by A. C. James
“I didn’t want to tell you—”
“Tell me what?”
“He’s seeing someone.”
Felicity grew quiet.
“I’m sorry,” Cyn said.
She didn’t want him back, but the memory of their last fight was a festering wound. It kept replaying in her mind, even though she tried to block it out. She owned who she was: her life, her successes, her failures, her body. She firmly believed that no one could make you feel unworthy unless you let them. And truth was, most days she was happy being her. A supernatural blogger, recently single, who answered to no one but herself. That felt good. Better than good. Still, she had to know what Cyn was about to tell her, even if she felt sorry for the unknown woman who about to make the same mistake she had.
“How do you know that?” Are you sure you want to know? She hated second-guessing herself.
Cyn fingered a loose thread on the quilt. “I saw him at a restaurant the other day having dinner with another woman.”
“Maybe she’s just a colleague. It could’ve been a working dinner. People have to eat.”
“They were holding hands.”
Felicity looked away. Suddenly the unravelling thread Cyn was toying with mirrored her feelings.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I didn’t know how, and I didn’t want to see you looking like you do right now. You have to let it go. It’s time.”
Of course Cyn was right. The ones you loved the most sometimes had a way of hurting you the worst. They could tear your heart out while it was still beating, and crush it with words that could never be taken back. William had been really good at that. He’d taken every ounce of trust, used everything she’d ever confided in him, and turned it against her whenever they fought. Or spewed venom whenever he drank too much. Their last knock-down, drag-out fight was the one that had made her walk away with what little dignity she had left.
He’d never laid a finger on her. Wouldn’t dare, because Cyn and Nathan would make sure he could only shite sideways by the time they got done with him if his cruelty had been physical. No, the hurt William inflicted was just an emotional wound the size of Galway Bay.
Felicity closed her eyes.
Her heart breaks as he leans in the doorway with a drink in his hand. All she wants is for him to hold her, but she knows she’d get no sympathy or condolences from him. Not tonight.
“You don’t want to go out?”
“No, I’m sorry. I can’t.”
“It might help. I could take your mind off it.”
He reaches to kiss her, but she wrinkles her nose and pulls away. He’d been at it again. She knows it’d be easier to fall into his arms, but she can’t stomach giving him what he wants. Sex is easier for him than dealing with emotions. She gets it...just can’t bring herself to do it right now.
“Thank you, but I wouldn’t be much company tonight. I don’t feel up to it.”
He takes another drink. “What do you feel up to anymore?”
“My grandmother died. She was all I had left after my parents were gone.”
“You’re still here. It’s you and me.” His words slur, and his message rings hollow in her ears.
“You get that, right? That she was the only family I had, and now she’s gone?”
He sways in the doorway, a smile curving his thin, cruel lips. “I get that you always have something going on, don’t you?”
She says nothing. If she lets him continue, maybe he’ll walk away. Pass out on the floor beside the bed or something. But he keeps pressing her patience...
“You always have a problem, and an excuse to go with it. That must be very convenient for you. It’s never you. It’s me. It’s always me. Right, Felicity?” He throws back the rest of his drink in one long gulp.
He’s beyond drunk. Again. She knows he’s in a place where nothing she says will do any good. In fact it’ll only make it worse. Knowing that doesn’t matter, because she realizes she’s done. She’s had enough. She isn’t going to make it easy. It won’t do any good to argue, but she doesn’t care.
“Well, I’m sorry my grandmother’s death is inconvenient,” she snaps.
“Inconvenient?” The spark of anger in his eyes almost gives her pause. His breath smells disgusting as he lunges toward her, and for a moment, she thinks he might hit her. He never has. His eyes are wild, and he’s in her face.
She straightens, standing her ground as she meets his look with her own anger and frustration. She knows this might be a stupid move, but she does it anyway. “Are you going to be able to get up in time for her funeral tomorrow if you stay out late? It’s at nine. If that’s convenient enough for you.”
His laugh makes her want to throw something straight at his head. Ass. “I can if I decide I’m going, but with your attitude, why would I want to? You’ve been nothing but miserable since she died. I’m not like you—it’s a lot easier for me to get up in the morning than your lazy, fat ass.”
Her body goes stiff, but she raises her shoulders. This isn’t the first time he used her weight as a weapon, but that’s not what this fight is about. It’s just a hurtful insult to hurl at her because he’s drunk. She knows it, and knows this time will be the last. That promise flies off her tongue without regret.
“I don’t care what you say. Not anymore. I’m not going to put up with you or your drinking. Not this time.”
“Right then, who’s going to put up with you? Who’s going to want you now? No one wants you. No one but me.”
She wants to slap the look of satisfaction off his face, but resists the urge tingling her palm.
“If you don’t like the way I look, then leave. I can go out with Cyn and find someone who loves me for who I am instead of who you want me to be.”
He sways toward her, and she backs away. She’s stupid brave, but not completely unaware of the fact that he’s much bigger than her. Stronger. Not a winning combination in his current state of mind. But she’s finished with this and knows he’ll never reach her with how unsteady he is on his feet.
She lifts her chin. “And you can find someone else to put up with your bloody shite, because it won’t be me anymore.”
“Right. Go out with Cyn and act like her too. That’ll make you a whore—just like her,” he says with a slur.
“I don’t need this. I’m going to stay with her while you sleep it off. But I’m done.”
“Like you even got started. You’re lazy, fat, and you have a stupid job and stupid friends.” His laugh is even harsher. “Why don’t you get a real job? You call yourself a writer. Why don’t you write something that matters for once?”
“It does make a difference.”
“Right. To who? Those idiots who read your blog? Why don’t you go live in your fucking fantasy world? I suppose it’s better than trying to make it work in this one with me.”
There’s no making something work when only one person’s head isn’t in a bottle. Only one person reigning in their temper. One person invested. She can say that, can say so much more, but it doesn’t matter now. He has a long list of qualities he hates about her, and her writing is only one of them. Of course, his honesty about it is even more brutal when he gets like this. Her writing, her words get her through all the times she feels like she might fall apart or let life crush her soul. It’s the only thing left that he can’t take from her, and that makes him angry and insecure. That’s how he looks now. Losing control always terrifies those who need that illusion. She continues to back away, just in case that fear makes him lash out, but she can’t help the words that spill from her lips at his last disparaging remark. “Go to hell.”
The illusion of control he needs to believe in shatters like the mug he throws at a window. Its inner pane breaks, but the shards miss her entirely. Her heart breaks a little more. She grabs her purse, and the door rattles behind her as she slams it shut.
She hears him scream through it, “Fuck off, you stupid bitch!”
“Are you all right?�
� Cyn asked.
Felicity opened her eyes. Her curves, her friends, her work...none of it was relevant in the face of issues that couldn’t be ignored. No, they’d all been a bunch of bloody excuses. A means to justify his own behavior. Her eyes burned, but she’d never been better than the day she’d walked out that door and closed the chapter on those four years. Even though tears threatened to spill even now, she refused to cry. She’d shed enough tears—not over William, but over the times they’d had before his drinking and temper destroyed them.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re a terrible liar, you know.”
Cyn reached out and wrapped her into a fierce hug. She must have looked like she needed one. Felicity laughed. “I am, but I love you.”
“I bloody love you too, but it’s time you had some fun in your life. Remember fun?”
“Believe me, I’m working on it.”
“I’m not convinced. You’re letting that stupid arse get to you. I bet you won’t shag a single person before you leave this island.”
“What?”
“You heard me. See, I know you too, and you won’t do it. You don’t have it in you. I’ll have it in me before this trip is over. But I bet my sweet ass that you don’t have the guts to go through with it.”
“With what?”
“With a one-time bang—a bit of fun to get you back in the saddle again.”
Felicity thought about the dream she’d had of Niall. She almost laughed at Cyn’s choice of words—‘back in the saddle’. She also wondered if he really could kiss her until her toes curled. She was so tired of dwelling on the past. She’d picked William because he was fun at first, and he seemed like a safe choice. He wasn’t such an arse when they first met, but there were no safe bets in life. Stop thinking about him. It hurts now, but it’ll hurt less if you live a little. So this time she’d take a chance. After all, she deserved to be happy, didn’t she? She was going to start living again. And there was no better person to show her how to do it than her adventurous best friend.
“Okay, you’re on, but I’m raising the stakes.”
Cyn arched an eyebrow. “Fine.”
“I bet I’ll bang Niall before you get his gentlemanly friend to take you up on your offer.”
“You’ve got yourself a bet. Too bad you’re going to lose.”
Ha. Not bloody likely.
Chapter 4
A pulse ran through Niall, setting his stallion on high alert. It was the same force he’d felt pulling him when he’d followed the priest into the pub. Except this time when he followed his stallion’s lead, he ended up at a construction site. It sat on the ocean side of the island—not far from the cottage—overlooking a steep cliff.
The unforgiving waves beat against the cliff’s stone face as he watched the man who’d been talking to the priest at the pub the night before. Now he appeared to be arguing with a man in a grey suit. The well-dressed gentleman was probably mid-thirties, though Niall had never been good at guessing human age. ‘Suitman’, as Niall decided to nickname him for now, looked completely out of place with his fancy shoes, slicked-back hair, and expensive suit. He was definitely agitated by the angry Irishman invading not only what appeared to be his site, but his personal space, as he shook a fist at him.
As soon as Niall tried to eavesdrop on the conversation, the man from the pub spat on the ground and turned away.
“Well, I think we have a new suspect,” Tomas said, nudging him.
Niall turned toward Tomas. Behind the stone wall, they were secluded from view as they watched the scene unfold. “Aye, but why do I feel the force responsible for thinning the veil coming from a human? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“It is peculiar. Humans haven’t believed in us in a very long time.”
“No, they haven’t,” Niall agreed. “Did you catch what they were fighting about?”
“Aye, only a little. Something about defiling the land.”
Niall nodded. That he could understand.
The island remained unchanged in some ways, but in others, the fifty years since his last visit seemed longer; or maybe it was just the technology and the way humans talked now that felt foreign. The Realm beyond the veil was his homeland, but he’d always felt like this was a close second. Now, as he looked at the foundation being constructed, he wasn’t sure. And he wondered what this had to do with the veil. He’d have to ask their bartender friend what was being built and why.
From the looks of it, at least one local didn’t seem to like the idea. Not Suitman, but the man from the pub who’d spat on the ground seemed unhappy about the construction. Then the priest, the woman that had briefly visited their table last night, Felicity, and her friend walked up to the man. His stallion’s ears perked up as he tuned in on what they were saying.
“This is my brother, Michael,” the priest said. “And this is Felicity Forrest...she’s the blogger sent here to write about the púca haunting,” he continued.
The priest has a brother. He’d been the one arguing with Suitman moments ago. Niall didn’t know why, but that seemed relevant somehow. Maybe he hadn’t felt the surge from the priest, but rather from his brother. He’d been at both the pub and the construction site.
“I’m going to head on now,” Michael said. “Glad you’re here to put a stop to this. They’re building on sacred púca land. It’s bound to disturb them, and then we’ll all be cursed.”
Niall huffed at his nonsense. All land was sacred. It’s why they’d blessed farmer’s crops in exchange for human cooperation to ensure they didn’t become extinct.
The priest let out a nervous laugh as his brother walked away. “You’ll have to excuse my brother. He’s always been a superstitious sort of fellow.”
“Are there others on the island that share his feelings about the resort being built?” Felicity asked.
Smart woman. Brains and beautiful lush curves.
Niall thought she’d asked the most burning question in his mind. At least now he knew they were building a resort. Their island was known for its peaceful serenity, seclusion, history, and traditions. The people still spoke their native tongue, and he highly doubted they would view a resort favorably. Although tourism was a big part of the local economy, those who travelled here came to connect with the traditional roots of the island.
The priest shifted to his other foot. “Aye, there’s a few that aren’t too fond of the idea. Believe me, I had to get used to the thought of relocating my church. This place will bring good fortune to many, and they’ll tolerate the idea once they can see that.”
“Why do you have to relocate?” Felicity asked.
His stallion strained to hear her soft, almost musical voice. Niall wondered if she were an enchantress. The priest pointed to a small church that stood adjacent to the foundation they were constructing.
“Aye, my church is on the property these developers bought, but they paid me more than I require to build a new one.”
Niall hadn’t put two and two together, but now he figured maybe the priest and his brother were responsible for the veil’s disturbance. They could be working together. He didn’t know which one he trusted less, but his stallion seemed pleased it had nothing to do with the curvy woman with hair like honey. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“This isn’t far from where Jenna took the picture of the púca, either,” Felicity said as she nodded toward the woman. “But I didn’t see anything when she took us there this morning.”
“Aye, that may be true, but like I said before, the púca are known to ride at night,” the priest said.
“Well, I best be going. I have to pack, since I leave tomorrow. Good luck,” Jenna said as she left.
Niall let out a soft laugh from his crouched position behind the stone wall. So there are still some locals who know a thing or two about the púca. It was easier to shift at night, less painful under the light of the moon. Tomas elbowed him and Niall shot him a glare.
“I’d like to meet
the owner, if you don’t mind,” Felicity said.
“Of course, right this way.” The priest led them over to Suitman, who was talking to a worker. The worker looked like any other islander, but something about him had Niall’s stallion neighing as if to warn him. While Niall focussed on him, Suitman waved the worker back to his task as the priest and his entourage approached.
“What can I do for you?” Suitman asked the priest.
“Aye, Mr. Archer, I’d like to introduce Miss Forrest. She’s here to either prove or disprove the púca haunting and hopefully put everyone’s minds at ease.”
“You can call me Felicity. I’d like to ask you a few questions if that’s all right,” Felicity said. “I’m sort of a sceptic when it comes to the supernatural, and I’m hoping you can tell me what’s really been going on.” She waved a pale hand toward the construction site.
Mr. Archer recoiled slightly when her hand, which had been directed at the site, landed on his arm. He recovered quickly. It would have been barely noticeable to a human, but Niall picked up on it. Archer seemed cool and aloof. Maybe he just didn’t like strangers touching him. He couldn’t be certain, and his stallion couldn’t get a clear read on the fellow.
His stallion didn’t believe Felicity was as sceptical as she claimed—she just needed proof. She’d told him as much last night. Watching her charm the man in the suit made both him and his stallion jealous. He clenched his jaw the moment she touched Mr. Archer’s arm. But Niall had no claim on her. She wasn’t his mate, and yet he had an inexplicable urge to rush the man and tackle him to the mud.
Tomas must have noticed his mounting tension, because he gave him a concerned but knowing look.
“I need to speak with her,” Niall whispered.
“Aye, I bet you do.”
“You’ll distract her friend and keep her entertained for a while.”
“And how do ye propose I do that? She nearly jumped me last night. It was all I could do to fend her off.”
“Take her to the beach. Mesmerise her to stay with you if you have to. How you do it doesn’t matter—I’ve got business with Felicity. I know you’ve got a mate you’d never cheat on back home and I’m not asking that, but do me a solid favor and distract Felicity’s friend.”
