by A. S. Green
“I’m exhausted,” she said, faking a yawn. “Could we sleep first? Talk in the morning?”
He exhaled and, instead of pushing her, nodded. “I’m going to need to get up early and make a report to the local daoine clan. We can talk when I get back. Do ye mind if I take one of the blankets?”
“Why?”
“To sleep on the floor.”
“Is that what you normally do?” What did she know? Maybe he preferred to sleep as a dog in front of the fire. Or was it that he simply had no interest in sleeping with her?
“No, not usually,” he said.
So there was her answer. His earlier kiss and his holding her after her shower hadn’t meant as much as she thought. He wasn’t interested in her other than to keep her alive.
Then a thought came to her. It was his bed. And he’d been through a lot in the last several hours. Or more like, she’d put him through a lot.
Maybe she should be the one making the sacrifice. Would it be impolite if she didn’t offer to take the floor herself? She was certainly used to that sort of thing. Over the last few years, she’d slept on plenty floors, couches, back seats, truck stop benches…
“But I will,” Cormac added resignedly, “if that makes ye more comfortable.”
Meghan’s heart skipped a beat. He was making the sacrifice for her. He thought she’d want him on the floor.
As a general rule, Meghan avoided men and beds. In her experience, nothing good ever came from the combination. But nothing about this felt the same as any time before. How could it? She wanted Cormac MacConall. More of him, anyway.
She was taking too long to respond, so he reached for the extra blanket that was folded at the foot of the bed. She stepped forward quickly, and he stopped, mid-lean.
“It wouldn’t make me more comfortable,” she said. Her heart squeezed at the sound of her own voice. God, she was really going to do this. “We can share the bed. It’s not like anything has to happen, right? We can just sleep.”
His head jerked up, and his dark eyebrows hit his hairline. “You’d share a bed with me after what you’ve seen?”
“Is there a reason why I shouldn’t?” she asked, then mentally answered, Only like a million.
“Only about a million,” Cormac said.
She snorted and moved closer to where he sat on the edge of the mattress.
He stopped her progress with his hand at her shoulder. “I’m attracted to ye, Meghan. Ye should know that before ye agree to share my bed.”
She nearly laughed at the irony. Plenty of guys said things like that to get her into bed. Cormac was saying it to keep her out. He didn’t make sense. But then, not much of this did.
She slid her hand along his jaw and cupped his cheek. He leaned into it, then pressed his nose to her wrist, inhaling. He did that a lot. She wasn’t sure why.
“Your touch,” he said, “it feels amazing.”
“I’m barely touching you.”
“And that’s good because it’s also dangerous.”
“How is this dangerous?” she asked, dragging her thumb through the scruff at the edge of his beard.
He lifted his head. “I can usually keep a firm hold on my human form, but every time ye touch me, my control wants to peel away. Scratch that, every time ye look at me. I’m weak. Ye make me weaker. That’s why it took a while to lose the beast when we got back here. It…”
He leaned forward and whispered confidentially. “It likes you.”
Meghan let all of those words sink in and wondered at them. There was nothing weak about Cormac MacConall. He was all hard muscle and flexing sinew, without a scrap of fat on him. He was so strong, one look at him had those hideous women scurrying into the woods.
Also, if the beast liked her, did that mean Cormac did as well?
She pinched her lips together then said, “Maybe we should go to sleep?”
Cormac leaned back, and her hand fell from his face. She felt his eyes on her as she crawled under the covers, giving him an unavoidable peek at her bare thighs.
When Cormac’s T-shirt suddenly vanished and a hungry growl rumbled out of his chest, she pushed down the tremor of fear and smiled to herself, remembering the moment in the bar when she agreed to stay. For once in your life, she thought, you’ve done something right. Something amazing. Do not fuck this up, Meghan, or I’m going to seriously kick your ass.
Chapter Fourteen
CORMAC
Cormac lay in his bed, his glamoured pants still on, and stared at the dark ceiling, mentally retracing his steps. Yesterday, he’d been going about his business. Following his last lead, hot on the scent of fresh blood, expecting to find death at the end of that trail. Now he was in bed with a woman. And not just any woman. Meghan Walsh.
The hound bayed dolefully at his inaction and cried out its frustration: Ours! Claim! Protect! Thankfully only Cormac could hear him.
Cormac threw an arm over his eyes and pushed down deep the urge to claim her, to really make her his. The rushing sound in his head had mellowed a bit since his and Meghan’s first meeting, but lying beside her was kicking up the storm.
He tried to relax. She was safe now. At least, she was safer in his bed than she was anywhere else. But he could never lose sight of the fact his parents had been slaughtered in their home, in their own kitchen, inches from where he hid in a cupboard with his hand held tightly over his little brother’s mouth.
Cormac could still feel the tears collecting along the length of his finger as they fell from Madigan’s eyes.
No place was truly safe. And if he lost control of the beast when Meghan was too close…
“How in the hell did you find me today?” she asked.
The sudden sound of her voice made him suck in a breath. He rolled toward her and found her on her back, staring up at the ceiling.
He would have thought the answer to her question was obvious, but when she turned toward him, he touched his nose to signify it. “Your scent is recorded so deep within me, I could find ye anywhere.”
Even in the dark he could see the mixture of expressions that played across her face: pride, pleasure, awareness, concern. He understood. He didn’t know how or what he was supposed to feel either. For now, all that mattered was that he had her here. In his bed. And she was safe. For now.
She blinked once, slowly, as if holding back a tear. “Why are pádraigs the enemy?”
“I thought ye wanted to sleep,” he said and, without really meaning to, he reached out and tucked a dark spiraled lock behind her ear.
“I guess I’m not as tired as I thought.”
He hesitated for a second, thinking how to explain without offending her too much, then he took a breath and turned on his bedside lamp.
“Human beings are called pádraigs for St. Pádraig, patron saint of Ireland. There are legends about him expelling all the snakes from the island, aye? Well, they weren’t the only thing he was hell-bent on getting rid of.”
“You?”
“All of the sídhe.”
When he saw Meghan’s confusion, he added, “Faerie folk. We come in many forms. Cú sídhe, like me. Leannán sídhe, like the ones who had you tied to the tree. Bean sídhe…they’re the heralds of death.”
“I’ve heard of banshees before.”
He nodded. “There’s the daoine sídhe…. Anyway, St. Pádraig and his followers started a society. I don’t know what they called themselves originally but centuries ago they began calling themselves the Black Castle, which is a structure that was built at the port in Wicklow where—one legend has it—St. Pádraig first arrived on the island.
“The Black Castle continues St. Pádraig’s mission of expelling the sídhe from Ireland. It’ll never work, of course, but over the years many did leave and settled in North America—in the areas that became Boston, Chicago, Milwaukee, and then in smaller scattered pockets to the west, like the North Shore and the Boundary Waters. We like to be near rivers and lakes. The more water, the better."
She gave a visible shiver, and he drew his eyebrows together in a question.
“I hate water,” she explained.
“Ye said that before when I carried ye out of the woods the first time. How does anyone hate water?”
“Easy. You have an uncle who thinks the best way to teach a five-year-old to swim is to throw her off the end of a dock. I couldn’t touch. I nearly drowned before he decided I wasn’t going to float.”
The hound lunged forward as if her uncle was right there in the room with them. For the man’s sake, it was a good thing he wasn’t.
“Anyway…” Cormac pulled himself together and continued with his history lesson. “Just as we have survived, so has the Black Castle. Recently, they brought their cause to this continent. Because they hunt us, I hunt them.”
Meghan didn’t respond right away. She seemed to need time to digest all he’d shared, and he didn’t rush her. Eventually she asked, “And what was the deal with the salt?”
“It’s not a foolproof defense, but any sídhe will think twice before crossing it. It burns. And if it gets on your skin, ye can lose consciousness for a bit. But iron…. Iron is worse.”
“Going back to what you said before, am I safe from this Black Castle person?”
“Before, yes. Now that you’re associated with me, you’re more vulnerable, but I swear they will not touch you.”
“And when you left, you told me to salt the door.”
Cormac didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.
“So I’m not safe from your own kind, either, right?”
“So long as they know you’re with me—really with me—you’ll be fine, though it will take some time for them to get used to the idea.”
Then he took her hand and lifted it, holding it between their chests. He was done talking about these things. There was only one thing he wanted to know. “What did Branna say to you? Is she the reason you left?”
Meghan squirmed, wishing it were still dark in the room and he couldn’t see her blush.
“She said you needed an equal partner. I proved today that I’m not that.”
Cormac raised his hand and brushed his knuckles over her temple, trying to soothe her.
She went on. “I already knew I didn’t have the skills to assist a regular bounty hunter, but you’re not exactly that, now are you?”
“No. I’m not.”
She nodded, but he could still see the pain in her eyes. “So there’s no way I can actually help you. I think I knew that deep down—even before what happened in the woods, or before I knew the truth. That’s why I decided to leave.”
“But I think you can help me.”
“But how? What good am I? You should have another…cú sídhe help you. I think Branna wants the job.”
“She’s not cú sídhe.”
“She’s something though, right?”
He kissed the knuckles on her hand. “She’s a púca. A shape shifter. Usually she shows up as a black rabbit, so if you see her hopping around, think again before you call her a cute little bunny.” His lips twitched, fighting a grin.
Meghan blinked once, then her eyes went wide as she put two-and-two together. “If she’s not your girlfriend, who is she to you?”
“She’s my oldest ally. That doesn’t mean she’s friendly.”
“But if you asked, she’d help you. And she could do the job better than me. At least she could defend herself if you ran into trouble.”
Cormac’s idea of how Meghan could help had seemed far-fetched when he’d been pacing outside the clinic, but it was more plausible now in light of recent events. It was time to let her in on it.
He pushed up on one elbow, and the sheet pooled around his waist. Meghan’s eyes followed it down. Christ, her gaze affected him just as much as her touch. He was already swelling, and before he knew what was happening, his glamoured pants slipped away, leaving him naked beneath the sheet.
Focus, he thought. Control.
Ours, whined the beast deep inside of him. Claim. Protect.
Cormac tucked the blankets tighter around his hips and cleared his throat, preparing to answer her concerns. “Remember how that doctor said your rash could be a reaction to something on that hilltop?”
He paused, and Meghan’s eyebrows drew together.
“You’re not allergic to me, obviously, so I’m wondering if you might be allergic to this latest Black Castle, or to something he wears. I swear this guy has been doing something to mask his scent. Maybe your body is reacting to it.”
He could see her mind processing, so he pressed on. “To be clear, I don’t want your help actually bringing him down, but if you’re allergic to something about him, you could help me identify him.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
Cormac exhaled in a rush through his nose. “That’s why I’ve had no success in finding them. The Black Castle is a large, well-organized group. As soon as I get hot on the trail, they switch out their representative and a new one takes his place. I’ve got to discover a new scent, and it takes me in a completely different direction. It’s been like chasing a fucking ghost. Whoever did these last two murders, he’s new. I’m just figuring out his scent. But between my nose and your sensitive skin…”
Meghan’s expression flattened. He knew it wasn’t a great plan, but at least it was something. Maybe he needed to do a better job of explaining.
“Your rash flared on that hilltop, then it got better, right up until a second body landed on our doorstep. Remember? I told ye your neck was getting redder right after I opened the door.”
Meghan stared at him for a long second and, speaking of red, her face was pink and growing more so.
She gave her head a little shake. “So all you want…is for me to be your…canary?”
“What?”
“Canary. Like in the coal mines.”
She was angry. Cormac could see it in her face, and he could feel it emanating from her body. “I’m not—”
Meghan interrupted him, her anger slipping into something else. Something sadder. She started rambling, sounding more like she was talking to herself than to him. “A stupid, insignificant bird is brought into the mines in case the carbon monoxide gets too much. The bird’s great talent,” she said, letting the sarcasm fly, “is that it can suffocate faster than a man. My great talent is that I get a rash?”
“Well… Aye.” He didn’t understand why she was getting so upset. He’d braced for her to laugh, not to yell.
Meghan stared at him for a second, as if waiting for him to rethink his answer. When he didn’t, she turned her face away from him. “Christ. This is humiliating.”
“Meghan, talk to me.”
She turned onto her side to face him. “Cormac, don’t you think this is a little embarrassing for me? I wanted to be a real help to you. Not…this. Branna was right. I am pathetic. I should go.”
Cormac pushed her to her back, and he rolled on top. It was a mistake. He’d forgotten that his pants had vanished.
She turned her head and closed her eyes. “Earlier… I was right to go. I’ve got my own life to get back to. I had a plan, you know, before I met you. I was going somewhere.”
“You also said you had nowhere to stay once you got there.”
Meghan turned her head to face him, and she opened her eyes. She blinked back the moisture, looking for all the world like she wished she’d never shared so much. Funny, given Cormac wanted to know so much more.
“It’s dangerous in the woods,” he said, hoping that reminder would make her stay. At least until morning.
“I know that,” she snapped.
“What happened today… Stay with me and you won’t face that ever again.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, her tone incredulous. “That I won’t get the life sucked out of me by the Hoover sisters? Or that a rabbit won’t be back to tell me you can do so much better? You can’t keep the world at bay, Mack. No one can. Believe me, I know that better than most.”
“I know that, too,” he said, his own temper rising. “My family knows that. My parents were the first to die when the Black Castle came to the North Shore. Then the Black Castle proceeded to destroy my entire family. I made it out, but I haven’t been home in a long time. I won’t go back until I’ve avenged them.”
Meghan’s face slipped into that look of sympathy he’d seen on so many others. The one he hated. The one that made everything worse.
“They destroyed your entire family?” Meghan’s voice broke on the last word, and Cormac felt it in his gut.
“I was the oldest of four; all heirs to the cú sídhe seat.”
“You mean…you’re like…a king?”
He shook his head. “More like a chieftain, but I’m not worthy of even that anymore. Not until my family is avenged, and maybe not even then.”
“But you could go back…take your place…if we found the killer…ended it…you could go back to your home!” She was sounding excited—hopeful on his behalf—but it wasn’t contagious.
“I don’t know. But it won’t be possible before then.”
She nodded, and two tears rolled out of the corner of her eyes. “Then, okay.”
“Okay?”
“I’ll be your canary.”
“What?” He was unprepared for her sudden change of heart.
“I know what it’s like. I mean…not exactly, but… I told you my story. My parents are gone. My aunt and uncle are shit. I took off the night of my eighteenth birthday and never went back.”
Cormac knew he was a hypocrite to ask, but he didn’t understand why she would do something so reckless. “You never told me why you left.”
He noticed her face pale even as she shrugged to suggest the answer was no big deal. “I overheard them talking downstairs in the kitchen. My uncle said something to my aunt about me turning eighteen and what were they going to do with ‘the little vermin now?’” She made air quotes as she recounted their words. “My aunt acknowledged that I had been a ‘disappointing experiment’ but that he should be patient because if I was going to be ‘useful’ to them, they’d know soon enough.”
Cormac clenched his jaw, not trusting his emotions. They called their own kin—Meghan—vermin?
