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Lorcan

T he salt spray stung my skin as I rocked on the veranda. I wasn’t hiding behind the lattice, just watching the sea and the path, repeating the same steps a thousand times. Today wouldn’t be any different.

The sea had a rhythm, a solitude, that mirrored my own.

I understood my mother’s fascination with the water—a fascination that I shared.

Even after all these years, the sea remained constant, unchanging yet detached, ready to kill or comfort on a whim.

Yesterday, it induced a nostalgia that I couldn’t shake even today.

I had caught sight of a pair of seals playing in the water.

While seeing a pod of dolphins wasn’t unusual, the seals were rare.

Their barks reminded me of home, where I hadn’t ventured in over a hundred years.

I held a steaming cup of tea, waiting for the usual mail delivery. Afterward, I’d tend the garden, shower, clean—repeat the routine I’d looped like a noose around my life, a muted pulse of humanity I could still control.

Only the soft sounds of the distant waves broke the silence.

If I were one of my brothers, I’d have an army of servants funded by the money our family had earned in our first seven hundred and fifty years of existence, now well invested and cared for.

I still had access to that wealth, but refused to accept it.

The last time I contacted anyone from Dún Na Farraige Estates Incorporated was in 1910, when I withdrew enough money to sustain myself if I lived modestly.

No one questioned the funds, given the grand homes and status symbols so prevalent among us.

Our family’s money bought their mansions. In my hands, it bought solitude.

I walked through my timber-clad home to the kitchen, which overlooked the street behind the house.

After turning on the kettle, I straightened a few dishes while the water boiled.

I made my own cup of tea before filling the second infuser with a silvery-green leaf and covering it with steaming water.

I returned outside with the drinks, setting the second cup on the railing to steep.

Another wave broke on the shore, and something twisted low in my chest, the water’s anger mimicking my soul.

I had heard whispers about an outbreak of violence among my brothers.

It didn’t surprise me. We had been at each other’s throats for decades.

I didn’t care most of the time, but there were days… Today was one of those days.

The sting of the salt on my face brought back memories of playing on the rocks outside Dún Na Farraige as children—centuries before my father built the manor there.

We always had time to enjoy the shores of Ireland or climb the cliffs that would one day hold our splendid home.

We had more chores than other children our age because our father was the chieftain’s son, destined for the same position had he not been turned into a vampire.

My brothers and I helped feed the villagers, but given our strength and speed, we still had plenty of time to explore the rocks around the harbor.

I’d lived a thousand different lives over the years: English royalty, American abolitionist, business executive, dutiful son, loving brother.

Sitting here now, I could almost feel the damp chill of the Irish fog rolling in from the harbor, mingling with the scent of gorse and hawthorn—relics in my memory of a life I left long ago.

I clenched my teeth, glanced at my watch, and removed the infuser from the cup on the rail.

Some people called it routine. I knew better—it was survival, dressed in tea leaves.

And comfort—the only friendship I knew, handpicked and coming to my door every day, believing in my goodness, never remembering my pain, nor hers.

And on a day like today, when my memories overwhelmed me, I needed the moment of connection I often denied myself.

The sand on the path muffled the sounds of the approaching footsteps, and I looked out as the mail carrier traipsed along, her head down, watching her every step.

The mail sack, slung carefully across her body, nearly overflowed.

She looked up, caught my eye, and waved. I returned her wave and smiled.

She ambled up the garden path, stopping to run her hand over the rosemary, releasing its fragrant perfume, clueless of the darkness that met her here each day. She brought her hand to her nose and inhaled. “Lorcan, I still don’t know how you grow such beautiful plants.”

I met her gaze with a faint smile, knowing the plants held a beauty I could only borrow; each one carefully cultivated, a screen for the monster lying behind them, hidden within me.

I laughed. “All except the one I need. I have your tea for you.” I forced a lightness into my tone as I gestured to the teacup, a charade I’d perfected to disguise the darkness of my intentions.

Later today, I’d find more old man saltbush.

What a long name for a plant: old man saltbush.

The tea stimulated the production of blood and helped keep the drinker healthy.

My supply was running low, and the site where I usually harvested had fallen to developers.

It wasn’t like I couldn’t grow it in the garden behind my house. I just never had.

Her face relaxed as her gaze dropped to the cup. “It’s so kind of you to do this for me.”

If only she knew. I looked down to hide any guilt in my eyes, adjusting the cup in my hands. Her gratitude stung because my kindness was anything but, and went against everything my mother had ever taught me about hospitality.

“You deserve it,” I said. “And a break on your route.” The weight of each word felt bitter, catching in my throat even as I held her gaze with a smile.

“I always look forward to it.” She reached the top of the steps and hoisted her bag from her shoulder before dropping it next to her and taking the tea.

She held it to her lips, inhaling the aroma.

“It smells divine, just like always. You make the best tea, like the bay, with a hint of salt. Someday, you’ll have to let me in on your secret. ”

I didn’t look away as she took a sip, but my stomach tightened, wishing for another way. Maybe someday…

“Oh, I guess you’ll want your mail.” She squatted next to the bag and retrieved two pieces.

“Anything but junk?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Not really. You must be the only person on my route who never gets a single bill.”

No bills, no ties. It was the freedom I’d carved out, yet sometimes it felt more like a prison. “Easier just to pay in cash.”

“If you say so,” she said, rolling her eyes.

The conversation had already grown tedious, so I smiled at her, catching her gaze, my pupils moving independently of the light as I stared into her humanity.

Her eyes glazed, pupils widening like a sky pulling in a storm, and I felt the familiar sensation of her mind slipping beneath mine, an obedience that tasted both sweet and hollow.

“Just like usual. You’ve brought me my mail, had your tea, and now it’s time. ”

She gulped the remainder of her drink and set the cup on the railing.

“Of course, Lorcan,” she replied, calm and compliant as she raised her arm to me.

An ache spread through my chest as she offered her wrist, the warmth of her pulse a steady, maddening reminder of all I wished I didn’t need. It called to me, gnawing at my mind. My gums pulsed and burned as my fangs descended—the monster within me revealed.

Need and disgust tangled in my stomach as I seized her wrist. “I wouldn’t survive without you.”

“I know.” She stepped closer, her eyes shimmering with tears of pride, and brought her flesh to my mouth.

I shut out the world before my fangs sliced through her skin and into the artery.

She gasped as though the touch were more erotic than painful.

Her blood hit my tongue, a rushing warmth surging into me, invigorating yet tainted by the bitterness of my guilt—a twisted necessity I couldn’t escape.

She saw me almost every day, and this was our routine: she’d come, we’d make small talk, she’d deliver the mail, feed me, talk if I needed it, and then forget, leaving only to return the next day—a dance of shame that drove my existence.

I lashed my tongue over the wound, closing and hiding it. She’d never know. She was still in my trance, and I met her gaze again. “Thank you.”

“You’re my favorite stop, Lorcan. Is there anything else you need?” Her words were robotic. “You seem upset.”

I bit my lip. “My brothers…”

“You’ve never told me much about them.”

I stifled a smile before sighing. I had told her on multiple occasions, but of course, she wouldn’t remember. “What is there to tell? Aiden has destroyed everything.”

In 1904, my younger brother, Aiden, found his heart on the wrong end of a hunter’s arrow.

It should have killed him. Instead, our adopted brother Declan pulled the arrow from Aiden’s chest, and the wound healed as though it had been any other.

From that day forward, he demanded we bow to him.

And now, I heard he had this infernal plan to reorganize the supernatural world with him as king.

She smiled, a much friendlier smile than I deserved. “I’m sure that can’t be true.”

“But it is. He demands we recognize him as superior to us. And truthfully, he is. You couldn’t drive a stake into my heart and watch me live. But no one knows how he survived. And of course, Cormac keeps trying to fix it and reunite the family. Or he would if he could find me.”

She tilted her head. “Cormac?”

I sipped my tea. “My eldest brother. He’s always been determined to keep our family together.”

“But you’re here?”

I sat in my chair, my fingers turning white as they gripped my cup. I forced them to relax, my mind racing. “About as far as I can get from my brothers and Aiden’s madness.”

Aiden only used one method of persuasion: violence.

Instead of pulling groups together, it turned them away and made his quest for power less effective, but he’d finally taken control of Charleston, which made everyone nervous.

I’d watched from afar as his ambitions grew darker each year, a mirror of my fear of what I could become if I ever returned to their world.

It was a fate a family as old as mine attempted to walk above, a tightrope that threatened to snap beneath us, throwing us into an abyss of blood and hell.

It was a tightrope that Cormac kept attempting to repair for Aiden. I didn’t aspire to be a monster.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Her fingers grazed my arm.

A shiver went through me at the contact. “Truthfully, there isn’t a lot I know. I try my best not to hear anything about them. Of course, sometimes I run into others of my kind who can’t help but tell me the rumors.”

“And rumors are not really what you want to hear.”

I shook my head and drew air through my nose, feeling the coolness fill my lungs. “No, they aren’t, but they are getting more prevalent and worse.”

She tilted her head. “How so?”

The words caught in my throat because they weren’t true as long as I didn’t speak them.

“Aiden has united the factions and supernaturals in Charleston, forming an alliance he calls the Council of Charleston—with himself as its head.” I swallowed.

“He rules them through force, torturing and murdering anyone who stands up to him.”

“That sounds bad.”

“They’ve moved toward New Orleans, the last city a group like that should attempt to take.

” My shoulders rose and fell as I focused on my breath, a habit of comfort, not necessity.

“The witches, vampires, and wolves there have worked harmoniously for a thousand years. He doesn’t stand a chance.

If he thinks the Coven of the Blood was powerful…

The New Orleans witches never lost their memories—their magic.

And if they have to stop him from trying to take the city, they will go after the rest of the Clan O’Cillian after that. ”

She bit her lip. “Isn’t there a way for you to stop him?”

I chuckled. “No, my dear friend, there is not. For a few years, I thought there might be, and then I saw how hopeless it was, so I came here. Of course, Cormac will try, but my guess is that he will fail. I’ll just stay in the shadows.

I like it better anyway. Maybe someday Conall will follow my lead. ”

“Who’s that?”

I glanced at my watch. She wouldn’t finish her route on time if she didn’t get going soon. “He’s the youngest. But we can talk about him tomorrow when I see you.”

“Of course. And I won’t remember anything except that I enjoy this stop because you give me tea.

” She smiled in a way that made me worry she was becoming infatuated with me, a side effect of our daily interactions.

If so, I’d have to compel the delivery manager to assign someone else. But right then, I had an herb to find.