Reign Of Gods (Book #1 in 'Vampire God Trilogy') [COMPLETED]

Chapter 4

She was going to find him. If a man was going to drag her into his
dreams, push her into out-of-body experiences and generally haunt her
thoughts, she was going to track him down and find out why.

For days now she had felt as if she stood on the edge of some high,
shaky cliff. On one side there was something bright and beautiful, and on the other a cold and terrifying void. But the cliff itself, while a little unstable, was the known.

Whatever was brewing inside her, he was part of it, that she knew. Not
of this time, not of this place. Guys just didn‟t ride around on horses wearing cloaks and tunics in twenty-first-century New York as a rule.

But he was real; he was flesh and blood and as real as she was. She‟d
had that blood on her hands, hadn‟t she? She‟d cooled that flesh and watched him sleep off the fever. His face, she thought, had been so familiar. Like something she remembered, or had caught a glimpse of in dreams.

Handsome, even in pain, she mused as she sketched it. Lean and angular, aristocratic. Long narrow nose, strong, sculpted mouth. Good,
slashing cheekbones.

His image came true on paper as she worked, first in broad strokes,
then in careful detail. Deep-set eyes, she remembered, vividly blue and
intense with an almost dramatic arch of brows over them. And the contrast of that black hair, those black brows and wild blue eyes against his skin just added more drama.

Yes, she thought, she could see him, she could sketch him, but until
she found him, she wouldn‟t know whether she should jump off the edge of that cliff or scramble back from it.

Glenna Ward was a woman who liked to know.

So, she knew his face, the shape and feel of his body, even the sound
of his voice. She knew, without question, he had power. And she believed he had answers.
Whatever was coming, and every portent warned her it was major, he
was tied to it. She had a part to play, had known almost since her first breath that she had a part to play. She had a feeling that she was about to take on the role of her lifetime. And the wounded hunk with the clouds of magic and trouble all around him was slated to costar.

He‟d spoken Gaelic, Irish Gaelic. She knew some of it, used the
language occasionally in spells, and could even read some in a very
rudimentary fashion.
But oddly enough, she‟d not only understood everything he‟d said in
the dream-experience, vision, whatever-she‟d been able to speak it
herself, like a native.

So somewhere in the past-the good, long past, she determined. And
possibly somewhere in Ireland.
She‟d done scrying spells and locator spells, using the bloodied bandage she‟d brought back with her from that strange and intense visit to...
wherever she‟d been. His blood and her own talent would lead her to him.
She‟d expected it to be a great deal of work and effort. Doubled by
whatever work and effort would be involved in transporting herself-or at
least her essence-to his time and place.

She was prepared to do just that, or at least try. She sat within her circle, the candles lit, the herbs floating on the water in her bowl. Once more she searched for him, focusing on the sketch of his face and holding the cloth she‟d brought back with her.

"I seek the man who bears this face, my quest to find his time, his
place. I hold his blood within my hand, and with its power I demand. Search and find and show to me. As I will, so mote it be."

In her mind she saw him, brow furrowed as he buried himself in
books. Focusing, she drew back, saw the room. Apartment? Dim light, just
slanting over his face, his hands.

"Where are you?" she asked softly. "Show me."

And she saw the building, the street.
The thrill of success mixed with absolute bafflement.