by A. S. Green
“Ye seem to know your way around my house,” he said.
“I’ve been here once a month, every month, for two years.” She hit the bottom step, swung around the end of the bannister, and made a U-turn down the hallway that led to the kitchen.
“Yeah, but you’ve never cooked here,” he said, keeping up, but still staying behind her. Rowan understood his point. The only thing in the kitchen that was newer than the eighteen hundreds was the black and white tiled floor.
Declan pressed his point. “Not everyone knows how to use a wood-burning stove. Ye say ye made pancakes?”
“I’m not an idiot, Declan. Heat. Fuel. Oxygen. Voilà! Fire!” She threw up her hands in exasperation, but she didn’t turn to face him. If she thought his feet were sexy, his sleepy face and tousled auburn hair were in a league all their own. “I’ve got a brain in this head, you know.”
“Someone sure is cranky in the morning,” he muttered. “If ye want a few more hours of shut eye, I’m not going to stop ye.”
Rowan ignored him. She’d worked hard on his breakfast, and she didn’t want it to get cold. Or more like, colder. She’d need more practice before she mastered the timing of a meal as well as her mother. “Come eat.”
Declan made his way to the table by the window. There was only one plate prepared, so he sat down in front of it and gaped at the huge mountain of food. Rowan cringed, wondering if it was overkill. Apparently she had failed to mention upstairs that, in addition to pancakes and eggs, she’d also made link sausages and something that resembled hash browns.
Declan poked at them with his fork.
“You don’t have to eat the potatoes,” she said. “I don’t think I cooked them long enough. Eat the rest though.”
“I couldn’t possibly eat all this. Didn’t ye make any for yourself?”
“I did. And I ate it. Now you.”
“Now me,” he said, still sounding like he was in a bit of shock.
Okay, so the breakfast was definitely overkill. He had been gaining weight lately—filling out nicely—and doing so without her help. Doc had given instructions for his nutritional intake but, if she were being honest with herself, this breakfast was all about trying to impress. Hopefully it wasn’t too obvious. That would be embarrassing.
Declan started shoveling in the food, and she caught herself watching the way his strong jaw flexed as he chewed… The way his Adam’s apple bobbed in the column of his throat when he swallowed… Shit. She was getting turned on watching him eat! What the hell was wrong with her?
Rowan went to the coffee pot to pour them both a cup.
“After I eat all this,” he said between bites, “I’m not going to be able to move. We’ll have to put the walk on hold.”
“First, we’re going to do a little yoga to help with digestion. Then we’ll walk.”
“Ah, I see.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The pants,” he said, tipping his head in the direction of her lower half, and her core warmed under the weight of his gaze. “I thought they were just to torture me, so it’s good to know they had a less sadistic purpose.”
Rowan stared at him and blinked once. Twice. “Declan MacConall, are you…” She dropped her voice to a whisper, embarrassed to even suggest it and braced against the potential for more rejection. “Are you flirting with me?”
He returned her stare, but he did it blankly. “Of course not.”
“Well, that’s…” What was that? Disappointing? Relieving? “Good to know.”
“Flirting is only a means to some future end that would make everything worse.”
Rowan didn’t know what to say to that. Was he talking about their future? If so, where on earth was that coming from?
“Also,” he said, tipping his head to the side, “flirting would be a sure-fire way to get my pelt nailed above your da’s door, which is a future I don’t want.”
She sucked in a breath because he was likely closer to the truth than he probably knew. “Why would you say that?”
He shrugged. “You’re daoine sídhe.”
“I’m not that kind of daoine,” she said, sounding offended because that’s exactly how she felt. Not all of her kind held the old prejudices.
“Maybe not, but I bet your da is. Even the pádraigs in Ely are either wolf huggers or wolf killers. Not much different with the sídhe, aye? Ye had to break some kind of weekend plans with your da to be here, right? I bet—”
An expression of surprised realization shot across his face. “Wait. Does your da even know you’re here? Oh, sweet Danu.” He laughed. “Ye didn’t tell him, did ye.”
He wagged his finger at her, as if to say naughty, naughty, so she grabbed it, twisting it back.
“Ow! Shit!”
“He does, as a matter of fact, know that I am here.” And she felt quite self-congratulatory being able to tell him that. Declan thought he knew her? He better think again.
“Really?” he asked, yanking his finger out of her grasp.
“Really.”
“And ye told him we’d be here alone?” he asked, giving her a lascivious grin that made her nipples tingle.
She folded her arms, then pressed her lips together before realizing what was really going on. “You’re playing me.”
That’s exactly what this was. Declan was toying with her because somehow he’d clued-in to how turned on he could get her.
“Answer the question, Rowan.”
Oh, yeah. This was definitely a game for him. “Eat your breakfast, Declan. That’s an order, and we have a deal that you’ll follow my every order.”
He made a smug face that said, Just as I suspected. Your father has no fucking clue. Then he stabbed through three layers of pancakes and shoved them into his mouth.
Rowan rolled her eyes, but her whole body shuddered when she heard his deep, responsive chuckle, because—damnit—that low rumbling sound… That sound was nearly as sexy as his goddamn feet.
And she got the distinct idea that he totally knew it.
* * *
DECLAN
Declan’s limbs were stretched, his joints—strangely—fluid, and his mind nearly scrambled by the sight of Rowan’s limber body bending and twisting into shapes no body had any business adopting. At the moment she was doing some cock-tormenting thing called a downward dog.
The hound in him approved whole heartily, but Declan was done.
“That’s it,” he said. “I can’t take anymore.” And he meant that in any way, and every way she wanted to take it. “Are we doing this walk thing now, or are we finished for a while?”
She pushed up to her feet, and smoothed her hands down over her fine ass. She grabbed a pair of pink and white Reeboks from where she’d set them on the floor and said, “Let me go get my coat.”
Declan glamoured on a hoodie and his favorite leather jacket. She shook her head and muttered, “Give me a sec. Mine’s upstairs.”
“And you’re going to change the rest of your clothes, too, right?” he asked.
She looked down at herself. “Why?”
“I mean, you’ll have a coat, but shouldn’t ye still wear your hospital scrubs?” Those ugly green baggy ones preferably.
“Again… Why?” She narrowed her lavender eyes at him.
Declan thought the answer was obvious, so he took the tone of someone trying to explain things to a very young child. “So people will know that you’re working and won’t get the wrong idea, thinking we’re together.”
Rowan didn’t answer right away, but her expression was one of being kicked in the gut. What was he supposed to make of that? Did she forget who she was? Or what she was? Didn’t she worry about appearances like the rest of her kind?
“Well, I didn’t bring any scrubs,” she said flatly.
“Oh. Well, we’re going to Ely, so did ye want to stop by your house?” He’d heard it was called Dún Laoghaire Manor. With a name like that, he imagined it to be enormous. “I could stay out of the wa
y by walking around the grounds until you’re ready.”
To this she let out a breath and folded her arms. “Declan, what the hell is going on? One minute you’re acting all flirty like you think you’re Danu’s gift to all females; the next, you’re persona non grata? Pick one, you’re giving me whiplash.”
“Fine. No scrubs. Shit.”
She groaned in frustration. “Meet me outside.”
“How far are we going to walk?”
“Doc said three miles, three times a week. I measured out Main Street. It’s just about one-point-five miles from the western edge of town to the east. I say we go down and back, then come home for a healthy lunch, followed by an hour of meditation, and then—you’re going to like this one—I’ll let you sleep for a couple hours.”
Declan’s heart skipped. “I do like. But then what?”
“Then you can help me cook dinner. Now…meet me outside in two secs. The sooner we leave, the sooner we come home.”
Declan stared after her as she walked out of the game room. He didn’t know what to make of it—the way his heart soared. Come home, she’d said. Then we come home. Never in a million years would he have thought those words would hit him so, so deep.
Chapter Six
DECLAN
An hour later, Declan was well into the most awkwardly silent walk in history. Small talk seemed stupid when there were so many more important things he wanted to say. Like, you’re my anamchara. I’ve known it for years. He imagined what Rowan would say in response. Maybe a patronizing, that’s nice. Or worse, I only see you as my patient.
With all of that, he didn’t have any brain space left for wondering how Rowan would interpret his silence. His head was too full of questions, like why on earth he’d flirted with her. She’d called him out on it, rightly so. If she hadn’t, how far would he have taken it? It was embarrassing to think about.
He also spent quite a bit of time recalling how his body felt when she called his house “home” and—unreasonable fantasy, or not—what that kind of future might look like.
Then his thoughts went dark, as they were wont to do. His parents had called his house their home, and a lot of fucking good it did them. He was having those thoughts a lot lately, but that was probably because it was November. It was both the best and worst month for remembering.
A dark green pick-up passed them on the street but only drove a half block ahead. Then it made a quick U-turn and came back toward them, parking on their side—the wrong side—of the street and faced them head on.
“Is that legal?” Rowan asked, adjusting her Ray-Bans; a daoine’s lavender eyes were always more obvious in sunlight.
“Probably not,” Declan said, but the enforcement of traffic laws ran a bit on the loose side this far north.
As they continued to walk toward the truck—now with their bodies tight and their pace quickened—Declan could detect two men inside, both wearing blaze orange hunting gear. A gun rack was mounted in the back window of the cab.
“Are they looking at us?” Rowan asked, cinching her coat tighter around her.
“Only because we’re so good looking,” Declan said, making a joke to cover his nerves.
They’d been walking with several inches of space between them, which Declan had originally thought was a good thing. Now, not so much. He didn’t like getting attention from pádraigs and—instinctively—his hound’s protective nature rose within him. Declan moved closer to Rowan. His knuckles brushed against her fingers, shooting a tingle of electricity up his arm.
“They’re just basic pádraigs, right?” she whispered. “You don’t think they’re Black Castle, do you?”
“It’s impossible to tell just by looking at them.” At least, without any black robes. Nevertheless, as they passed the truck, Declan couldn’t help but give the men a thorough once over.
The driver—a large man with a long scraggly beard—returned Declan’s stare. It made the small hairs on the back of Declan’s neck stand up, and his hound snapped its teeth, rumbling a low growl through Declan’s chest that only he could hear.
That was when Rowan suddenly squeezed his elbow and said, “Oh, sweet Danu. Look!”
Declan looked. Nailed over the doorway of the camping supply store was an extremely large black pelt. There was no head attached.
“You don’t think…?” Rowan asked. “I mean, it’s not cú sídhe, right?”
No. It wasn’t. But it still sent a prickle of dread down Declan’s spine. It was illegal to kill a wolf in Minnesota, except in self-defense. But with a pelt that size, it wouldn’t take much for a hunter to convince the DNR he or she felt threatened—especially after six people were discovered in the woods near Kawishiwi Falls two months ago, apparently mauled by wolves.
“Keep moving,” he said.
“You’d tell me if that was a cú sídhe, right?” Rowan’s voice trembled, and her fear nearly caused an angry growl to slip from his throat. His hound was ready to demolish anyone and anything that dared to intimidate his anamchara.
“Because even if it was a sídhe,” she continued, rambling nervously now, “it wouldn’t have to mean the Black Castle was still in town. I mean, a regular hunter could mistake a cú sídhe for a wolf, right?”
Declan fought the urge to roll his eyes and toss out a sarcastic comment. Had she really never seen a manifested cú sídhe? Transformed, Declan was to a wolf what a Clydesdale was to a Shetland pony. Still, if a pádraig encountered a cú sídhe and got in a lucky shot… Declan would need to let Cormac know there were either rogue, or trigger-happy hunters in the woods.
“It isn’t cú sídhe. It’s just a regular wolf. Now come on. You’re slowing down, and I’m ready for this walk to be over.”
The cold wind whipped up the street, lifting a single sheet of newspaper and plastering it to the window of the insurance agency they passed.
“Okay. But you should still be careful.” She looked behind her at the green pickup truck, but Declan squeezed her hand to make her stop. She sucked in a breath and turned to face the direction they were traveling.
Even though there was no one near them on the sidewalk, she still dropped her voice to a whisper. “Do you think the Black Castle—the ones you faced in September—could still be around town?”
“Cormac thinks they’ve left,” he said, still hating to hear the intimidation in her voice. “At least for a while…to regroup.” He released her hand when he realized he’d been holding it for longer than necessary. “We can talk about this when we get back to the house.”
“What’s ‘a while?’” she asked, not letting the conversation go. “That was two months ago. Would that have been enough time?”
Probably. “I don’t know.”
The door to a cigar shop just ahead of them opened, flooding the sidewalk with the pungent smell of tobacco, and a tall daoine stepped out. He was dressed in khakis, a navy turtleneck sweater, and a North Face jacket. His dark hair was going gray at the temples, and his lavender eyes were assessing.
“Daddy?” Rowan asked in surprise. She pushed her sunglasses up onto the top of her head.
The male stopped short. “Princess?” He looked at Rowan, then his eyes darted quickly to Declan. He looked him up and down, and his mouth got tight.
“Daddy, this is Declan MacConall. Declan, this is my father, Sean McNeely.”
“Sir,” Declan said.
McNeely didn’t give him the time of day. His sole focus was on his daughter. “What are you doing in town…and with him?”
Any other time, Declan might have responded to her father’s condescending tone with a fight. Rowan lifted her chin, and her cheeks flushed with color. “I’m working.”
“That’s not an answer to my question.”
“You know I can’t discuss my patients.”
Her father sniffed, then looked away. Then he turned back with a close-lipped smile. “Niall was disappointed to hear you had to postpone your dinner date last night, but don’t worry. Your moth
er smoothed things over for you.”
“I—” Rowan started to say, but her father cut her off.
“He seemed quite admiring of your commitment to helping the…less fortunate.” He gave Declan a look of feigned sympathy. “Also, John and Alex called for you—separately, of course. And the flowers in the foyer are from Daniel.”
He turned to Declan, leaning in as if to share a confidence. “My daughter really is quite sought after, you see. We expect a wedding in the spring.”
“Daddy! Seriously?”
McNeely chuckled. “My apologies, sweetheart. I suppose those aren’t the kinds of personal details you share with a patient. I’ll let you get back to work.”
He gave Declan a hard look, then climbed into his SUV. He turned the engine, waited for a car to pass, and drove away. They watched him go, though Declan’s focus was on the rumbling sound of the pickup truck still idling a block behind them.
“I’m sorry,” Rowan said, without looking at him, her eyes still on her father’s tail lights.
“Yeah, well… I’m tired.” Declan’s eye caught on a couple sitting in the diner across the street. The man fed the woman a bite of whatever he was eating, and she laughed. He couldn’t imagine ever having a moment like that with Rowan. Casual. Easy.
He sighed. “It’s been almost three miles. That’s good enough for today.”
She turned toward him, facing the direction from which they’d come, and her face went pale. Her breath left her on a rush. “We can’t tilt from here. Declan… That truck… Those men have turned around. They’re following us again.”
Declan didn’t need to look. He’d already heard the rumbling engine creeping up the street. As wary as it made him, Rowan’s expression made his hound sit up and snarl. How dare they intimidate his anamchara!
“Come with me.” Declan wrapped his arm around her waist and escorted her into the tobacco shop from which her father had exited. Now inside, the scent was so strong it nearly knocked him over.
“Can I help you?” the clerk asked.
