Heart's Blood: The Bloodstone Quadrilogy, #2

By Calinda B

Magic is dark. Evil is mayhem.

I'm Siobhan Riordan, and my life is an unending nightmare.

I was living a fairy-tale, until I found my husband brutally slain. Ever since then I've been raising our three-year-old son on my own and just trying to get by.

But I can't hide any longer. There's a mysterious plague going around my town, an illness that causes people to go mad just before the end. Even worse, I'm being stalked, though I don't know by who. Doctor Steven Breslin seems like the only one who can help, though he has secrets I'm not ready to uncover.

Then the worst happens— my son falls prey to this supernatural disease. If I don't save him, death awaits us all.

**

Heart's Blood is the thrilling second installment in the Bloodstone Quadrilogy— an exciting and steamy dark fantasy that's dripping with horror and lust. Prepare to be on the edge of your seat as you fall into this intense supernatural world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Calinda B
• Release date: Jul 25, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393676300

Calinda B

Author Bio: Calinda B was told early on that she should be a writer. She heard frequent praise for her writing, as well as her sense of humor. Scoffing at such admonitions and praise, she went on to pursue her life of adventure, chock full of the things that make up a well-rounded adventurous life: music (yup, she was a singer in a rock and roll band), dance (even performed hip hop in Russia), rock climbing (ever hung from a rock wall a few stories up? Yikes!), fire walking (taught high-ranking Moscow fire officials how to walk the coals), kayaking, scuba diving (she’s in love with sharks), travel, and falling in love again and again. Living in the beautiful Pacific Northwest with the love of her life and her two cats, she has now chosen to put fingers to keyboard and write – when she’s not in pursuit of another adventure!

Book preview

Chapter 1

Day 1, Tuesday evening - Lassi

Each time Lassi Finn stood before the Laughing Rat pub, her heart readied itself to eject from her chest and flee for its life. When she opened the creaky, blue door, however, and peered inside, the horrible death-laden memories from two years ago blew away along with the gold and red leaves fluttering down the sidewalk.

The large room once strained from the weight and gloom of its previous owners, Liam and Penny O’Donnell, God rest their souls. Now, the walls no longer yearned to fall into entropy, putting the pub out of its misery. Instead, the centuries of soot and smell had been scrubbed from every nook and cranny. Pictures of the lush Irish countryside had been hung to break up the dark wood paneling. The grimy tables and booths had been cleaned to the point of near-exorcism. Even the Merlot-colored tile floor had been scoured within an inch of its life.

It had taken weeks to transform. Siobhan Riordan, the current co-owner, had employed a small army to scrub, wipe down, throw out and do what needed to be done. She’d even asked Lassi’s love, Cillian Ward, to perform a proper exorcism.

Former gloomy pub crawlers and their secrets, hanging their heads over a pint, had given way to business people and a family or two. But with its still darkly-dismal walls and low ceilings, Lassi considered the pub’s appearance more of a stretched-face surgical enhancement. Something lingered in the bones of the pub that brought unease to Lassi’s gut. Or, maybe it’s just me. Still, without kerosene, a match, and a good insurance policy for rebuilding, co-owners Siobhan Riordan, and Lady Freddie could only accomplish so much in the way of transformation.

Evening, Miss Finn. Lady Freddie looked up from a booth, a cleaning rag in her hand. Come in out of the cold and shut the door. She smiled, the creases in her face deepening.

How someone could grow old so gracefully and look so good at the age of sixty-three amazed Lassi. Everything about Lady Freddie—from her long silver-white hair to the elegance with which she performed every task—spoke to her upbringing as Lady Frederique Laughlin of Donegal, the wife of Lord Laughlin. She virtually floated through the pub, a serene picture of calm sensibility. Inside her calm demeanor, however, lurked the heartache and determined rage of a woman wronged. A year ago, she’d caught her husband with his mistress. They’d been having tea, or so they told her. What tea had to do with a Royal Palace Luxe mattress and silk sheets littered with a condom or three, was anyone’s guess. After throwing the silver tea service, complete with hot tea and every teacup, plate, sweetmeat, and biscuit in sight at the pair, Lady Freddie had taken her leave to the seaside town of Ballynagaul, or Ballyna-nowhere, as Lassi often called the place.

Evening, Lady Freddie. Lassi dragged herself through the doorway, her gold-colored sneakers squeaking on the tile. She trudged toward Lady Freddie.

Hey, Freddie, love, another round for my boys, a jovial, inebriated man called from the bar. He tipped his head back to toss the remnants of his Guinness down his gullet, nearly toppling over in the process.

His friends hooted and hollered at his near collapse.

Shite, Hank, if you have any more, we’ll be carrying you home, a man in his thirties said, chuckling.

Shut the feck up, he’s buying, said the bearded older man next to Hank. Let him drink all he wants.

Lady Freddie looked up from her cleaning duties. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand.

Whew, we’re short-handed, she said to Lassi. Coming right up, she called to the man. She scurried toward the bar.

Lassi plopped into the seat of the booth Lady Freddie had just cleaned, letting gravity have its way with her.

Hey ya’s, Lassi, called Billy O’Clery, one of three local fishermen sitting at the next table. A young man in his early thirties, Billy always wore a smile like liquid sunshine, lifting the spirits of all in his presence.

Hup ye girl ye, said the oldest of the three, Sixpack Costello.

When Lassi had first met him, one glance at his belly told her the nickname came more from a cardboard container holding beer than any prowess with the abdominal machines at the gym. She nodded to him.

Tiny craters of dimples appeared when he smiled at her. His sun-worn, wrinkled skin bore a perma-tan from being in the open air so much.

Seamus Kelly, the beautiful, blond brooder of the trio, lifted his pint to her. His somber disposition spoke of long, lonely nights at sea in search of mermaids.

Lassi, he said, before taking a long draw.

Hey, boys, she said. She grabbed a bright orange paper napkin from the holder at the back of the booth and picked at a dried speck of catsup on the table.

Want to join us in a bet? Billy said.

Leave the girl alone, Seamus said, placing his hand on Billy’s forearm. She looks knackered to the point of malfunction.

I’m all right, she said, flashing a grateful smile at Seamus. Nothing food won’t fix. She wadded the napkin, dropped it on the table, and proceeded to prop her chin on her hand. Her long hair draped over her face. A few strands dangled over the orange napkin, almost matching it in color. What about? The bet, I mean.

A good bet can lift the spirits, Billy said, his head bobbing up and down. It’s about Siobhan. She’s supposed to work tonight. No one knows where she is. Clanging alarm bells went off in Lassi’s head. Siobhan? Gone? Her back stiffened as if zapped by a volt of current.

Billy fished in his pocket, produced a few bills, and slapped them on the table. His eyes glinted while he stroked his short beard. My money says she’s finally fishing off stinkers’ bridge with Doc Breslin. The fool’s besotted with her.

The three men laughed.

Lassi plucked up her catsup speckled napkin and threw it at his head. You guys suck. Stinkers’ bridge. She scoffed. I seriously doubt she’s placing tongue to anus or balls or the skin in between on anyone tonight. Wee Paul’s probably caught a cold or something.

Oh, a good courtin’ can do a lass fine, Billy said. He made a loose fist with one hand and shoved the forefinger of his other hand in and out of the hole. Oh, Dr. Breslin, he squealed in a high-pitched voice. "Your examination is getting deep. Go deeper. Deeper. Deeper. He rolled his eyes skyward and threw back his head. Oh, yes, like that." He slapped his palms against the wood table.

The glassware shook and tinkled.

Seamus chuckled.

Sixpack snorted. Easy, lad, don’t be getting all chubbed up beneath the table, he said. I’ve seen the way you look at Siobhan. He reached over to ruffle Billy’s wild brown curls. Then, he hesitated, and his gaze slid toward Lassi. Pardon me, Lassi, for getting all coarse in your presence.

She waved off his concern. Don’t worry about it. Labor and delivery nurse, remember? She pointed to herself. I deal with women’s vajimjams all the time. I see the results of you men and your chubbed pricks.

Billy hooted. See? She’s one of us.

What’s your best guess? Seamus asked, directing his light-blue moonbeam gaze at Lassi. About why Siobhan isn’t here?

Not Siobhan and Bres, she said, using the nickname she had given Dr. Stephen Breslin. My bet is little Paul is unwell. Children his age are always coming down with something.

The girl’s too over-protective of young Paul, Sixpack said, lifting his pint to his lips.

Well, wouldn’t you be, what with Dylan’s horrific death and all? Seamus said. He made the sign of the cross over his chest. Then, he lifted the shark tooth hanging from a gold chain around his neck and gave it a kiss.

Lassi shuddered. The past came crawling toward her like a mad viper, coiling its way into her mind. Her late Great Aunt Roberta—or Great Grandmother or whatever she was—had wooed Lassi to this town from her coffin. Lassi had wanted nothing more than to deal with her aunt’s estate and get back to Dublin, delivering babies and partying with her friends. But then she met Cillian Ward, along with more murders than anyone should have to stomach, including the death of Siobhan’s husband, Dylan. But the hook of Cillian had landed in Lassi’s heart. Falling in love with her beastly, priestly boyfriend and proving her innocence had kept her pinned to Ballynagaul. And now her new responsibilities, as Ballynagaul’s sole soon-to-be-midwife, as well as her relationship to Cillian, kept her pinned to this small, seaside village.

"Guys, can’t we leave the past alone? No one needs a reminder of that time. All those deaths. You didn’t see his murderer—I did. I lured her out of hiding. She’s the stuff of nightmares."

But you got her put away, right? Seamus said.

Oh, that we did. Locked tight. That murderer won’t be coming around any time soon, Lassi said. She’ll be, uh, incarcerated for a long, long time.

If Cillian and I keep doing our job of diving to the bottom of the sea, finding the right stones, and heaping them on her grave.

No one needed to know about the vampire in their midst, the mythological horror known as the Dearg-Due. Or, that pesky little fact of she and Cillian transforming into Leviathans to accomplish the job of keeping the Dearg-Due trapped in her grave. Truthfully, Lassi felt sorry for the Dearg-Due.

When alive, Maggie Strongbow, the woman who became the Dearg-Due after she died, had been coerced by her father in the 1700s to wed an asshole, instead of the man she loved. So, she came back to haunt people with questionable morals for the rest of her existence.

As Lassi grew to understand the Dearg-Due’s motivations—the vampire tended to show her victims where they’d failed in life, by plucking out their eyeballs or their tongue—she vowed to find peace for the Dearg-Due. She hoped the vampire would tire of her incessant need for revenge. She figured science would succeed where the supernatural had failed. Science was her cornerstone. And, no one should suffer such an existence. Only, so far, she hadn’t found any way to send the vampire to her rest. She hoped she had time to pursue her quest. If nothing else happened in Ballynagaul to distract her, she’d keep on digging.

Lord help and protect us, Sixpack said, jostling Lassi from her thoughts. May all those who died rest in peace. He reached for Seamus’ shark tooth and kissed it.

Hey! Seamus said, shoving Sixpack’s hands away. Get your own damn icon of faith. I’m the one who fought with the shark, not you.

And, I’m the one who fished you out of the drink, away from the jaws of death, Sixpack said. I own rights to that tooth.

Behave yourselves, boys, Lady Freddie said, striding toward them. Else I’ll take a broom to the lot of you and sweep you out with the trash.

All three men sobered as if reprimanded by their school teacher.

Sorry, Lady Freddie, Sixpack said. The boys are just having a bit of the craic. We’ve been at sea for two weeks, and they need to let out steam.

No, the real reason is Billy here needs to get laid, Seamus said. He slugged Billy’s arm.

"You need to get laid," Billy said. He slugged him back.

Lady Freddie stepped between them and grasped the backs of both their necks. There will be no laying my customers, lads. Now behave or get yourself to gone.

They jerked away from her grip, wincing.

Lady Freddie turned her attention to Lassi. Sorry, love, I know you called on the way over, but your order’s still cooking. We’re short-staffed and backed up. Can I bring you a cuppa while you wait?

Heck, yes, Lassi said.

Oh, have a pint with us, girl, Billy said. He trained his big, brown puppy-dog eyes on her.

She waved his words away. No, no pint for me. I’m so tired I’d be asleep after two sips.

Well, then, I’ll be right back. Lady Freddie swirled away, cutting a classy line through the tables as she headed toward the bar.

Billy’s gaze darted toward her retreating back. Okay, lads, let’s get back to the bet. Do you think Siobhan eloped with Breslin? Her heart finally thawed, and she realized the man’s a cauldron of pleasure, with eyes for her and her alone?

Seamus turned his head toward Lady Freddie, who strode their way with a teapot and mug.

Zip it, he said. We don’t want to be annoying Lady Freddie and her customers.

Billy’s mouth clamped shut. He picked up his Guinness and took a long pull.

Lady Freddie eyed him as she sauntered past his table. Don’t think I’m not watching your every move, Billy O’Cleary.

I know you are, ma’am. It’s hard to take your eyes away from all this gorgeous man meat. He swished his hand up and down his torso. Just say the word, and I’ll be loving you like you’ve never experienced.

Seamus chuckled.

Sixpack laughed. Sorry, Lady Freddie, the lad’s full of himself tonight.

Lady Freddie smiled. You’re a charmer, Billy, that’s for sure. All of you boys. Now mind your manners while I tend to Nurse Lassi. She set the tray down in front of Lassi and said, I’ll be right back with your food.

With a crisp nod, she turned to leave.

The boys kept up their chatter while Lassi poured her tea. She lifted it to her lips, blew on it, and took a sip. Her mouth puckered, and her stomach lurched like Captain Sixpack’s fishing trawler.

Way too bitter. It’s been steeped to tannic hell. Oh, well, bad tea is better than no tea.

She leaned back against the booth seat and sighed. Two years ago, she’d never dreamed she’d be living in this small, strange village. Her prestigious job in Dublin had been everything to her. Head labor and delivery nurse at Royal House Hospital, one of the best hospitals around, had been a job many coveted, and she had earned it. When she’d come to Ballyna-nowhere, she’d hoped her Great Whatever Roberta would have left her some money so she could buy a dream cottage in Barbados. Then, her life would be complete.

But, no, I fell in love with Cillian Ward, and now I work for Dr. Breslin, making nowhere near the money I made in Dublin, and listening to village gossip at night.

She sighed and took another sip of her bitter tea. Her heart grew heavy at the thought of Cillian. Lately, he’d been moodier than usual. He gave her the silent treatment often. No indication had been given about them moving in together. When she asked, he neatly side-stepped the question, giving her compliments, or saying something to make her laugh. He usually stayed over at her house, but got up early to head to the rectory, lest anyone wonder where the priest had gone off to.

He took his responsibilities to the village, as their acting priest, seriously. Not being an officially ordained priest didn’t matter to him. As far as he was concerned, he’d been charged with doing the good Lord’s work here in Ballynagaul.

And, apparently, loving me isn’t what the good Lord intended. Clearly, the honeymoon had worn off. She hoped it was only a phase if only to ease her mind. Her reasonable mind had to offer up plausible explanations like he had to sort out some stuff before they moved in together, or, a parishioner had troubles. Her fear mind cast more horrible explanations. What if he found someone else? And that thought, once it entered her mind, had grown roots.

Where do you think Doc Breslin would have carted Siobhan off to? Dublin? Billy’s face crinkled with mirth. So he could plow that field in privacy?

Seamus snorted.

Billy, lad, I think you’ve gone off the deep end, Sixpack said. He took another pull from his Guinness.

Dublin. Occasionally, Lassi missed it. Her partying girlfriends back there thought she’d gone around the bend, dumping everything, and moving to Ballyna-nowhere. They teased her that there must be a guy—a strapping lad who caught her fancy.

Lassi said there was a guy. She told them nothing about him. What am I going to say? Meet the love of my life, who also happens to be a Catholic priest? No. Just no.

Her friends visited twice in the first year.

She hadn’t introduced them to Cillian. She said he was away on assignment and couldn’t meet them. Because, knowing Cillian, he’d show up in his clerical collar. Or, the next time they visited, she said he was sick. When they Skyped and asked for pictures, she made up lame excuses like she didn’t have any recent ones. The truth was, Cillian didn’t photograph well. Pictures she’d taken always showed him with tentacles. She didn’t understand why he could be standing there, looking very much the human, but when she snapped a photo, a tentacle or two would be waving in the background. No tentacles appeared in photos of her. Maybe it has to do with the length of time he’s been a Leviathan.

Lassi sniffed at all the cover stories she’d created. She could hardly call a 300-year-old man who turns into a tentacled sea monster a strapping lad. And, she could hardly introduce the town’s priest to her girlfriends. They’d think she’d obtained some degree for immoral behavior on the internet.

Her friends had taunted her.

Don’t tell us you fell in love with a married man, Lassi Finn, Aisha had said, her face all wide with shock.

No! She’d spluttered. Never. But he’s… She thought of the tender way he used his tentacles to stroke her under the sea. When they transformed into Leviathans, they’d coil together, suspended in the ocean like two giant sea slugs, loving on one another. He’s different.

What? Disabled? Do you think we can’t handle a little disability? Fiona had said with a sniff of her perfectly sculpted seven-thousand euro enhanced nose. She’d been utterly nice and reasonable with her previous nose. This one had ruined her personality.

They made it their mission to find out more about Cillian. At least they said they would. But in the way that friends sometimes do, they drifted away as their own lives and dramas carried on without her. Yes, they’d send the occasional email or Facebook message, but usually, it was Lassi doing the reaching out. She considered taking up writing letters by hand again when she felt ornery and unloved by her friends. If I’m going to be a country recluse, I might as well get a quill and inkstand…or just use the beautiful one I found on Roberta's old writing desk.

She looked up from her musings.

Lady Freddie made a model-worthy sashay in her direction, food in hand. Here’s your food, love. Sorry, it was so late. I don’t know where Siobhan could be. She’s so reliable. She simply didn’t show up for work today. I can’t reach her on the phone, either.

Another shiver coiled up Lassi’s spine. This can’t be good. She’s never recovered from losing Dylan.

Oh, I’m a mind to wait to worry. If Siobhan doesn’t show up tomorrow, then we can call in the cavalry. Where’s your boyfriend? Lady Freddie set two bags of food on the table. We doubled the order, as usual.

Lassi lifted her gaze toward Lady Freddie. Oh, he’s sitting bedside vigil with a member of his congregation. He told me so.

No, he’s not. I just saw him…

A sharp stab of other woman suspicion vaulted through Lassi’s gut. Her lips pressed into a grim slash.

Lady Freddie closed her mouth.

Billy, Seamus, and Sixpack grew silent. They each studied the table.

Billy gathered up the money he’d slammed on the table and shoved it in his pocket.

Lassi’s gaze swung between the three men and Lady Freddie. No one met her eyes.

She forced a laugh.

Oh, listen to me. I got his schedule mixed up. I remember—he said he had to visit with a parishioner tomorrow. I’m so tired, what with all the work I’m doing. What an idjit, she said, slapping her forehead with her palm.

That must be it, Sixpack said. My wife and I can’t keep a mind for the other’s whereabouts.

Sure, that’s it, Seamus said. That’s got to be it, don’t you think, Billy?