Silver at Midnight: A Paranormal Romance Urban Fantasy (The Keepers of Knowledge Series Book 5) by Bridgette O'Hare (best large ereader .TXT) 📕

I could do was buckle in and hold on. I pushed my bowl, along with what was left of my soup and my appetite, to the side and wrapped both hands around the coffee mug before me. It was a futile effort to anchor myself to something.

“I’m afraid you’re going t’ have to elaborate,” I insisted. “Who exactly do ya think I am, Mr. McCallister?”

He glared at me over the tops of his clasped hands, and then the corners of his eyes lifted in unison with the corners of his mouth. “Well, Aisling O’Cléirigh, I think you just might be the answer to a prayer.”

It was certainly not the response I was prepared for, and I had thought I was somewhat prepared for most anything.

“Come again?” I blurted out before I gave it a second thought.

His smile widened. “I can see I caught you off guard.”

“Ya think? I don’t know how t’ respond to that, except t’ ask you once more to elaborate. But I’m almost a lit’l afraid t’ ask just what it is you’ve been praying for.”

“That’s actually a really good place t’ start. You see, I’ve been praying for answers. Specifically praying for someone who has enough knowledge and experience to help me find those answers. And that’s how I came across you, Miss O’Cléirigh.”

“Aish,” I interrupted him. “Please, call me Aish."

“If ya promise t’ stop callin’ me Mr. McCallister, then that’s a deal.”

“Sounds fair,” I agreed. “So, Cian, please go on. I can hardly wait t’ hear how I’m an answer to your prayers,” I said with a trace of sarcasm, unable to prevent a hint of a smile from forming.

“Mock me if ya want, but I’m right. You are not givin’ yourself nearly enough credit.”

“Maybe that’s because I don’t know what t’ give myself credit for,” I shot back and then pulled a long drink from my coffee. It was getting low, but I wasn’t about to ask him to make me another. At least, not until I had some answers as to where this conversation was going and, more importantly, why we were having it in the first place.

“I know you are aware of The Saiad—The Hunter’s Guild,” he revealed without hesitation and without even a tinge of doubt in his tone. It was clear that, in his mind, it wasn’t possible I might not know what he was referring to.

Most Supernaturals simply called The Saiad The Hunters and believed them to be a thing of myth and legend—stories told around campfires of demon hunters and vampire slayers. To my understanding, only the Natra Agency and the High Council had any definitive knowledge of the modern-day existence and operation of The Saiad. And, honestly, I had often questioned the High Council’s grasp on what was truly going on within the organization. Based on their lack of action, I doubted the High Council knew what The Saiad was not only capable of, but the countless acts of violence against Supernaturals that they were responsible for carrying out. It seemed inconceivable to think the Council could knowingly sit back, doing nothing, while The Saiad continued to hunt down our kind with the sole purpose of eradication.

Although my pulse quickened and a lump formed in my throat, I did my best to maintain an expressionless glare at Cian over the top of my mug. Of course I was aware of the Hunters. I’d spent the majority of the past seven years of my life either racing against The Saiad to locate and retrieve powerful supernatural artifacts or infiltrating their ranks in the hopes we could dismantle their organization without starting an all-out war. If Cian had knowledge of The Saiad beyond the usual tales, then there was more to him than what had already perplexed me.

“I’ve heard the stories,” I replied, upholding the emotionless façade.

He cocked his head to the side ever so slightly and gave me a look that almost broke me. It was a look I had been given countless times by Kara when she knew I was holding out on her. Without speaking a word, his face said, “Really?” It kind of made me want to laugh, but I held my ground. I needed to know just how much intel Cian McCallister legitimately had. And I had faced down meaner and tougher than he had proven to be thus far.

“So, you are seriously going t’ play hard ball, ay?” he asked.

“I’m seriously going to listen to what ya have t’ say. If you want t’ call that hard ball, then I suppose that’s what I’m playing, aye.” I wasn’t about to offer information when I didn’t even know which team he was on.

“Very well,” he continued, “I s’pose I can’t blame ya. It’s not like this is your typical get-to-know-you conversation. I’d play it close to the vest, too, if I were you.”

“Good to know. Now, you know I’ve heard the tales of The Saiad, so how exactly is me being an answer to a prayer connected to me being aware of who they are?”

He leaned forward until he was resting his forearms on the bar and looking me straight in the eyes. “Because you, Aish O’Cléirigh, have walked among them.”

My breathing hitched, but I did my best to recover with what I hoped weren’t any obvious compromises of the truth. “I’m not entirely sure what it is ya seem to be accusing me of, Mr. McCallister.” I needed to turn this conversation around. Fast. He had been in control, and it was time for that to change.

“Cian,” he insisted. “We made a deal.”

“Aye. We did. However, that was before you subtly accused me of being a traitor to the supernatural races. Even if The Saiad are something more than tall tales told to frighten children from straying too far from home, I would never be involved in their organization. For any reason,” I contended and stared hard at him, maintaining eye contact to ensure he knew I was offended.

“Hmm. Well, that’s too bad,”