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

by A. S. Green

  The brothers threw back an obscene amount of whiskey with their dinner, but it didn’t seem to affect them at all. Meghan only had a Diet Coke, but she was giggling like she’d been keeping up with them all night. Declan had just finished telling an off-color joke about a nuckelavee and a French jockey.

  She’d noticed the interested stares from about half the people in the restaurant—the sídhe half, she assumed. They were obviously curious about their mixed party (sídhe and pádraig), and once Declan barked out to someone, “Take a picture it’ll last longer.” But for the most part, it had been an enjoyable and fairly normal kind of evening.

  “See?” Cormac said, leaning closer and knocking her shoulder. “I told ye it would be fine.”

  Meghan smiled as his thumb lazily stroked along her thigh. She could get used to this. Scratch that, she was used to this. This was her new normal. And, God, it felt good.

  She looked at Declan and found him staring across the room, his face expressionless.

  She followed his gaze to a table of three women, or more like, based on what she’d learned about sídhe fashion sense, three daoine sídhe. They were all dressed conservatively, one of them even in a prim sweater set. The gorgeous redhead among them was practically regal; she wore a pair of wide legged trousers and tailored silk blouse with hundreds of tiny pleats across her chest.

  “Friends of yours, D?” Meghan asked.

  Aiden and Cormac looked across the room to see whom she was talking about.

  Her question pulled Declan out of his stupor, and he jerked his eyes toward her. “Hm? What? Oh.”

  He glanced back at the women’s table, and this time, Meghan noticed that the redhead in the silk blouse met his gaze.

  Declan finished off his whiskey in one gulp and set the glass down hard on the table. “Not exactly a friend. Why?”

  “Oh, wow,” Aiden said. “I almost didn’t recognize her without her scrubs. Now that you’re feeling better, ye could invite Rowan over to meet our future sister-in-law.”

  Meghan was, unfortunately, mid-swallow. She tried to hold it back, but Aiden’s comment had her spraying pop all over the table.

  “Jesus, Curly. What’s wrong?” Aiden asked.

  She wiped the back of her hand over her mouth, and began piling paper napkins on the mess. “What did you say?”

  “I didn’t recognize—”

  She shook her head, feeling her face heat. “No. After that.”

  “What do ye mean?” Aiden asked. “Ye don’t want to meet Declan’s nurse?”

  Meghan slapped her hand down on the table. “I’m talking about you thinking she should meet your future sister-in-law!”

  All three brothers exchanged a look. Aiden drew his eyebrows together and said, “What’s wrong with that?”

  Meghan glanced at Cormac, and his face was hard and unhappy. “I’ve known you for, like, I don’t know…eleven days.” Yes, it felt longer, but come on. Eleven days!

  “You’re my anamchara.”

  “Yeah. I get that. Or more like, I’m starting to understand that. But marriage? Are you insane?”

  “Maybe we should go home,” Declan said, and it sounded like he had his own reasons for wanting to leave. “You two can talk this out in private.”

  “Ye don’t want to marry me?” Cormac asked, ignoring his brother.

  “People don’t get married after eleven days. Not unless they’re on a weird reality show or something. Cormac, you don’t know anything about me, and don’t feed me that line about how I’m a good artist and terrible at making fire. I’m being serious.”

  “So am I, and I know a hell of a lot more about ye than that. I also know you’re brave, smart, independent, stubborn, and terrible at following directions. I know ye seem to stumble into trouble, but ye don’t expect others to get ye out of it, and you’ve got no problem accepting help when it comes your way.”

  “And she’s a dart-throwing savant,” Declan said. “Don’t forget that.”

  Cormac shot him an irritated look. “Not to mention, you’re so beautiful it hurts my eyes to look at ye.”

  Meghan felt the tears coming, and there was nothing she could do to stop them. She’d got used to the idea of being his anamchara, primarily because Cormac was so confident about it being the truth, and because he said there was no choice in the matter anyway. But marriage? That was a different thing altogether. Cormac had centuries of life yet to live—hopefully—and she was half a sídhe shy of being able to share that life with him. He deserved a whole life full of love and attention, not just the half life she could offer.

  “Let me just…” Meghan slid her legs to the side of the booth. “I need to go splash some water on my face.”

  She got up, feeling all three brothers’ eyes on her back, and wove her way through the tables toward the short hallway that led to the bathrooms.

  Of course there was a line for the ladies’ room, but some fresh air would do just as well. She hit the back exit and stepped out into the crisp night air just as a few icy rain drops started to fall.

  She wrapped her arms around herself to conserve heat and inhaled deeply, then she let it out with a wooosh.

  A woman in her late fifties was standing in the dark alley, illuminated only by a single dim light mounted on the back of the building. She was wearing a cornflower blue rain coat, dark blue jeans, and sensible shoes, and she was carrying a stack of papers in her arms.

  When her eyes locked on Meghan, they went wide with shock.

  Meghan’s hand shook as she raised it to her chest. “Aunt Darlene?”

  The surprise quickly left her aunt’s face, and her expression went stony. “Are you alone?”

  “Aren’t I always?” Meghan returned. It took everything in her not to look toward the restaurant and give Cormac and his brothers away.

  The random rain drops picked up their pace. Her aunt glanced to the side as if she was trying to figure out what to say.

  “How did you find me?” Meghan asked.

  A slow smile pulled at her aunt’s lips and she turned to face her. “Tracking device in your phone. You sure do get around. St Louis, Minneapolis, Kansas City, Iowa…the north shore.”

  Meghan felt a chill go through her. Did this mean they knew where Cormac and his brothers lived? Had she led the enemy straight to them?

  Her aunt’s face turned cool and calculating when Meghan didn’t act surprised. “So, I take it you know why we’re here?”

  Meghan was unable to form the words but —oh, yes—she knew. She knew what vile things her aunt, uncle, and the rest of the Black Castle were capable of.

  “How much do you know?” her aunt asked, eyes narrowing.

  Meghan’s mind was filled with the memories of two mutilated daoine sídhe, and the image of Cormac chained to a chair.

  She inhaled deeply, just as it started to rain. “I know what you and people like you have done. I know you killed my mother. I know you’re sick, twisted, and evil.”

  Her aunt’s mouth puckered as if she’d tasted something sour. “Excuse me if I don’t put too much stock in the opinion of an unnatural, homeless halfling. Now, where is it?”

  “Where is what?”

  “The beast that killed Brother O’Connor.”

  Meghan lifted her chin in defiance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You were tracked to Grand Marais where you were spotted with a hound. Don’t lie to me.”

  Meghan felt the tears coming. They were tears of rage, but she used them to her advantage. “He’s gone. He left me. Probably in Canada by now because—you said it yourself, Auntie—not even he wanted an unnatural, powerless, clueless halfling.”

  Her aunt studied her face, as if looking for the truth. Meghan’s heart clenched with fear; she hoped it read as grief.

  After a moment, her aunt glanced away and sighed in defeat. “That’s a setback for the team.” Then her gaze returned to Meghan. “But at least I won’t have to explain to you the rest.”r />
  “No, there’s something else I want to know.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Why you took me. Why you wanted me in the first place. Why you kept me all those years.”

  Her aunt gave her head a shake as if the question was stupid. “We learned of your lineage. We had no experience with halflings and we needed to know what you were capable of and whether we needed to add your kind to our priority list. Also, if you did have skills, whether your half-status mitigated their power and whether we could manage and control them for our own use.”

  Meghan’s body remained rigid. “You wanted to know if I could be ‘useful’ to you, or if the thirteen years I spent in your home were nothing but a ‘disappointing experiment.’”

  “Exactly.” Her aunt tipped her head to the side and scrutinized her. “Are you saying that you do have special skills?”

  Meghan spoke through gritted teeth. “Not that I know of.”

  Her aunt sighed with apparent disappointment. “I see. Well, you know what I have to do now.”

  Meghan kept her eyes on her aunt as a grim presence slowly closed around her. She didn’t see them, or how many. But there was no mistaking it.

  She was surrounded.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  CORMAC

  Cormac finished his whiskey, never taking his eyes off the hallway.

  “It’s only been a couple minutes,” Aiden teased. “Seriously, I’m in no hurry to find my own anamchara if it’ll make me as skittish as you.”

  Declan raised his finger at the waitress to signify they wanted their check.

  “It’s been more than a couple minutes,” Cormac groused. It had been at least five, though it felt like an hour.

  Outside, the rain poured down, and when someone opened the front door, they brought with it a cold chill that ran swiftly through Cormac’s veins.

  “Oh, shit,” Declan whispered.

  Cormac’s gaze slid to his brother, and he watched Declan’s face go pale before his body slumped toward the table. “Fuck,” Cormac murmured. “Are ye feeling sick again?”

  Declan raised his head an inch and shook it, breathing the words, “Bean sídhe. Three o’clock.”

  Aiden’s head jerked around, and Cormac turned to look. Sure enough. There she was: a woman with a child’s face, but with long snow-white hair, leaning against the bar. In fact, if Cormac had been paying better attention, he probably wouldn’t have had to look to know she was there. The sídhe patrons, who made up at least half the tables, had gone entirely still. No one dared move.

  “Is it the same one?” Aiden whispered.

  Cormac knew what he meant. There was a lot he remembered from that terrible night. The grisly sounds too loathsome to mention, and the pools of blood staining the kitchen floor, these sensory images were burned forever on his brain. But whether this was the same bean sídhe who’d sat on his windowsill and heralded their parents’ deaths? He couldn’t say. Did it really matter?

  “She’s here for one of us,” Declan said. “I know it.”

  “Don’t overreact,” Cormac said. “Just stay still.”

  “Don’t overreact?” Aiden asked, sounding incredulous.

  “I saw one just a few days ago. I jumped to conclusions and nearly killed Meghan in the process of getting her out of there. Just hold still. There are a lot of people here. She could be here for anyone.”

  But despite his forced calm, Cormac couldn’t help glancing toward the bathrooms. What was taking Meghan so long?

  Had Aiden’s quip about marriage really been so awful? Had his own comments freaked her out? Fuck, had she slipped out the bathroom window like he was some horrible first date?

  No, he decided. She wouldn’t do that. His eyes flicked toward the hallway again.

  “Everyone’s leaving,” Declan said, as one by one, the sound of chairs slowly scraping backward filled Cormac’s ears.

  “We should go, too,” Aiden said.

  “We need to wait for Meghan,” Cormac reminded them.

  “Then we exit through the back,” Declan said. “Grab her on our way out.”

  There was no need to say anything more. They rose as a single unit and strode for the back hall without glancing toward the bar.

  Meghan wasn’t in the hallway, so Cormac pushed open the door to the ladies’ room, just an inch, and called out. “Meghan?”

  A pádraig jerked the door open the rest of the way and gave Cormac a hard look.

  “We’re waiting for someone,” he explained.

  “There’s no one else in there,” she said, slipping past him, and then past his brothers.

  “That can’t be right,” Aiden said, pushing the door all the way open and looking under the stalls. “Meghan?”

  “She’s not here,” Cormac said, his earlier doubts pummeling him.

  “She wouldn’t leave, would she?” Declan asked. “Not by herself.”

  Cormac strode for the back door and hit his palms flat against it, throwing it open. There was no one in the alley.

  “What’s that?” Aiden asked.

  Cormac looked to where he pointed. It was a piece of paper on the ground, so soaked with rain it had gone nearly transparent. The sense of déjà vu nearly crippled him as he bent to pick it up.

  At the bottom of the paper were the hateful symbols—the bright green shamrock crossed by a sword—but this time, unlike fifty-five years ago, he could read the words as well. At the top, in all caps, was the question:

  HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN?

  It was the same poster Nolan had found in Grand Marais and all along the North Shore, and now the Black Castle had come west to Ely.

  “Oh, shit,” Aiden said, and he smacked the back of his hand against Cormac’s arm.

  Cormac looked down the alley and saw the same flyer mounted on every light pole and every flat surface, as far as his eye could see.

  “They’re here,” Declan said.

  “And they’ve been busy,” Aiden added.

  “Uh, Cormac?” Declan asked. “Is that…?”

  Cormac looked and saw a familiar cell phone, lying at the base of the wall.

  “Meghan,” was all he could think to say, then he lifted his nose toward the sky and inhaled. He could still smell her. She was there—right there—but then, not there at all.

  Her scent filled his senses, right to the marrow of his bone, but when he took a few steps in any direction, her scent weakened. It was as if she’d exited the bar and been sucked up by the earth. But he knew that wasn’t right.

  They’d taken her.

  He should have listened when she said it was still too dangerous, but he’d wanted to get Declan out while proving to Meghan she was among friends and that she was one of them.

  He knew he’d get to this point. First his parents, then Madigan, now Meghan. Being with him always brought others to their doom. He should have trusted his instinct when they saw the bean sídhe, but no…he thought he’d turned some kind of corner. That his shitty bad luck had somehow improved just having Meghan in his life.

  What a pile of crap it all was. It almost made him glad his father wasn’t here to witness this shame.

  “Snap out of it,” Aiden said.

  “Fuck you,” Cormac barked.

  “We’ll find her,” Declan assured him, but that was just another pile of crap.

  “Don’t bullshit me,” Cormac said, low and menacing. “Ye have no more idea where to start than I do.”

  His brothers had no response, and the silence made Cormac’s lip curl.

  “We should go home,” Aiden said. “Get supplies, then head out.”

  Meghan’s scent was still lingering in the spot where they stood, but thinning by the second the harder it rained. Cormac didn’t have a better idea, especially with no trail to trace.

  Just then, the back door of the restaurant opened and Declan’s redheaded nurse stepped out, looking panicked. “Declan!” she said on an exhale of relief. “Are you all right?”

/>   Declan gave his brothers a quick glance of discomfort then answered curtly, “Fine.”

  She seemed oblivious to the tension in the alleyway, and Cormac balled his hands into fists. She took a step closer to Declan and raised her hand, but didn’t touch him. “I looked away, saw the bean sídhe, and when I looked back, you were gone. I thought… I thought she might have come for you.”

  Declan’s eyebrows pulled together in irritation. “No, but would ye do us a favor?”

  “Of course.”

  Declan’s shoulders relaxed, and he glanced at Cormac before turning back to her. “We have to go, and there isn’t much time. Can you strip all these wanted posters down before the pádraigs see?”

  She glanced down the alley and sucked in a breath. “Of course. Of course, Declan. Be well. All three of you.”

  “I’m grateful, Rowan.” Then Declan gave his brothers a grim look and nodded.

  “Home,” Cormac said, and then they were gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  MEGHAN

  Meghan’s whole body trembled as she stood with her back pressed flat against the wall, paralyzed in the darkness. She was out of time. Heavy boots pounded against the floorboards. She knew it wouldn’t take her aunt and uncle long to find her, but she barely knew where she was in the world and her hiding spots were limited. Another minute and this would be over. She would be over.

  Fifteen minutes earlier, she’d tilted herself out of that wretched alleyway, just as she’d done to get out of Riley’s grasp. But that first escape had only required her to move several feet away. This time she’d gone farther, and it had taken everything in her to pull it off. Now her body felt like Jell-O. Worse, Jell-O that needed another hour to set.

  Get it together, girl. She curled her fingers around the iron rod in her hand. It was the only weapon she could find, and it had worked once before. She only needed enough energy for one good swing. If they split up to search, if she only had to deal with one of them at a time, if she timed her swing right… maybe, just maybe, she’d survive this.