wide steps, over a grey and rust colored slate tiled porch, and through a carved mahogany door that slammed behind them.

  They’d moved too quickly to make out what had been carved in the door, but Memphis felt the old protection it offered. In the dark, the smell of lemon and rosemary hit her. Two more offers of comfort, even though they made no sense.

  Long, slender fingers flew over a keypad as he backed her against a cool brick wall. A protest sprung to her lips, but he covered her mouth with his open palm and growled. “Just shut up.”

  Memphis hadn’t said but a few words to the idiot in the half-hour or so of their acquaintance. She’d let him drag her away from that group of Oíche Scáthanna, one of whom had been stalking her for as long as she could remember, and now he was telling her to shut up. All semblance of whatever goodwill she’d been able to muster up fled at that moment. She was through being pushed around by this Know-It-All-Hero.

  Her steel-toed boot slammed down on his foot as she jabbed a fist into his kidney. His hand fell away, but he didn’t crumble or even bend over for that matter; he gripped her wrist, spun her around, and smashed her face and chest into the front door.

  “Oh, nu-uh,” she growled, banging the back of her head into his mouth.

  His curse was vicious and loud as he swept Memphis’s legs, flipping her to her back before ramming her body against the hardwood floor.

  “I. Was. Trying. To. Help. You.” His voice was low as he drawled out the words, a hint of Irish behind the Texan accent.

  Bright white light exploded around them and a clear, masculine Irish brogue thundered, “What is going on here?”

  The woman smelled like heaven. Leather, vanilla, and spice. Laif took one more sniff before he twisted his head toward the foot of the stairs and stared at his parents. The look on his mother’s face was pure Lydia’s way beyond mad. He’d bet his last dollar it was because he’d broken the unwritten rule against fighting with a woman. His father, on the other hand, fought to suppress a smile.

  Sprawled beneath Laif, the surprisingly beautiful woman shoved against his chest, rolled out from under him, and rose to her knees. Suddenly, Laif became very aware of her tight, lithe body, which frustration, anger, and lack of proper lighting had kept him from noticing earlier. But even without seeing her, arousal had hit him instantaneously as he’d touched her hand to pull her from that dark alley.

  And it wasn’t just arousal. Touching her felt like coming home. Like he had to be around her. Protect her. And the idiot woman needed protection. Alone in the dark, and not in the best areas of town. But worse, she’d been surrounded by Night Shadows.

  His reaction to her had made no sense and had ticked him off. Why would he have such strong feelings before he even saw her? Before he knew anything about her? And now, as he took in the smooth black leather that spread out over full hips, sheathing slim, yet muscular legs, the attraction strengthened. Seeing h
er now, he understood that part of the pull, but before? He shook his head.

  A dagger strapped to one thigh caught his attention, along with a small sword sheathed on her back, which he’d felt when he’d had had her pinned against the door. He decided he’d ask about the weapons later, when his mind was functioning properly.

  His eyes continued upward to the black leather that clung to a beautifully formed body. Hair of dark fire rained down her back in a thick braid. He wouldn’t say her face was perfect—her lips were a little too large and her oval face came to a slight point at the chin. But the murky-green eyes that sat under slightly arched brows showed intelligence, along with a spark of irritation. Those eyes tugged at a faint memory that refused to break free, but a knowledge of her hit him like a fist to the gut. He knew her. It wasn’t just attraction. It was a knowing.

  “I’m sure there’s a really good explanation for this,” his mother said, bringing his attention back to the fact that he’d brought this woman into his parents’ home in the middle of the night and had awakened them.

  “I’m sure there is. I for one would love to hear it,” the redheaded hellion said in a deep, husky alto. Her voice, along with the angel’s body, ignited every hormone in Laif’s body into a mind-clouding mist.

  Laif sat back on his haunches and wiped his hands over his face, wincing when he touched his busted lip before looking from his parents to the woman. His parents would understand—if he could come out and tell them that the alley he’d found the beauty in had been crawling with Night Shadows. But he could not say anything about the demons in front of the woman; she already looked at him like he’d lost his ever-loving mind.

  Maybe he had. His body definitely had turned into a bloody heap of hormones. Still, he had to come up with something to say. “Well, that alley wasn’t exactly safe, and I didn’t want you getting hurt.”