Hell Hound's Redemption (Fae 0f The North Shore Book 2)

by A. S. Green

  He knew he was fooling himself, but it was enough to get him to the door. He jerked it open and sucked in a breath. There she was. Not in her ugly scrubs, but in a classy black coat with a faux-fur collar. When she unzipped it, she was wearing a fitted blue blouse with tiny buttons down the front, black jeans and knee-high boots. The tornado of wind that filled his head whenever she was near upgraded itself to a fucking hurricane.

  Because Rowan McNeely was his fated mate, his anamchara.

  “Good evening, Declan.” She had a brown paper grocery bag in her hand. Her weekend bag was on the ground by her feet.

  “What?” He still couldn’t hear for shit. He watched her lips move as she repeated herself.

  “I said, ‘Good evening.’”

  “Oh. Right,” he said, probably talking much too loudly. “Good. Have ye eaten?”

  She pinched her lips together as if she found something funny. “I have, thank you.”

  Declan nodded, still standing in the doorway. Rowan still stood on the porch. A part of him considered telling her that there’d been a mistake. He’d be fine. Doc was being unnecessarily cautious sending her here. He could simply give her a call if he should have a bad reaction.

  His body needed rest, and it was impossible to imagine how he could ever sleep knowing there was only a bedroom wall between them. Why torture himself with thoughts that there could someday be two ladies of the house. He’d heard it said somewhere that to dream of a future was for poets and fools. He was neither.

  “May I come in?” she asked.

  And there it was: the question.

  No, he said, quite clearly in his head.

  “Of course,” is what came out of his mouth. He took the grocery bag from her, peeked inside to make sure nothing needed to be refrigerated, then set it on the floor inside the door. “I’ll just show ye to your room.”

  Declan took the long strap of her bag and slung it effortlessly over his shoulder. See, he wanted to say, I’m not a complete invalid.

  She followed and, by then, the wind in his head had settled enough that he could hear the sound of her feet on the wooden staircase, then on the creaky floorboards in the hall as he led her all the way to Aiden’s room.

  He walked in and set her bag on the floor. Then he hurried to the window to close it.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I should have done that earlier. I was just freshening the air in here. There’s a fire though, so it should warm up quickly. I changed the sheets, too.” Sweet Danu, he was babbling, but he couldn’t stop himself. That was probably a good thing though. At least it kept him from saying all the things he really wanted to say.

  He gestured toward the door at the back corner of the room. “The bathroom is there.” I want ye naked. Then he cleared his throat. “There’s a water glass on the sink.” If ye get lonely ye know where to find me. “Help yourself to anything in the fridge downstairs.” God, this was a terrible idea. “I’ll be going to bed now.” And dreaming of you. Fuck!

  Rowan blinked in surprise, but she didn’t try to stop him as he walked out the door and took a left in the hall.

  Declan didn’t look back. He also didn’t slam his door. He did, however, make sure that it was good and closed. He walked to his wardrobe and braced one hand against it as he listened to Rowan move around on the other side of the wall. He heard the scrape of hangers in the closet, the water running in the tap, the heart-torturing sound of the mattress moving when she sat on the bed.

  Only when he heard the musical tones of her E-reader starting up did Declan ball his hand into a fist and allow his internal hound to let loose with a long, agonized howl of pent-up frustration and yearning that, fortunately, only he could hear.

  Chapter Four

  ROWAN

  Rowan couldn’t sleep. She’d checked her phone a million times, seeing it go from nine-oh-three, to ten forty-five, to one twenty-seven, and now three a.m. She was not surprised by her restlessness. She’d imagined the night would go exactly like this. The problem was more than sleeping in a strange bed. It was all the strange thoughts running through her head.

  In those moments when she was just about to cross over into dreamland, the irrational half-in-half-out-of-reality part of her brain imagined that she was a púca, and that she could shape-shift into some kind of gnawing, tunneling creature who could carve a hole through a wall. Then she’d escape from her bedroom into Declan’s, crawl into his sheets and have her way with him.

  What kind of creature would that be, she wondered. Oh, yeah! A rat! A sexy rat.

  The mortifying thought yanked her fully awake, and her rational brain took over. You know…you could just walk down the hallway to his bedroom, like a normal person.

  So apparently her waking brain was just as horny and unprofessional as her dreaming one. Rowan turned over and punched the fluffy pillow and finally, finally fell asleep. And when she did, no surprise, she dreamt of slipping under the sheets with Declan.

  She couldn’t see him, but she could smell the spicy scent of his skin, and she could feel his warmth. Her body softened as his large hands roamed over her waist, sliding up her rib cage and cupping her breast. His lips closed around her nipple and she let out a scream of agonized bliss.

  But it wasn’t her screaming. Sweet Danu. It sounded like a tortured animal.

  Rowan jerked awake and pressed up on her elbows.

  The scream came again, and she twisted her neck to stare at the wall that separated her from Declan. Finally she got her wits about her. Declan!

  Rowan didn’t waste another second. She threw open her door and practically flew the four feet down the hall to his room. She whipped it open, sparing only a split second to notice he hadn’t locked it, then she was at his bedside and flipping on the light. It wasn’t the first time she’d been in his room. She’d treated him here before. But this time something felt different about it.

  Declan’s body jack-knifed to a sitting position. His eyes were wide; his face as white as his sheets. A thick lock of auburn hair fell over one eye, and he was covered in a fine sheen of sweat. She put her hand against his chest and felt the hard pound of his heart.

  She didn’t usually see him without his glasses. Somehow it made him look younger. She felt for a fever, which were always hard to detect in a hell hound, but he didn’t seem to be unusually warm. She put her fingers to his wrist and counted out his pulse rate.

  He yanked his hand away. “Leave me.”

  She grabbed his hand back. “Doc told me this might happen. Your body was expecting the injection yesterday. It will take a little bit for this first shock to wear off and then—”

  “I said, ‘Leave me.’” He jerked his hand away again, this time nearly pulling her off balance. She had to put a hand to the mattress to catch herself.

  Rowan firmed her jaw and straightened. “Doc also told me you would be prone to temper tantrums and unreasonable responses to—”

  Declan turned his head to look at her and when his gaze landed on her nightie, the expression on his face made her take a step back. She obviously should have put on a robe, but she hadn’t stopped to think. The nightie was floor-length, and it covered more of her than many of the dresses she wore in the summer. Still, she crossed her arms over her chest. How unprofessional could she get?

  “It’s not the injection,” he said, looking away. “I just had a goddamn nightmare, okay?”

  “That could be a withdrawal symptom as well.”

  His face went stormy, and he growled. “I’ve been having this dream for years. Decades. Way before I became an addict. In fact, it’s the reason I became an addict, so leave. Please. For the love of Danu…let me be. Close my door. Go back to your room.”

  “No.” She kept her arms folded, but this time with dogged determination, and stared down at her patient. She knew the story about his parents. She had a good guess about his nightmare.

  “What?” he asked, clearly not expecting that response. If Declan MacConall meant to scare her into subm
ission, he was going to have to do a lot better than that.

  “No,” she repeated, arching one eyebrow in challenge. “I’m your nurse. I have a job to do. And that means not leaving you alone.”

  Declan stared at her for a second, then he exhaled in a rush of air and looked away. “Do ye have any clue how much trouble this is?”

  “What is?” Since he was still looking away, she took the opportunity to appreciate the fine angle of his jaw. Thank Danu that Ciera wasn’t here to appreciate it.

  He turned his head back toward her, and he seemed to wince. “What is? You. Here. Fuck, this is too much.”

  Rowan would be lying if she said his obvious disdain for her wasn’t hurtful. She didn’t blame him entirely. The ugly history between their two clans was always there, lingering on the fringes. But they were both too young to have experienced the days when the cú sídhe served as guard dogs to the daoine, or how the cú sídhe were barely allowed the scraps from their masters’ tables. Neither of them had been around for what his clan called the Cú Sídhe Liberation Movement and what her parents referred to as “the bloody revolt.” In other words, she wasn’t about to let ancient prejudices get in the way of her doing her job.

  “You don’t have to be embarrassed about having a nightmare. I know your parents’ story. It would be more surprising if what happened didn’t affect you. If it would help to talk about it…”

  Declan’s jaw went tight. “Are ye trying to humiliate me? Is this part of the treatment?”

  “I’m not trying to humiliate you.” She was trying to build him up, not tear him down.

  “You don’t think I want to be…more?” he asked, his voice going low and gravelly. “Stronger? Healthier? Someone who ye don’t have to look at the way you’re looking at me right now?”

  “How am I looking at you?” Her question came out as a whisper. God, could he tell how she felt about him? She needed to get herself in check.

  “Like ye feel sorry for me.”

  Rowan blinked, hating that something she’d done had created more distance between them. She thought maybe she should share something about herself to make him understand how much she understood. But he didn’t give her the chance.

  “Just go,” he said.

  “I’m not leaving. Go back to sleep. I’ll stay until you’re settled.”

  To this, he exhaled sharply through his nose in a kind of humorless laugh. “I haven’t been ‘settled’ in fifty-five years.”

  She adjusted the pillows behind him. “Well, then it’s about time you started.”

  “By Danu, you’re a pain in my ass.”

  She shrugged. “You’re not the first patient who’s told me that.”

  “It’s a good thing you’re pretty,” he said, sounding more like he was talking to himself than to her.

  Rowan stiffened. “Don’t say that.”

  She’d gone into nursing so people would see her as more than just another pretty daoine. As much as she liked that Declan found her attractive, she wanted him to see her as something more, too. Skilled. Talented. Smart. Resourceful.

  “Why not?” Declan asked.

  “Just don’t.”

  Declan narrowed his eyes as he stared at her face. “I never knew a female who got pissy just because someone told her she was beautiful.”

  So now she was beautiful? “I’m only pissy if you think that’s all I am. I’m more than that, Declan MacConall, and if you don’t know that by now…”

  His expression looked so pained, it cut her off short. He continued to stare at her for another long second, then he said, “I do know that, Rowan.”

  She gave him a jerky nod, acknowledging his sincerity. For the first time—despite all his grumbling—she felt like he saw her. Really saw her. But the pained expression hadn’t left his face.

  “Tell ye what,” he said. “If I’m a good little patient, do what I’m told, follow alllll of your orders, every single one, get myself through this weekend without falling apart, you’ll stop fussing over me like I’m made of glass?”

  She pretended to consider his proposal. “Maybe.”

  “And you’ll ask Doc to have another nurse assigned to me, going forward?”

  Rowan tried to keep her face expressionless as her heart shriveled into a cold, dark pellet. “If you wish.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, “and we’ll call it a deal. I’ll do what ye say and, in exchange, after this weekend you’ll stop treating me like an invalid, which will be easy because you’ll find someone else to be my nurse.”

  “Fine. I got it. And here’s my first order. Go back to sleep, Declan.”

  “Yeah,” he said, smiling as if he found that amusing. “I’ll get right on that.”

  She didn’t take the bait. “Good. And if you need anything,” she gestured toward the comfy chair by the door. “I’ll be right over there.”

  “And…uh…” he said, suddenly sounding nervous. He scratched his fingers through his trimmed red beard. “If I, well… Just know that if I’m sleeping, I can’t always control what…”

  She didn’t know exactly what he was getting at, but she didn’t press. He looked exhausted, so she told him once again and this time more sternly, “Go to sleep. I’m a professional. Not much would surprise me.”

  “I guess we’ll see about that in the morning,” he said, another amused smile playing at his beautiful lips.

  “Yes, we will. Now sleep.”

  He muttered, “So bossy,” but he also rolled over and did what she said. She tried not to notice how the sheet shifted when he rolled, or how it exposed his bare flank.

  She licked her lips, then reprimanded herself quite scornfully, You are a professional. He doesn’t even like you, so get yourself together.

  Then Rowan took a seat in the upholstered chair by the door and eventually, though she had no idea how she managed it, fell asleep.

  Chapter Five

  DECLAN

  Saturday Morning

  Declan awoke to three sharp clapping sounds. Not like applause, though being conscious before noon was definitely praiseworthy. Rather, it was more like someone wanted his attention. What time was it? He squinted at the window, groaned when he saw only the barest hint of light, then pulled the sheet over his head.

  “Nope,” said Rowan’s stern voice. “It’s time to get up, and we made a deal. What I say goes.”

  The sheet was suddenly ripped off him. He grabbed it back up before he gave Nurse McNeely a glimpse of more than she’d probably bargained for. The drugs may have wasted much of his body—a state he had slowly been correcting over the last couple years—but one part of him had never been affected.

  Rowan made a whimpering sound, giving him the impression he hadn’t grabbed the sheet quickly enough. But then she cleared her throat and, when she spoke, sounded completely professional. “Time to get up. I have a big day planned for you.”

  “I thought Doc wanted me to get plenty of rest,” he grumbled. The last female who’d tried to wake him before noon was his mother. He did not like having Rowan and his mother on his mind at the same time. That kind of thing could do irreparable damage to a guy.

  “Yes. But I also have instructions to work on your diet.”

  “I’ve been trying to gain weight, not lose it,” he said bitterly.

  “I know, dummy. I’m talking about putting more meat on your bones. In addition to diet, we’re going for a brisk walk to increase your oxygen intake. Oxygen will not only calm the panic attacks; it’ll suppress the cravings.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” Just two months ago at Kawishiwi Falls, Declan had taken in so much oxygen that both she and Doc had reprimanded him for overexerting himself. Now she wanted him to go on a brisk walk? She needed to make up her mind.

  Exercise. Pfff.

  But then he wondered if she owned a pair of black yoga pants and those springy sneakers that people wore in aerobics classes. Maybe she put her hair up in one of those cute, swingy ponytail
s when she went for walks.

  He opened his eyes again, just to two narrow slits. He was still too unfocused to tell what she was wearing but—Yes!—pony tail. Damn she was cute.

  He pushed up onto his elbows and glamoured on a blue T-shirt and pair of gray sweats, commando-style.

  She sighed. “I seriously wish I could do that.”

  The corners of his mouth turned up. Next to letting his hound run free—something he’d only done once in the last six months (doctor’s orders)—the ability to glamour whatever he needed in the way of clothes, and whenever he needed them, was the best part of being a cú sídhe.

  In theory, the daoine had the ability to make others see things that weren’t really there, but there were rumors among the sídhe that the daoines’ adaptation to the pádraig world had caused their abilities to taper off.

  He threw back the sheet and put his feet on the floor. The fireplace logs had burned down to mere embers, but it was still warm in the room.

  He rubbed the last of the sleep from his eyes and, when he looked up, noticed her staring at his bare feet. “Rowan?”

  She swallowed hard and jerked her head up. “I’ve got eggs and pancakes waiting for you downstairs. Protein and carbs to get you started.”

  “I’m more of a black coffee kind of guy.”

  “And it shows. Now up.”

  She turned, her pony tail flying, then he took in the sight of her ass wearing—Fuck—black yoga pants. If her clothing choice was intentional, she was not only brilliant but downright devious, because there was no way Declan was going to be anywhere but right behind her for the rest of the day.

  * * *

  ROWAN

  So not fair, Rowan thought as she made her way downstairs. No one had sexy feet, but of course Declan MacConall would have sexy feet. High arched. Smooth. Beautifully proportioned toes… Declan was right on her heels as she stomped—yes, stomped because, let’s face it, life was unfair—down the stairs.