by A. S. Green
“A little.”
“Let’s take our walk and see if we can push that to a lot better.”
“Ye tricked me. That was low.” Declan turned and pulled her in close so he could rest his forehead against hers.
“I’ll sink as low as you need me to go.”
Declan smiled to himself. She hadn’t intended the innuendo, but his mind easily slipped into an image of her sinking to her knees in front of him. He pushed the thought away and looked down at his hands. They were still shaking.
“What do I do about this?” he asked. Then he realized she was standing outside in her silk nightie. The November air hardened her nipples, but rather than feeling aroused by them, he felt ashamed. “Ye need to get back inside.”
“Stay here. Keep up your breathing. I’ll get dressed and grab my coat and some lavender oil. It’ll help keep your hands from shaking.”
He pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her for warmth, then kissed her forehead. One of these days, he thought, one of these days could he be who she needed him to be?
Chapter Eleven
DECLAN
Rather than tilt to Ely, Declan convinced Rowan that they take a walk in the woods behind his house. He wasn’t sure he was completely in the clear yet, and the last thing he wanted was to make a public spectacle of himself should his body stage another revolt.
Needing to regain some of his pride, Declan took the lead, showing her the wooded path along the stream that would teem with trout in the spring, then up the hill into the deepest part of the jack pines
When he was young, his hound had wandered these paths at night, but it had been years—decades even—since Declan had been out this far and never on two feet. It made the woods look different than how he remembered them. The trees were taller, a clearing where he and his brothers used to play was now thick with undergrowth, the air seemed lighter, cleaner somehow, and he was so taken by the change in perspective that it was nearly too late when his brain registered the sound of human voices.
His eyes jerked up the path. The two men from town were sitting at a campsite not thirty feet ahead. It was only by a miracle that the low hanging tree branches had shielded his and Rowan’s approach.
Declan turned quickly, facing Rowan, who pulled up short. Her beautiful face was framed by the hood of her coat, and the sight gave him pause before he remembered himself. He put his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her behind a boulder that was wedged under a pine.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered.
“It’s the men from town. The ones in the truck.”
Rowan’s eyes went wide. “Why would they be so close to your house?”
Declan didn’t know. Two months ago, Meghan’s aunt had been tracking her through her phone. The tracking device hadn’t led the Black Castle as far as the MacConalls’ home, but maybe it had zeroed in on the vicinity.
“This isn’t a coincidence,” Rowan whispered. “We need to get out of here.”
Before Declan could respond, one of the men’s voices drifted toward them saying, “The writing is on the wall, Jerry.”
Together, Declan and Rowan rose slowly—just an inch or two—so they could peek over the edge of the boulder and see the campsite. The two men sat on camp chairs outside a blue nylon tent. They were still dressed in blaze orange hunting gear—either for their own safety from other hunters, or because they wanted to be mistaken for typical hunters, or maybe both. Just behind them were two shotguns, the stocks resting on the ground, the barrels angled up, with their muzzles resting on a log.
“Why do you say that?” the one called Jerry asked. He was a thin man with a long narrow face and light brown hair. He had a red dimpled scar over his eyebrow that made Declan wonder if it had been caused by the scope on his shotgun. That kind of firearm could give some serious kickback.
“You don’t think we’re being punished?” asked the first man, the one with the long scraggly beard who’d been driving the truck in town.
“Because of this assignment?” Jerry asked.
“We’re being set up to fail. There’s no way any of the freaks are going to show themselves. It’s too soon. They’re all on alert, or have gone to ground. There’s no way we’re going to bag the three dogs Sister Darlene sent us to find.”
Declan gritted his teeth. There was no question now. The men were Black Castle, even without the typical cloaks. Sister Darlene was Meghan’s aunt.
Rowan tugged at Declan’s sleeve, urging him to go.
“Wait,” he whispered. If he could glean any useful information from listening in, he wanted to do it. Cormac would be interested, and being able to help the cause would further excuse Declan’s decision to stay home.
“If we don’t hit our goal,” Jerry said, “it’s not like Brother Peadar can fire us. I’m a volunteer.”
“If we don’t hit our goal,” the other said slowly, as if he was explaining something very complex, “Brother Peadar won’t give us our reward. And I want that reward.”
“Declan,” Rowan whined. “Come on.”
“No,” he said, a small smile curling the corners of his mouth. “Look!”
He moved a low-hanging branch a fraction of an inch, allowing Rowan to see what had caught his eye. He pointed toward the shotguns where a small black rabbit hopped around the edge of the log and took a particularly un-rabbitlike interest in the pádraigs’ weapons.
“What? The rabbit?” Rowan asked, giving him a questioning look as to why it should be so interesting.
“I know her,” he said.
“You know that rabbit?”
“Púca,” he corrected her. “An ally. Name’s Branna.”
Rowan’s mouth dropped open and she went back to watching Branna’s activities. “Does she think those guys are Black Castle, too?”
“Hard to know. Branna is an equal opportunist when it comes to harassing people. It’s one of her favorite pastimes. Watch.” Declan then proceeded to whisper the play-by-play in Rowan’s ear as Branna used her unusually dexterous paw to open the bolt and look inside the magazine.
“She’s looking to see if it’s loaded,” he said.
Rowan sucked in a breath. “Is she going to shoot them?”
Declan didn’t answer right away. He wouldn’t put it past Branna to do that, but she was more about making pádraigs miserable than making them dead. Unless they were to threaten her directly, he didn’t think Branna would waste the amount of energy necessary to shift on them.
He guessed right. “It’s not loaded.”
“How can you tell from here?” Rowan asked.
“Because she just pulled the trigger so she could slide out the bolt.”
“And she did that why?”
They watched as Branna repeated the action on the second shotgun. “Because now their weapons are disabled.”
Branna turned her back on the discarded shotgun bolts then, with her hind leg, kicked them both into the tall grass and hopped away.
“Where is she going now?” Rowan asked.
“Probably off to find someone else to harass.”
“We should go, too. I don’t like being here.”
“Not yet. When Cormac and Aiden get home, they’ll want to know what we’re dealing with.” They hadn’t seen any Black Castle since everything went down with Meghan’s aunt at Kawishiwi Falls, and the falls were miles away their house. But these two? They’d come way too close for comfort. Did they know they were close, or was it merely coincidence? “I need to get the details on these guys.”
“Know what we’re dealing with? Details? What do you—?” Rowan shifted her weight, and a small twig snapped underfoot.
The two men in the clearing jerked and turned to face them. “Did you hear something, Jer?”
Here went nothing. “Follow my lead,” Declan said, pulling down the sunglasses Rowan had propped on top of her head. He squeezed her hand and led her out from behind the rock.
She pulled back on his arm. “No, D
eclan. Stop.”
“Trust me,” he said, and he hoped that she would. The men’s weapons were disarmed thanks to Branna, so the threat wasn’t great. And it was too important to get all the information he could about why they were here. He could easily hold his own against two pádraigs, even without being in tip-top shape himself. He wanted Rowan to believe in him, to know without question that he could protect her, and that she didn’t need to be afraid.
“Good morning, gentlemen!” Declan called out cheerily, using his best northern Minnesota accent and pulling a reluctant Rowan down the path toward their campsite. “We didn’t expect to find campers this late in the season.”
“It’s them,” the one with the beard said, slapping the back of his hand against Jerry’s arm. They both stood up.
“Ah,” Declan said. “Hunting, is it? What’s in the scopes? I didn’t think deer season started until tomorrow.” He gave Rowan’s hand what he hoped was a comforting squeeze.
“Wolves,” Jerry said, and Declan was close enough now to see the dribble of chewing tobacco caught in the other man’s beard. “We’re hunting wolves.”
Declan narrowed his eyes. Was the guy really going to be so obvious? If so, maybe he really could get some useful information out of them. “It’s illegal to hunt wolves.”
“Not the kind we’re hunting,” Jerry said. “We saw you in town.”
“Is that right?” Declan asked, swinging his gaze to Jerry. “Are you two alone, or part of a larger hunting party?
“Oh, we’re in good company,” Jerry said with a sneer. “Don’t you worry about that.”
“I’m not worried,” Declan said, hoping his words would give Rowan some confidence. “Just making conversation. What made you choose this spot? We’ve hiked here before and have never run into any hunters—or wolves for that matter, if you were being serious about that.”
“You ask a lot of questions,” Jerry said. Then he moved behind their chairs, grabbed up the shotguns and tossed one to Tobacco Beard. “Here’s a question for you. What are you? What kind?”
Declan bristled, but he kept up the ruse and feigned confusion about this sudden change in dynamic. He held his hands up. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Easy now. We didn’t mean any trouble. We were just out for a hike. We’ll be on our way.”
“I said,” Jerry pressed, his face getting tense. The red scar over his eyebrow burned brighter. “What kind are you?”
“I’m not sure what you mean by ‘kind,’” Declan said, glancing at Rowan who stood stiffly by his side. “My girlfriend and I…we live in Ely, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“No,” Tobacco Beard growled, and the two of them moved closer to Declan and Rowan, until only a few feet remained them. “That’s not what we’re asking.”
“Okay,” Declan said. “I’m not sure what to say then.”
“I’ll help you out. You look like one of three brothers we’ve been looking for, and your girlfriend’s wearing sunglasses when it’s a cloudy day, just like I heard those day-oh-eens do.”
“Who?” Declan asked, still playing dumb but now for the sake of survival.
A trickle of fear ran through him at the possibility he may have underestimated the situation. Their guns might be disabled, but this could still turn physical. He knew he could take them in a fight, even two-on-one; living with his brothers had given him plenty of practice with that. But he couldn’t fight without leaving Rowan exposed.
Worse, it was too late to tilt. That kind of escape would only confirm the two men’s suspicions.
“They take us for fools,” Jerry said.
“No, we don’t,” Rowan said, speaking up for the first time. She sounded desperate, as if she didn’t think Declan was doing enough. “But we really have no idea what you’re talking about, so please…let us pass.”
“What we’re talking about,” Jerry said, “is the two of you telling us what…in the hell…you are.”
Declan’s hound growled deep in his chest but, for Rowan’s sake, he fought down the rage. “And she told you—” Asshole. “—we don’t know what you’re talking about. We’re just out for a walk and—”
“Don’t lie to us!” Jerry yelled, and he raised his shotgun, pressing the muzzle to Rowan’s temple. He yanked her sunglasses off and her panicked lavender eyes flashed Declan’s way before she squeezed them shut and braced.
Declan stiffened. Even without a bullet, the bastard could hurt her with that thing. One quick thrust and he could knock her unconscious.
A raging fury rushed through his chest. He was supposed to protect her. It was one thing for him to dig for information on his own. He should have never involved her.
“Get away from my woman, Jerry,” Declan said, separating out each word in a slow admonition. As he spoke, he kept his gaze locked on Rowan. She was trembling, and he could tell she was just on the verge of a tilt.
Hold sweetheart, he silently begged her. Don’t do it. Stay still.
Tobacco Beard raised his own shotgun and pointed it at Declan. “Go ahead. Show us how you’re going to make us get away from your woman. Try and convince us that that’s what she really is.”
Declan knew what they wanted. They wanted to see the hound. They wanted to goad him into a transformation, thinking to make him the next pelt hanging over a door. His hands shook, though not with fear.
“Lower your weapons,” Declan said. “And step away.”
“Or you’ll—” Tobacco Beard started to ask, but before he finished, Declan swiped the barrel using all his cú sídhe strength, sending it flying twenty feet into the brush.
“Fuck!” Tobacco Beard cried out, scrambling after it.
Jerry trained his shotgun on Declan and pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. He twisted the shotgun in his hands to see what was the matter.
Rowan whimpered and tilted away, removing all doubt as to who—and what—they were.
“Get him!” Tobacco Beard yelled.
Jerry dropped his shotgun, cocked his arm back, and swung. Declan ducked then rose with an uppercut to the solar plexes. Jerry grunted and dropped to his knees. Declan brought up his knee as Jerry went down, catching him under the chin and knocking him out cold.
Tobacco Beard roared and ran forward, his head and shoulder lowered, charging like a battering ram.
Declan stepped gracefully to the side, then struck down on the back of the man’s neck as he passed, flattening him to the ground. Tobacco Beard groaned and rolled over onto his back. Declan’s lip curled with disgust.
“This…” He kicked him square in the jaw. There was a nasty crunch and blood spurted from between his lips and into his scraggly beard. “…is for scaring my anamchara.”
Chapter Twelve
DECLAN
When Declan’s boots landed on the stone walkway in front of his house, he found Rowan sitting on the top step of the porch, her forehead resting on her knees. He moved swiftly toward her, and his feet scraped in the loose pebbles that filled the gaps between the stones, startling her.
She looked up with a jerk, and her eyes were wet from tears. “Declan!”
Suddenly she was on her feet. Declan braced for impact as she ran to him, jumped into his arms, and wrapped her legs around his waist.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, peppering his face with kisses. “Please, forgive me. I panicked. I should have never abandoned you like that.”
How could she think she needed forgiveness? He didn’t need her to take care of him, and she’d had every reason to panic. If anyone was at fault, it was him. “No, love. Don’t think like that. I should be the one who’s apologizing. We should have just left as soon as we saw them.”
Rowan drew in a ragged breath and, realizing he’d come out unscathed, unwrapped her legs, letting her feet drop to the ground. Then her face took on an expression he’d never seen before, and she did what the two Black Castle in the woods had failed to do.
She punched him in the jaw.
Declan’s head snapped back
, and Rowan yelped. When he brought his head back around, she was holding her fist in her other hand.
“Damn you!” she said, her face contorted in pain. “I think I broke my hand.”
Declan rubbed his jaw. He’d never expected a sweet thing like Rowan McNeely to pack such a punch. “I don’t remember telling ye to hit me, love.”
“What did you expect?” She cradled her hand against her chest and scoffed. “‘Trust me,’ he says. Excellent way to earn it, Declan. What were you thinking? You could have got us both killed.”
That wouldn’t have happened, but he kept his mouth shut.
“What you did… That was completely reckless! It’s them, isn’t it. The Black Castle. For sure now.”
“Aye.” He pinched his lips together grimly. “The ‘Darlene’ they mentioned was likely Meghan’s adoptive aunt. She’s not going to give up trying to find us.”
“Why?” Rowan asked, sounding despairing. “What did we ever do to her?”
“Nothing, love. At least, you haven’t. But she was only full of hate before. Now she’s angry, and it’s become personal.”
He tried to pull her back into his arms, but she pushed him away. Her eyes narrowed, and her tone filled with suspicion. “Angry about what?”
Declan stared at her for a second, then blew out a long breath and raked his hand through his hair. “I might not have told ye everything about that day at the falls.” Like the fact we killed the woman’s husband, Meghan’s uncle. “Let’s just say, she has more reason to hate us, but now she’s sent others in her stead.”
Rowan looked at him for a long second, and he saw the dawning in her eyes. He also saw that she blamed his family for bringing the Black Castle to Ely. “I can’t believe you would take such a risk, and with me right there.”
“I would have never let them hurt you. You are the most precious thing to me, and I would never put you at risk.”
“Yeah?” she asked, sounding wild and incredulous. “So what was that gun doing at my head?”
Declan felt all the blood drain from his face as the image rematerialized in his mind’s eye.
