The Immortal's Hunger. Kelli Ireland

of the Burren, that alien landscape strewed with dolmen, ocean squalls and scrubby little wildflowers. Sea salt would have glazed her skin had she stood still long enough. Luckily, she never stood still.

      Moving a bit farther out of reach under the guise of returning her cleaning supplies to the cupboard, she called over her shoulder, “Where’s this oddity coming from, Fergus?”

      “It would be none so odd if you’d been paying me the attention I’m due. You and your kind have always had a superiority complex, thinking your ability to resurrect is your right.”

      She froze. You and your kind... Resurrect is your right... He knew what she was. “How?” she wheezed.

      “Your scent changed tonight after Brennan arrived.”

      Studying him in the reflection of the bar mirror, she watched as something not unlike a rolling black-and-white television channel skipped across his appearance. He showed himself as one thing for fourteen of every fifteen seconds, but that one, lone second that rounded out every quarter minute? That one blip? Fergus became something Other.

      Hunching forward, he folded in on himself before rising. When he finally stood as straight as he could, he was so tall he had to cant his head to the side to avoid bumping the ceiling rafters. His temple brushed the iron chandelier and set it swinging. He reached to still it with a hand that now sported a palm the size of her dead drink tray.

      She couldn’t get her mind around what she saw and understood to be true. Both magnificent and terrifying, Fergus had changed. With a sheet of hair as brilliant as a new star and eyes that blazed a myriad of crystalline colors, skin that shone with a diamond hue and hands the size of dinner plates, she couldn’t look away. Legend said that the last of the genii—giants who could change their appearance and proportion at will—had faded, passing to the afterlife centuries ago. But that couldn’t be true. Not if what Fergus presented was a fleeting image of his true nature. And if that was the case...

      Years of education rolled through her mind, flipping faster and faster as she tried to recall what it was the genii wanted with the phoenix. What was it that had rendered them friend or foe? It had all centered around one thing. What had it been? Somehow, it involved dice. Or a card game.

      “Confused, little phoenix?” He huffed out a sound of genuine disdain. “I expected better of you. Turns out you’re nothing but a stupid bitch in heat. However, your cycle changes my time frame. It saves me having to pay the male I located. They’ve been looking for you, you know. This saves me having to defend my rights against any of the men of your clan should one or more of them respond to the gods-be-damned scent of you. The timing isn’t perfect, but it’ll be what it is.”

      Ashley kept her gaze loosely focused, trying to take in everything around her that she could, certain she needed to find her way out of this mess before she was forced to fight her way out. But... “You called me a bitch. Do it again and I’ll be calling you a hearse.”

      Fight it was.

      That’s when she remembered the connecting pieces of history.

      Their king had made a last stand in the final Tribal Wars, and he’d lost. Desperate, he’d challenged Daghda, the All Father, to a game of dice. Daghda had declined, asserting his right to dissolve the band of giants. The giants’ king, with nothing left to barter, wagered the giants’ immortality against the god’s ability to beat him in the game of Daghda’s choosing.

      What. An. Idiot.

      Daghda chose archery, and the genii’s king lost. Badly. In a final stand that had been recorded in the blood of the fallen, the last of the giants had disappeared. Only their legend remained. Those rumored to have survived had been rendered mortal, their lifespans still far greater than a human but shortened all the same. So what could a genii want from a phoenix who had to be less than half his age...

      Ashes.

      Horror stole over her and her skin felt as if it shrank.

      A female phoenix’s ashes were the key to immortality if a being knew how to harvest them. To get to the point of harvest typically involved murder and theft—of the phoenix’s life and ashes, respectively.

      To kill any phoenix was nearly impossible, but the females were far more difficult to dispense than the males. Few knew the secret to forcing a member of the secretive race into irrevocable death. The phoenix had to take her life by removing her own heart. Once that happened, the heart had to be burned to ash. Those ashes could then be harvested. If a mortal tattooed her ashes over his own heart in the constellation symbol for the phoenix? The phoenix’s immortality transferred to the mortal and gave him what so many coveted. Immortality.

      She had to get out of here. Now.

      Ashley shot him a hard, hot look. “Timing?” Her smile was brittle. She’d expected to defend herself from her own tribe, not a damn genii. “Your timing sucks. I have a date tonight.”

      “Whore.”

      “Screw you and the hearse you’re about to ride out on.”

      He rocked forward on the balls of his feet, arms loose, body ready. “I’ll take that which is my due.”

      “Due? The only ones ‘due’ anything are the gods, and even their claims are debatable. You? You’re not even a minor deity in my handy little Book of Mythologies and Verses, so back the hell off.” She raised her hands in front of her, not in fear but to widen the fan of flames that ran from her elbows to her fingertips.

      “I’ve hunted your kind for more than six centuries, aging a fraction every day as I sought to reclaim that which my father lost. I will return to the throne and see the genii recognized as the force they were meant to be.”

      “Return to what throne? And whom do you truly think to rule? Your shadow? There aren’t enough of you to reestablish any type of kingdom without serious inbreeding.”

      He only stared at her.

      How the hell had she missed the fact Fergus was Other? She’d been a fool.

      Shaking her head, she took one step aside, angling to get a better line on the front door. Distract him. “You’re sick and sodding mad to boot.”

      That gave him pause, and he stopped to consider her. “I’ll draw together all those left, those Daghda abandoned, and I will see a new reign challenge the way of things.”

      Ashley arched a brow. “I’m almost sorry about this, Fergus.”

      The genii’s heavy brow furrowed. “Sorry that I’ll take your life?”

      “No,” she said softly, her voice fading behind the wall of flames that erupted around her. “Sorry that I’ll be taking yours.”

       Chapter 5

      Gareth sat in his car, having moved it across the road from the pub’s front door. The hours passed and, finally, as the last patrons trickled out the front lights were turned off. Ungloving his hands, he found they had generally healed, but the cold persisted, an ache within him that simply refused to give quarter. He fought the need to lash out, to beat against the heavens’ doors, to deliver equivalent pain to those who saw fit to punish him in kind. None of it was possible, yet he believed it would happen. It had to.

      Shoving free of the low-slung vehicle, his need to control something choked him. He rose and stumbled into the wild weather, raised his hands to the sky. “Ignis, I praecipio vobis!” Fire, I command you. So close to death and separation from the gods he’d served for centuries, they wouldn’t deny him this, surely.

      Flames he still possessed, flames as familiar to him as his reflection, hissed in the torrential downpour, flickering erratically but refusing to wink out. He shook with the effort to control his element. Only the faintest blue of the flame he’d summoned clung to his skin, hovering in the cup of each palm with a tension that superseded the force created by the storm.

      Then