by A. S. Green
When she opened her eyes, Cormac was staring at her. No longer laughing. And he looked downright hungry, but not for food.
“What?” Did men have to make everything so sexual? “They’re good.”
He didn’t answer, but kept staring at her with an intensity that set her blood on fire. And then—mortifyingly—her body continued to respond to him with a rush of wet warmth between her legs.
Cormac’s nostrils flared, and if she didn’t know any better, she’d swear he knew.
This was bad. Seriously bad.
“So where exactly are we?” she asked, shoveling more in and pretending not to care what he thought.
“Grand Marais,” he said, the momentary intensity fading from his face.
“Okay.” She picked up a chicken strip and dipped it in ketchup. “And where’s that?”
“About eighteen miles northeast of Lutsen.”
She rolled her eyes and took a bite, talking with her mouth full. “And where’s that?
Now, finally, his face truly relaxed and he smiled at her sarcastic tone. “Do ye even know what state you’re in?”
She looked sheepishly around the room as if searching for clues, and he shook his head incredulously.
“What?” she asked defensively. Then she swallowed and reached for an onion ring. “I was asleep for most of the time the douchebag was driving.”
“You’re in Minnesota. On the north shore of Lake Superior. About thirty-five miles south of Canada and about fifteen miles from where I found ye.”
Meghan lowered her hand from her mouth and gave her head a little shake of incredulity. “H- how did you carry me for fifteen miles?”
“Why do ye think I did?”
Meghan was getting tired of him putting her off, and she didn’t like the fact that she couldn’t remember anything. Besides, it was about time she hit the road.
She shoved the rest of the onion ring in her mouth then pushed the baskets toward him. “I’m done eating.”
“That’s it?” he asked, sounding surprised but also relieved. He pulled the baskets closer to himself.
Seeing them slide away gave Meghan a shot of dread, and she reached forward with her fork and stabbed one more cheese curd, shoving it in her mouth. “Now I’m done.”
He chuckled. It wasn’t the same as his earlier laugh, but it still sounded nice. It made her feel nice, deep in her belly. And this was a very bad thing. She knew better than to let herself go soft and liquid under the gaze of a handsome man. She’d been burned one too many times before. And here she was again. Way to go, Meghan.
She watched him eat. He gulped it down like he was the one who hadn’t eaten all day. He also didn’t talk through his meal.
When he was done—meaning, when there was nothing left but crumbs—he pushed the empty baskets to the side, wiped his hands on a paper napkin, and took a gulp of whiskey.
“Now,” he said, as if it was time to finally get to the point. “There’s something I want to discuss with ye.”
“So you’ve said.”
“I’m…an investigator…or maybe more of a…” He looked like he was searching for the right word, then he tipped his finger at her. “Bounty hunter.”
Meghan scrutinized his hopeful expression. “And who are you looking for?”
He stared into her eyes for a while, then he glanced away. “That’s just it. I don’t know. Not exactly, anyway.”
She turned her head and gave him the side-eye. “That must make it pretty difficult.”
“It is. I’ve been hunting for a long time.”
“Why don’t you give up?”
“Because I can’t afford to give up. Too much is at risk, and I owe too many people.”
“You mean like money?”
“No, not money. Lives. Lives like the one that was lost in that tree in the woods.”
“The one that… The…?” She felt all the blood drain from her face.
"Ye didn't hallucinate that.” He kept his voice low in a way she felt certain was designed to keep her calm. It wasn’t working.
“I saw a real dead body?”
“Ye saw a really dead, really mutilated body. Your brain is working just fine. You’re not crazy, and you’re not accidentally on drugs.”
Meghan took a drink, wondering if maybe she should have got that whiskey after all. As she lowered the glass to the table, her hand shook so badly the ice cubes clattered.
Okay, she thought. Deep breath. Nothing worse than anything I’ve seen on TV, right? But then a prickling sensation crawled over her shoulders because if she hadn’t hallucinated the body in the tree, then she hadn’t… She lifted her wide eyes to Cormac’s narrowed ones.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she answered quickly.
So the dead body was real. That didn’t mean she really saw all the other things she thought she saw in the woods, namely this handsome man turning into an enormous snarling dog.
And there was no way in hell she was going to suggest that to him. He’d probably think she was on drugs. He’d excuse himself for the men’s room and take off, leaving her with the check.
“Time to go,” she said, quickly turning her body to slide out of the booth. She wasn’t quick enough. She didn’t know how he did it, but in a flash Cormac was on her, standing beside the edge of her seat and blocking her escape.
“What’s your hurry?”
She looked up at him, and her heart clenched. Not with fear exactly—probably because there had always been something not quite right with her—but with annoyance and a definite rush of adrenaline.
He placed one hand on the table, one hand on the back of the booth. ”Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried,” she said, though her heart pounded so hard against her sternum she swore the whole room could hear it.
“Ye are. But I promise, I won’t touch ye.”
Meghan lifted her chin, inhaled, then said with as much menace as she could muster, “I’d like to see you try.”
One side of Cormac’s mouth pulled up in a smile. “Is that intended as a threat, or an invitation?”
“What do you think?” she snapped.
“A threat,” he said, not losing the smile. “And it’s noted.”
He drew in a long breath, then released it just as slowly. “There’s still something I want to discuss with ye.” He tipped his head toward the booth, silently asking if she’d let him sit beside her.
What more could there be to say? He was a bounty hunter searching for a mad man who left mutilated corpses in the woods. That was enough for her. She didn’t need to hear anything more.
And yet she gave him a jerky nod and slid toward the wall, giving him room to sit.
His body seemed to relax and he slipped onto the seat beside her, watching her carefully with gleaming eyes. Damn. There was just so much heat coming off him.
Seriously. Despite the serious fucked-up-ness of the situation, it was all Meghan could do not to burrow into that heat, especially remembering how she’d done so as he carried her down the hill.
“That body we saw today was not the first I've encountered. There’s a serial killer on the North Shore, and I mean to take him down. I thought maybe ye could help.“
Uh…what?
“I’m not following,” she said, which might have something to do with the fact his hard thigh was pressed up against hers. “I thought you said you were a bounty hunter, not law enforcement.”
He grimaced. “I’ve branched out. So what do you say? I’ve wanted an assistant for a while. Ye seem to be in need of a job.”
Meghan’s head jerked back. He was right about the last part, but as for the first… He had to be lying. Even if he’d needed an assistant for a while, she doubted he’d actually wanted one.
“Ye could help me take notes, speak to witnesses.”
She studied his face for a second, then rolled her lips inward. Clearly, she wasn’t the crazy one. He was.
“Okay, I can
tell by the look on your face that this is a shock, but believe me, the fact I’m suggesting this is as big of a surprise to me as it is to you.”
“Er… I sincerely doubt that,” she said. There was something he wasn’t telling her. “Why me?”
“Why not you?”
“Don’t jerk me around. I told you I’m not in school. I’ve got no special skills. No training. What’s really going on?”
“All right,” he said slowly, obviously thinking. But whether he was deciding to tell her the real reason, or to make one up on the fly, she couldn’t tell. “I’d like ye to help me because you’re not from here.”
I’m not from anywhere, she thought.
“Ye can move around without notice.”
“I would think if I’m a stranger, I’d be more noticed.”
“No. To the people around here, you’re inconsequential.”
Well, doesn’t that put a mighty fine point on it. She wondered if, at the end of the day, Cormac would think she was expendable too.
“So, what do ye think? Stay with me a little longer?”
“No,” she said, and it about killed her to say it. To think she, Meghan Walsh, could be trusted with such an important job… The idea was nearly as intoxicating as the whiskey she’d refused.
But she wasn’t about to set herself up for that kind of disappointment. Ultimately he’d realize his mistake. Ultimately, she’d fail him. Rejection from a regular man was one thing and barely registered. Rejection from someone like Cormac? She didn’t know why, not yet, but she knew deep in her soul that it would be different.
“No?” he asked.
“No, Mack,” she said, this time more firmly.
His lips curled up. “Why not?”
“How many reasons do you need?”
“How many do ye got?” he asked.
“Let’s start with three. First, trekking all over wherever the hell in search of a serial killer—” God, listen to her. Was she seriously using these words like she was talking about the weather? “—is a tad bit out of my wheelhouse.”
“I realize that.” His lips quirked into an amused smile that was so beautiful, she had to pause before launching into number two.
“Second, it’s not exactly the fresh start I was after.” Not that she had anything particular in mind. She was the queen of fresh starts. They were just your average Monday.
Now his face got more serious. “I understand.”
She made a pfff sound because there was no way he could understand. “Third, I’ve got somewhere to be.”
“Where’s that?”
“Canada.”
“And what will ye do when ye get there?”
To this she had no answer.
“And where will ye stay?”
Still no answer. Damn.
Cormac’s gaze dropped to her lips, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. He took a drink. A gulp really, as if the whiskey was nothing more than water.
Meghan watched the corded muscles of his throat as he swallowed, then she sighed. “I guess that about sums it up, then. I think it’s best if I go.”
“Work with me, and you’ll have a place to stay,” he said quickly.
“What?”
“A roof. Food. We’d be moving around a lot, but if ye helped me, you’d have a place to stay. Free of charge. Give it at least a week.”
Meghan put her right hand on the table to steady herself. His insinuation from before had been correct; she had nothing useful in her suitcase, and she only had forty-seven fifty in her wallet.
She could make money, though. Ever since leaving home, she’d always found a way. Usually that came from sketching caricatures of people on the sidewalk for five dollars. After covering the cost of paper and pencils, she’d net enough for a couple of meals.
But it would be good not to have to hustle. A break from all that—even if just for a short while—would ease her mind. Shelter. Food. A flushing toilet that she could use without having to buy something first. These were good things. It didn’t hurt that the handsome stranger offering them to her was looking at her earnestly. Definitely not.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll give you two days. And then we’ll see.”
“Really?” he asked, his eyebrows rising. He put his own hand on the table and their fingertips were nearly touching.
“Don’t ask again. I’m likely to change my mind.”
He smiled, then he did the weirdest thing. He leaned in, lifted her wrist to his nose and inhaled deeply. Then—weirder still—he kissed the top of her head. It was strange, but it was also nice. Sweet. And kind. As far back as she could remember, no one had ever done that before—certainly not her aunt and uncle.
Cormac’s lips started to pull into an embarrassed smile, as if he too couldn’t quite believe he’d done it. He covered his obvious discomfort by saying, “Give me your phone.”
She slid it toward him, and he quickly put in his number. Then he called himself, and added her to his contacts.
Just as he handed her back her phone, the door opened and a shaft of early evening light broke across the floor. Cormac turned his head to look around the corner of the booth, and Meghan felt his body stiffen. She couldn’t tell what had him reacting so strangely until a young girl crossed the room and came into Meghan’s own field of vision.
She looked too young to be in a bar. Her childlike face was curtained by long, but surprisingly snowy white hair. She walked straight for a bar stool, climbed up on top, then swiveled around to level her amber eyes at Meghan.
“Bean sídhe,” Cormac growled.
Meghan’s eyes jerked to him. Did he say, Banshee? Was that the girl’s name? Did her mother hate her, or something? “Do you know her?”
“No,” he growled.
Then his hand crashed down on hers. Meghan gave a yelp as electricity zinged through her. She tried to pull her hand back, but his grip was too tight. After the shock came a strange warm feeling that made her bones feel as though they’d all gone liquid. She felt herself slump forward, but more like she was watching herself from the outside.
And then it was as though the world tilted and she was sucked into a long tunnel. Her head spun, and her limbs felt stretched, nearly to the point of dislocation.
Sound distorted. Lights flashed. Then there was nothing but wind, and then… there was nothing at all.
Chapter Six
CORMAC
One Hour Later
Meghan Walsh still hadn’t woken up. Cormac paced the room and periodically punched the wall. He couldn’t believe what he’d done to her. He’d panicked when he saw the bean sídhe, then acted rashly and tilted Meghan out of the bar. What on earth made him think it was a good idea to transport a pádraig that way?
The bean sídhe. The herald of death.
Aye, clearly. She was the reason. Still, human beings were not sídhe. Their bodies were three dimensional and not designed for the fourth. To tilt Meghan through space like that… There was no excuse for his over reaction.
The bean sídhe must have entered the bar with someone else on her mind. Poor bastard. Obviously there had been no threat against his own life—he was still standing—and, though her pulse was weak, it looked like Meghan might live as well. Hopefully. If only she’d wake up.
It killed him that he could have her in his bed, yet still she wasn’t safe. And that was all his fault.
Gently, he swept the flannel shirt off Meghan’s shoulder, exposing her neck, as he pressed his thumb to her carotid and felt once more for a pulse.
There.
Just there.
He could feel it more certainly now, though it was still weak. He tipped his head to the side and laid his ear near her mouth. Air was moving. It was shallow, but it was moving.
“That’s it, mo cuisle,” he said encouragingly. “In. Then out. Ye can do it.”
He removed her flannel shirt, and then her jeans, but only to make her more comfortable. He didn’t look at her body as he did so. This was not
the time, and it was the furthest thing from his mind.
Carefully, he tucked the blankets around her. Then he sat in the corner of the room and waited. Waited for redemption… Waited for the inevitable… Only time would tell.
It wasn’t the first time Cormac had seen a bean sídhe, then waited silently, watching fate have its way with someone and being unable to help. When Meghan’s head lolled to the side and her lips parted, it brought his dark memories into even clearer focus.
He’d been only fifteen—his younger brothers eleven, ten, and five—when he was roused from sleep by the creaking scrape of his bedroom window opening. The wind howled outside and rain rushed in, splattering the floor. He sat up in surprise and saw what seemed to be a child, sitting on his windowsill, her long white hair wet and sticking to her face.
She didn’t speak, only looked at him with her amber eyes. He might have died of fright had she not been followed by a small black rabbit.
Cormac didn’t have time to wonder how a child and a rabbit were on the ledge of his second-story window because the rabbit began to speak with a trembling voice. “Get up! Get your brothers from their rooms. And quickly!”
He hadn’t asked why, or what she meant. He just did what he was told, and three more sleepy heads lifted from their pillows—his brothers: Declan, Aiden, and Madigan.
The bean sídhe disappeared as if on a gust of wind, but the rabbit hopped toward the wardrobe. Cormac understood that he was meant to usher his brothers inside.
He would have, too, but at that moment he heard their father’s angry voice from the kitchen downstairs. Their parents were arguing. His mother sounded frantic.
“This way,” Cormac said, leading them toward the stairs. Declan, Aiden, and Madigan followed, just as they always did.
“No,” said the rabbit. “Hide yourselves in the wardrobe. Don’t delay.”
Cormac felt the rabbit’s panic deep in his heart, but he didn’t return to the bedroom. Instead, he snuck his brothers downstairs and quietly pushed them into the cupboard in the hall. From there they could listen to their parents in the kitchen. Plus, there were gaps and holes in the paneling from which they could spy.
