Jett hopped into his seat. “He’s got it bad for you, girlie,” he commented, flagging the bartender.
“How the hell does everyone know besides me?” Liz asked, irritation crawling through her so strong even Guinness couldn’t cure it.
Jett lifted a brow, his pale blues seeing straight through her shit, same as he always did. “You’ve known from the get go, honey. No one as perceptive as you wouldn’t have figured it out by now.”
“I talked it over with him.” Trevor let out a sigh. “You can guess how well that went.”
“Why?” Jett argued. “As long as Liz isn’t protesting, who cares what they choose to do?”
She tilted her head in surprise at her best friend’s defense. While Trevor’s argument mirrored the logical one in her head, as always, Jett spoke to her heart in a way no one else did. They both knew when the other needed to play superficial, when real talk cut too deep. Even though he sometimes thrashed in his bed at night trapped in old memories and his eyes would dull at the mention of certain subjects, she never pushed. Same as he never pressed with her.
“Because we both know Kieran gets fixated when he’s locked onto someone or something. Makes him a fantastic band leader, because hell, I couldn’t imagine any of us throwing the passion he does into spearheading this thing. But it’s hell on wheels if either of you catch feelings.” Trevor’s gaze skated to Liz.
Liz hunched forward, pressing her crossed forearms on the cool porcelain. “You must be thinking of some other girl—this model wasn’t equipped with feelings,” she snarked, all the while staring at the black tile of the bar.
“Maybe I’m not worried about yours.” Trevor’s knowing glance infuriated her even more.
Jett wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Well, I care about your lack of feelings, unlike the man from the Heartless South over there. And I say, follow your impulse with this one. If you hadn’t tangled in a back alley with me, we might’ve never gotten such a fantastic asset to the band. Besides, you’ve been shouldering way too much responsibility, and your dry spell has lasted ages. Being around your aura is like getting sucked into the Sahara.”
Liz fought to restrain her smile as she smacked a hand against Jett’s chest. “Thanks, jackass. You know how to lift a girl up.” Except, he did. He ignored the arguments she’d been making and spoke a different logic, the sort her heart understood bright and clear. Tipping her glass back, she sucked down the rest of her pint to the dregs. The thick foam coated the sides, but she placed the glass on the counter and wiped her hand across her mouth to get rid of the residue around her lips.
Trevor let out a sigh and tossed up his arms. “I guess someone needs to go check and make sure Kieran hasn’t gotten lost in the ocean or picked a fight with the first person to bump into him.” He gave Liz a sidelong glance, the implication loud and clear.
Liz saluted as she strolled toward the door. “I get it, Trev. Trying to get me to clean up the mess this time.” She appreciated the two of them for their subtlety, because if she voiced anything out loud, common sense would kick her ass, and she’d plunk herself down in her barstool. However, right now the urge to smooth the bumpy edges between Kieran and her tugged stronger than the tide rolling to the sea.
Stepping outside of the bar, Liz pinched at the hood of her hoodie as if the flimsy fabric would shield her from the cool air that descended with the night. For some, the temperate climate was paradise, but Liz liked to dance in the flames, to bask in the burning heat of summer and a swampy night, like her childhood home, Louisiana. Not like she’d been back there for a long time, nor would she want to. Soiled memories were best left buried.
The weight of the gun she carried underneath her oversized tee pressed into her side. Though she’d always kept mace on standby, pepper spray paled in comparison to her shiny new Beretta 92-FS. With fae on the prowl and looking to cause problems, she wouldn’t even consider going unprepared, and after all the long hours she’d put in at the range, her marksmanship ranked top notch.
She wandered along Fisherman’s Wharf, basking in the flashing lights from the candy shacks and t-shirt shops open this late. Throngs of visor wearing tourists who soaked in the sights passed by, as well as the platform-heel undergrads who stumbled drunk along the boardwalk.
Farther along the wharf, Ghirardelli Square lit up, beckoning wanderers over to the grassy knolls, which led to a strip of ocean kissed sand, glowing a silver hue under the moonlight. If Kieran planned on clearing his head, he wouldn’t be diving into a bar or storefront. He’d head to a section with more space. Liz cast a glance around her before breaking into a jog, eager to cut through the crowds herself.
As much as she loved her life on the road with the boys, she’d be the first to admit she got claustrophobic. Between the crowded gigs, the crowded RV, and the crowded pubs they packed into at night, alone time and personal space reached a coveted minimum. The strong winds picked up strands from her ponytail and tossed them around behind her, and her hood flew back from her head as she picked up speed.
A couple of folks stopped and stared as she jogged past them, but she couldn’t care less if they gawked at her. Right now, the freedom surged through her veins, and her heart soared while she made her way to the shore. As soon as she crested those hills, a lone figure stood out, the waves lapping to his feet as he wandered toward the ocean.
She slowed to a walk once she bypassed the strip of grass and reached the soft sand that sprayed under her footsteps. Even though she approached with quiet thumps, as she closed the distance between them, Kieran turned to face her.
Moonlight turned his pale skin shades paler and enhanced the liquid amber of his eyes. His tall, lean form cast an elongated shadow along the slumps of sand as he walked toward her, hands in his pockets. He leaned down to pick up his leather jacket, which he’d left in a crumpled pile away from the ebb and flow of the tides. She couldn’t help but admire the lithe muscles on full display with his wifebeater and low-riding jeans.
“Trev send you to fetch me?” he asked, slinging his jacket over his shoulder as the distance closed between them. Even when Liz slowed, her heartbeat continued its marching speed, and heat flushed through her.
“Wanted a breather too. Renn has shit taste in bars.” She flashed him a grin as she continued walking by, angling toward the ocean. Liz didn’t bother checking to see if Kieran followed—he would. The murmur of the tides cast a heady lullaby through the air between them, thickening the tension that descended when their eyes met. She kicked off her Keds and let her toes sink into the cooled sand before making her way to where the water imprinted on the beach.
“So how many other ex-girlfriends do you have hiding in the woodwork,” Liz asked the moment Kieran stepped beside her, his shadow mingling with the water’s stain on the sand.
“More than I’d like,” he answered, raking a hand through his tousled strands. “But Misandra was a sadistic bitch in the worst way. Not only does she top the list of people I don’t want to deal with, but I sure as hell don’t want her anywhere near you.”
“I’ll make sure to spray on an extra coating of fae-repellant before hitting the ball.” Liz crouched to run her fingertips through the water, the icy kiss sending shivers down her spine.
His hand rested on her shoulder, warmth soaking straight through her hoodie. Liz glanced at him. He reached down with his other hand to help her stand again. As she rose, the tension between them caused her breath to hitch.
“Those assholes will find any vulnerable point they can and exploit it. Whether I like it or not, you’re a weakness of mine.” His voice hardened with a steel edge.
“Gee, Romeo, I love it when you call me weak,” she said, even though she got the gist of what he said. However, the intensity in his eyes glowed fierce enough to bowl her over. Jett missed the mark on that one. Her entanglement with the siren had been a wham, bam, thank you ma’am back alley fuck. Kieran, however, he delivered soul-branding passion that would mark her for an eter
nity, for good or for bad.
“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, Elizabeth O’Brien. If I could muster a mask like you or the others do and hide from the world, maybe these bastards couldn’t sink their teeth into me so easily, but hell, I’ve never been able to hide a damn thing.”
If only she didn’t find his raw honesty so damn attractive. His palm slid around her arm, and once their eyes locked, they’d reached the point of no return. The second their mouths met, she’d dive full force into the fury of the storm. His tongue slipped out to wet his full lips, sending a thrill through her. She lifted her chin to meet his eyes, intoxicated by the lust descending between them and the heat connecting in their gaze.
A muffled noise pricked her attention, but she shut it out, focusing on the moment between them.
Until Kieran’s grip tightened around her arm and his gaze broke, locking in on something behind her.
The seduction of the sea-drenched air shattered once the word ‘run’ passed his lips.
Chapter Eight
For a moment, Kieran thought the shadows were playing tricks or a massive wave crashed to shore. Except, his instincts were too honed over the years to ignore the tugging in his gut that spelled bad news. And the creature who rose from the frothy seafoam, dripping with kelp and cloaked in the shadows, confirmed his gut call.
Of course, this would happen when he stood inches away from Liz, ready to dive in, damn the consequences.
Kieran’s hands balled into fists. “Run, he barked.
A growl ripped from his throat as he whipped around to face the creature, ignoring his own advice. The beast fast approached and, from the looks of it, not to offer a casual chat about the weather. The pale light of the moon glinted off the razor points of defined fins rippling down the thickly muscled back of what had to be one of the Finfolk of Orkney. Scales coated it from head to toe, and as their eyes met, he got a full-on glimpse of the gray opalescent orbs staring at him.
“What the fuck is that?” Liz piped up behind him. Kieran’s hand clenched and unclenched at the sound of her voice.
“What part of run don’t you understand?” he hissed out, not daring to look away from the creature kicking up sand as it fast closed the distance between them.
“The part where I’m running and you’re not.” The heat in her voice came through loud and clear with the same intensity it did every time they clashed. From behind, a safety clicked off, and he gritted his teeth, reminding himself to clock Jett for taking her gun shopping in the first place. The sheer amount she’d brandished her Beretta since she’d picked one up was staggering.
“At least follow my lead,” he said as he rolled his shoulders back, standing a little taller. “Maybe it hasn’t been sent to fuck my day up.”
Liz snorted as she stepped next to him. “Right, and I’m Little Bo Peep.”
“So that’s who the bonnet in the RV belonged to—I thought Jett developed a new fetish.” Kieran strode toward the creature, the urge to fight pounding through him with the regularity of his heightened heartbeat.
This close, the stench of the finfolk rolled his way, like walking through the fish market in Chinatown combined with a metallic odor that made him wrinkle his nose. The creature began to speak, but the words were garbled by thick rubbery lips revealing a pair of shark sharp teeth that would hurt like a bitch.
“If my brother sent you, why don’t you turn back and tell him to come out and play himself. I’m tired of cronies,” Kieran complained, his voice echoing along the empty shoreline.
“Come to take you to the depths,” the creature managed to hiss out, the last word drawn out on a rasp. A slow blink somehow made it creepier in this dark night. The tides rolled up to wrap those chilling tendrils around his ankles.
“Like hell. Didn’t you hear? I’ve got an appearance to make tomorrow night. You wouldn’t want to deprive the Mossfeathers of their entertainment.” Kieran reached for the knife handle he kept tucked in his waistband. In one quick motion, the blade freed, the silver surface drinking in the moonbeams.
“Return empty handed and I don’t get paid.” The creature’s words elongated, and those webbed hands lifted, revealing nasty claws at the tips.
“Wouldn’t want that, would we,” Liz muttered, annoyance in her tone. “Maybe your big bro’s feeding your fighting fetish, babe. He seems to be tossing a buffet at you.”
A wide grin crawled on Kieran’s face as he wielded the blade. “How considerate.” He hunched, ready to charge. The air between them thickened, tensing for violence as the creature steadied into stance. Even though he should keep the defensive, right now, his blood boiled, adrenaline gushed through him, and damn, he wanted to tear into the creature who dared disturb those precious moments with Liz.
His muscles coiled, and at once, he sprang forward.
The blade in his hand rose as he closed the feet between the finfolk and him.
The moment he arced down with the knife, a length snapped around his wrist, a tendril searing his skin. He’d thought kelp hung off the creature, but the tendrils were a part of it, adding a cherry on top of this hellish sundae. The tendril tightened around his wrist, causing him to grit his teeth. His skin throbbed from the contact. Except he was an incubus with the inherent abilities.
He reached forward with his unencumbered hand and grabbed the creature by the misshapen throat. Leaning in, he drew the chi toward him, the energy so thick in the air he could taste it, the near translucent sheen of it like an oil slick in his visual.
Pain radiated from his wrist, but when the finfolk figured what game he played, it released him, backing away. If he let the distance grow, he’d be fucked. Those tendrils gave the creature a step up he didn’t have.
“Move out of the way,” Liz called out. “I can’t get a good shot.”
“I’ve got this,” he shouted through gritted teeth. Before the creature dodged, he plunged the knife down, sinking into the finfolk’s lumpy, muscular arm. Blackish blood spurted, the hot liquid spraying across his arm and imprinting on his shirt. The creature let out a garbled sound as it whipped around, another of those tendrils snapping against his side. It sizzled the thin fabric of his shirt, searing through it.
“Stop. Being. Stubborn,” Liz said, her voice terse.
He yanked the dagger back before lunging forward and plunging with the tip of his blade again. The knife snagged against the cluster of scales, sliding down before it sank into the deeper flesh beneath. Another shout pierced the air, but Kieran wouldn’t spin around and run the other way. If his brother was going to send the denizens of the supernatural community to attack him, he would sure as hell deliver a don’t-fuck-with-me message home.
His side stung, residual from the touch of the tendrils. Those things were turning into a problem, and fast. Kieran pivoted to the side before those kelp-like things launched at him again, and the creature crouched, narrowing its filmy eyes as it readied to charge forward. The second he caught the push-off from the webbed foot, Kieran side-stepped. As the creature flashed by him, he sliced again with the knife, this time aiming for those damned tendrils. One flopped onto the sand, right as the waves came to steal it away.
The creature’s filmy eyes widened, and it let out a howl, much louder than when he’d tried to fillet into the fish.
The bark of gunfire split the air a second later.
A bullet burst through the creature’s scales, but even with the spray of blood, the finfolk brute didn’t react as strongly as it did to the severed tendrils. Every fae and mythological creature possessed different vulnerabilities, so sometimes figuring out weaknesses and abilities turned into a game of roulette. Time to play pluck the tendril from the finfolk.
Before he struck out again, the creature surged past him toward his new threat—Liz.
“Fuck,” Kieran spat out as he broke into a flat out run to intercept. If those tendrils were hell on his resilient skin, he imagined how they’d flay a human’s. Liz honed her Beretta on the movin
g target, and her eyes narrowed as she tried to aim.
“Run, damnit,” he called out, his voice hoarse with concern.
Her lips pursed as she focused on the target, ignoring him. “Hell no,” she shouted as she pulled the trigger. Another bullet burrowed into the charging finfolk, but apart from the spurt of blood that lit the air, it didn’t stop the momentum in the slightest.
“Asshole, I’m the one you want,” Kieran called, trying to sway the creature’s fixation on Liz. He spurted ahead, his limbs burning from where the tendrils stung, his muscles straining from the reserves he pulled to lunge forward. Even though his knife made a shit projectile, he needed to try something. He lifted his dagger as his legs pumped underneath him, and he loosed the blade.
The handle dragged it down, but the knife sailed through the air faster than he could cross the distance. The tip burrowed right into the creature’s side, an inch or two away from missing entirely. Another of those gurgles rippled through the briny air as the finfolk whirled around, stopping in its tread.
Kieran didn’t slow for a heartbeat. His knife clattered to the ground. As he hurtled toward the creature, wind tugging strands of his hair back, he lunged down to grab for the handle. Those tendrils sought to strike home, but at least he’d pulled the heat off Liz.
One of the tendrils stung his shoulder again, but now he knew the creature’s weak points. Rather than seizing an attempt to slice and dice those fins or aim for the eyes, he lopped off the offending tentacle. Another garbled howl broke through the air, the irritation clear in those milky, luminous eyes. Liz circled around from the other side, wielding her pistol and refusing to run like he’d asked. Stubborn, infuriating woman.
Before the creature moved away, he struck in an arc, wheeling around to catch a couple more of those tendrils under the snicksnack of his knife. The bright blade sliced through them with ease, and each time another flopped onto the ground, the creature’s body convulsed more and more. The creature’s claws reached out for him, seeking purchase in his vitals. Except the finfolk revved him past the boiling point, and he was ready to explode.
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