Hell Hound's Revenge (Fae 0f The North Shore Book 1)

by A. S. Green

Branna hopped closer, poked her head forward, and touched her nose to his paw. A second later, she stood on human legs, looking down at him. “What has she done to you?”

  Cormac snorted with derision, then shifted. Once the process was complete, he pushed himself to standing and folded his arms. “She came into my life. That’s what she did to me.”

  Despite the bitterness and rage built up inside of him, he was jittery from having left Meghan behind and alone. She’d fucking turned him into a junkie, and his vile bodily need to return to her made him all the more disgusted with himself.

  Branna shook her head. “She’d already done that the last time I saw you, and you didn’t look like shit.” She paused and studied him. “Or at least…less like shit.”

  Cormac turned away and stared into the trees. “I need you to do me a favor.”

  “And that would be…?”

  “Find out where she came from.” He still couldn’t look at Branna. If he did, he was sure she’d see how needy he’d become.

  She didn’t answer right away, but after a couple seconds she said, “You know…she’ll still be a pádraig, whatever answer I come up with.”

  She was pushing him for a better explanation, and he knew he had to give it to her. “She’s not just a pádraig, Branna. She’s one of the pádraigs. She’s marked.”

  “Marked?”

  “With the sword and shamrock.”

  Branna reared back, and she whispered in a sharp accusatory tone, “You should have told me this before.”

  Cormac turned to face her. “I didn’t know it before.”

  “And you’re sure now?”

  “Positive. What I don’t know is why.”

  A couple beats passed between them. And a couple more. Then Branna scoffed in disbelief. “She couldn’t be the one who’s plagued the North Shore.”

  Cormac shook his head. “I don’t think so either. She doesn’t have the strength, and she wasn’t armed when I found her. But she could be an accomplice, a scout, or a spy.”

  “Then what does it matter where she came from?”

  “I just have to know.”

  Branna leaned forward, the gold flecks in her dark brown eyes lighting like fire. “What you have to do is end her.”

  Cormac had a flash of panic. If he didn’t do it, Branna would. Púcas sought revenge over much less and, in the right form, he knew she was capable of anything. He couldn’t let Branna harm Meghan, even if it was the right thing to do.

  Fuck, how was it possible he was going to betray his family again? It made him hate himself all the more.

  “I will. I’ll do it.” It was a pathetic lie. “But I still want ye to find some things out for me. I have more than just one to avenge, and the information could help me end this once and for all.”

  Branna sighed as if she was gathering patience. “All right. What do you know about her?”

  “Her last name is Walsh. She’s originally from Chicago. She was adopted by an aunt and uncle, so that may be their last name as well.”

  “Court records then. I know a daoine who works for child protective services in Cook County. Maybe she can do a search for me.”

  “Check addresses on Garrett Street,” he said, remembering one of Meghan’s sketches.

  Branna raised her eyebrows.

  “I have a hunch.”

  “All right. I’ll see what I can find. Be careful.” Then she crumpled in on herself, until all that was left was a small black rabbit, darting away, disappearing into the shadows.

  * * *

  It took everything Cormac had to return to the cottages by the lake. He entered the rental office shortly after dawn and found the clerk standing just inside the door with a coffee cup in his hand.

  “Sorry it’s so early,” Cormac said, “but I need to pay last night’s bill.”

  The clerk’s lip curled. “I saw you leave. I was going to wait outside for you to come back. Never expected you to come to me.”

  That was an odd response, but whatever. Cormac pulled out his wallet just as the clerk lowered his coffee cup and swung his arm back, then forward.

  Cormac expected to get doused in hot coffee. Instead, he was showered with a full cup of salt. The pain was instantaneous, and it buckled his knees. He clenched his teeth as his muscles spasmed. He tried to cling to consciousness but his head grew heavy. His peripheral vision shrunk as the darkness expanded. Eventually he was looking at the clerk through a tiny pinprick of light.

  When Cormac finally fell, he didn’t even feel his head hit the floor.

  * * *

  Cormac came to, not knowing how much time had passed. He was in a small room with a stone fireplace on one wall, similar to the hearth room in his own cottage; however there was even less for furniture. In fact, he was in the only chair, and he was bound to it by a thick iron chain, the links rusted from time in the elements.

  The iron wasn’t painful like the salt, but it sucked all his energy, leaving him feeling lethargic and heavy. There was no way to transform, or even to tilt. It was all he could do to lift his head when he heard his captor re-enter the room, and his heart seized when he saw that he’d returned with his accomplice.

  Meghan.

  How could he have been such a fool? She’d duped him, and he’d fallen for it. Was she even his fated mate? Had he made that up in his head? Had he only imagined the pull her scent had on his blood, his mind, his body…?

  A red haze filtered over his vision as hatred swept through him. Hatred for Meghan, for Riley, but also for himself. What business did he have thinking he could be a savior for the sídhe when he couldn’t even save himself?

  He let his head drop forward, but he jerked it up when he heard Meghan whimper.

  Riley held a hunting knife at her throat.

  What new sick game is this?

  Cormac watched, mesmerized, as all the color washed from Meghan’s face, leaving only the blazing red and blotchy rash on her neck. Her eyes were large and plaintive as they silently begged for Cormac to do something.

  Her mouth formed the shape of his name and, when a single fat teardrop left a dark spot on her T-shirt above her breast, that’s when he realized his mistake.

  He had it all backwards. Meghan had done exactly what he hoped she could do. That rash confirmed the identity of the man he’d been tracking for months. He just never imagined it would turn out like this.

  Meghan wasn’t this asshole’s accomplice. He had no idea who she was.

  “I’ve seen the two of you,” Riley said. “Together. Well, enjoy your last few seconds. I’ll get an award for reaching my monthly quota so quickly, and the world is just a little bit better with two less of you.”

  “Let her go,” Cormac growled. “She’s not like me.”

  “Not a dog, eh?” he asked. “Doesn’t matter. One of your kind is as unnatural as any other.”

  “She’s not one of the sídhe,” Cormac said. “She’s no one.” She’s everything. “Just a pádraig. Like you”

  “If that were true, you wouldn’t care about her.” He jerked Meghan’s head back, exposing more of her neck to the knife.

  “I swear!” Cormac cried, his panic doing more to prove the asshole’s theory than his own point. “I’ll prove it. Check her left shoulder.”

  Riley looked at Cormac skeptically, but then he roughly yanked back the collar of Meghan’s T-shirt. She gasped and her head snapped back. The cotton ripped, exposing the vile tattoo that Cormac now hoped might save her life.

  Unfortunately, it only made things worse.

  “The sword and shamrock?” Riley asked, as if he couldn’t believe it. His voice dropped to a whisper. “You’re Black Castle? And you’re with him?”

  “Please,” Meghan whimpered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Traitor!” He gave Meghan a rough shake. “You would associate with these vermin?”

  Cormac struggled against his chains, while Meghan closed her eyes and held her body still. The basta
rd was going to kill her right in front of him. Was he cursed? Was everyone he loved destined to die? Once again, he found himself wondering how to turn back time.

  “We’ve been working to exterminate the North Shore for decades,” Riley hissed. “The ground is thick with them here. Even I have four under my belt, and I’ve only been here a few weeks.”

  Cormac’s gut twisted as he counted the victims backwards. Four made sense. That was when he lost the trail and had to start tracking a fresh scent.

  And now they had Meghan. Well, Riley might as well kill him, too. If she died, he couldn’t live with himself.

  “Slaying one of the dogs, however….” Riley narrowed his eyes on Cormac. “Not just a dog, but the dog who’s been sniffing around, making things difficult. Because of you, our resources have become dangerously thin what with having to send someone new in every month. I can’t wait to report back that I’ve taken out a true monster.”

  So Cormac’s theory had been right. No wonder his mission had been so impossible to complete.

  Meghan whimpered, and Riley turned his neck to look at her, almost as if he’d forgotten he was holding a knife to her throat. He dragged his nose along her temple, and Cormac roared.

  “I was going to take you out first, dog,” Riley said, his nose still in Meghan’s hair. “But a traitor to our cause deserves no mercy.” He pressed the tip of the knife against Meghan’s throat, just enough for a single drop of blood to trickle toward her collar.

  Meghan’s body went rigid. She closed her eyes and rose up on her toes, as if bracing against certain death.

  “Meghan!” Cormac cried.

  She made a strangled sound in response, and her terrified eyes flashed open. Their gazes locked. She blinked.

  And then she was gone.

  Riley’s body collapsed forward, and his arms closed around air. “Wha—? Where?”

  It was the first time Cormac agreed with the twisted bastard. Where had Meghan gone?

  “Here,” she said, and Cormac and Riley both turned their heads toward the sound of her voice. She was standing against the stone wall, and in her hands was a fireplace poker. Her face took on a look of grim determination.

  And then she swung.

  Chapter Seventeen

  MEGHAN

  The air whistled as Meghan sliced through it with the poker. Riley’s skull made a sickening crack when she made contact, and it broke open like a melon. Blood and bits of gray matter erupted, splattering the floor and Meghan’s face.

  Riley’s body folded jerkily, like an accordion: first at the knees, then the ankles, the neck, and waist, until he fell to the ground at Meghan’s feet. She felt joy. Power. Relief. She would not be the one to die today. Neither would Cormac.

  But no sooner did the euphoria hit her than a cold chill crept along her arms. What had she done?

  Then came the tremors. The fireplace poker fell to the floor with a loud, heavy clatter, and she staggered backward out of the expanding pool of blood. Riley was dead. She’d killed him.

  “I’ve got to go,” she whispered.

  “Meghan,” Cormac said warily, but he did nothing to correct her.

  “I’ve got to get out of here.” She’d killed a man. There’d be a report. Police. Cormac would be gone and unable to corroborate her story. No one would believe her.

  “How did ye do that?” he asked.

  “I… I just picked it up…and I swung…” The truth was, she didn’t know how she’d done it. She’d never done anything violent before in her whole life. And she had no idea how she’d gotten away from Riley either, or how the poker came to be in her hands. One moment she had a knife to her throat. The next second she was across the room.

  “No,” he barked. “I mean how did ye tilt like that?”

  “What?” Tilt? What was he talking about? She needed to sit down. No! What was she thinking? She had to get the hell out of there.

  Cormac jerked forward and the chains rattled. “Get the key. It’s on his belt. Get me out of this.”

  “What?” She heard him talking, but her brain still wasn’t processing.

  “The key, Meghan.”

  Cormac was getting impatient, but the last thing she wanted to do was get closer to Riley’s lifeless body. A key, he said?

  A thick path of dark blood had seeped out of Riley’s cracked skull and was crawling across the floor toward her. Oh God. She was going to throw up.

  She tried not to think of it and, with shaking legs, took a stiff-legged step. And then another. She crouched and unhooked the thin chain from his belt loop and pulled the other end from his pocket until a silver ring with several keys popped free.

  “Good girl,” Cormac said. “Hurry.”

  Meghan moved robotically, but she found the right key on the second try, and the heavy iron chain snaked off Cormac’s body. He inhaled deeply and let out a freeing breath.

  A second later, he was on his feet and turning toward her. “Meghan.”

  “You left,” she said, her voice quaking. None of this would have happened if he’d stayed. “I thought I could trust you, and you left.”

  A look of pained regret passed across his face. “I can explain.”

  “How?” she cried. What was there to explain? He left. They’d both been attacked. And now a man was dead.

  “Not here,” he said, his body tight. “We need to get out of here.”

  He was right about that. It was midday. Had anyone been around to see her enter the front door? If they had, it would be suspicious if they never saw her come back out. Or should she walk out calmly as if all she’d done was return a key? She didn’t have answers to any of those questions, but one thing was clear.

  “I need to change my clothes first.”

  Cormac looked down at the blood splatter on her chest and nodded. “Grab my wallet, too. It’s probably on the floor.”

  Meghan left the room in a rush, cleaned her face and hands, and grabbed her suitcase. She changed her clothes, found Cormac’s wallet under the desk, then raced back into the hearth room. She handed her bloody shirt to Cormac, hoping he’d know what to do with the evidence.

  He balled it up in his large hand, and his arms encircled her. “I’m going to tilt ye again.”

  There was that word. She still didn’t know what it meant, but she instinctively braced.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “You’ve done it twice before.”

  “Is… Is that what I did? Is that how…?” She glanced toward the fireplace.

  He shook his head in disbelief and when she looked back at him, he was giving her a small smile as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “Aye. Ye did. But we’re going to go farther this time, so it will be much more disorienting. More like the first time I tilted ye.”

  “Okay,” she said, though she barely had any memory of the first time. All she remembered was Cormac’s relief that he hadn’t killed her.

  She continued to hold herself rigid in his arms, the same way she braced before riding the Slingshot at the State Fair. And then—for the second time in the last couple minutes—her bones went liquid. She was sucked into the dark and spinning channel that stretched all light and sound.

  Right when she thought she’d be torn to pieces, she found herself standing outside a Bavarian-style restaurant and bar. Cormac tossed her bloody shirt into one of the barrel bonfires positioned outside the door.

  “How?” she asked, stumbling to regain her balance.

  Cormac’s expression was grim. He looked her up and down, then gave a nod. “It’s coming easier to ye. I was worried you’d go unconscious again.”

  “Why are we here?” Meghan asked, not wanting to remember the experience. Her body still wasn’t one hundred percent, and her legs felt rubbery and unable to support her.

  Cormac curled an arm around her waist. “We’re here to get lost in a crowd and to give ourselves an alibi.”

  He opened the door then pushed her inside. The place was packed. A polka band was playing at on
e end of the room and some of the tables were pushed back to make a dance floor, which meant the seating was cramped.

  Waitresses in traditional German dresses covered in “Oktoberfest” pins maneuvered deftly between the tables while carrying large steins of beer.

  “Relax,” Cormac scolded her. “Look natural.”

  Meghan didn’t know what natural meant anymore, and she couldn’t imagine Cormac ever going unnoticed, so she laughed humorlessly. “And then what?”

  “And then,” he said, “we get a beer. Because ye have a lot of explaining to do.”

  “I’m not the only one,” she muttered as she scanned the crowd. Was anyone looking at her? Could they read her crime written on her forehead? The last thing she wanted was to be in a crowd. How had she let Cormac bring her here?

  “No,” he agreed. “You’re not the only one. Look. There’s an empty table in the corner.”

  They grabbed it—Cormac growling at some guy who tried to swoop in ahead of them—and when a waitress swung by with a tray, Cormac raised his credit card in the air.

  The waitress set two frosty beers on the table and they sloshed over the rim. She swiped Cormac’s card, giving them their alibi.

  “I don’t think I can drink this,” Meghan said. Her stomach was so twisted, anything she put in her body was sure to beat a quick escape.

  Just like I should have done.

  “You don’t have to drink it,” Cormac said, raising his glass to his mouth, “but it’s part of blending in.”

  “If you say so.”

  He took a sip, set his glass down on the table, then wiped the foam from his upper lip. His face took on a serious expression. “Tell me about your tattoo.”

  “Tell me why you left,” she countered. “And what the hell that note was about.”

  Cormac’s eyes narrowed, and she could nearly see the dog snarling behind his dark eyes. “All of these topics are part of the same conversation,” he said. “You start.”

  Meghan’s breath stuttered in her throat. He was angry, and she didn’t fully understand why. She let out the air, then started in.