Devin recoiled from Fintan’s touch.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said brusquely. “You should probably get it off the beach before it hurts someone, though. I…I have to go.”
Pressing his lips into a grim line, he took another step backwards, away from them. Spinning around, he took off without another word.
“Don’t forget your footwear,” Fintan called after him helpfully.
Retracing his steps, Devin stooped to scoop up his shoes before beating another hasty retreat. Airech watched his hurried progress towards the cliffs, his blond hair waving in a sudden gust of wind. It was probably for the best he didn’t look back. Their stares would have made him even more uncomfortable. Finally, they lost sight of him.
Fintan turned to Airech. “I hope you’re satisfied, now we have facilitated your little converge charm.”
He groaned. “For the love of the gods Fintan, for the last time, it’s called a meet-cute.”
“I would like to see you try to keep every inane modern phrase in your head when you’ve lived as long as I have. Very well. Your meet-cute. Did it satisfy you?”
“Let’s see. We met him. And he was cute.” He broke into a wolfish grin.
“But is he one we’ve been searching for?”
‘I don’t think so. No.” Airech’s face dropped, feeling the disappointment flood him. “I didn’t want to probe too closely, but I read him as a mortal. What about you?”
Fintan shook his head. “A god would know an aughisky when he saw it. And more importantly, not to go near it once it’s in the waves.” He frowned. “If he’s not the one, we have no further use for him.”
“Oh, I can think of plenty of uses.” Airech recovered his good mood as he began playing out the details in his head.
“I was more referring to the need to prevent the coming cataclysm. Not your sexual appetites.”
Airech cocked an eyebrow. “Come on, Fintan. This is the first time in a hundred years I’ve seen you attracted to anyone.” He leaned towards Fintan and began to mimic him mercilessly. “‘Don’t forget your footwear!’ What was that anyway? Don’t forget your footwear. Balor wept.” Behind them, Cap whickered, sounding amused.
“I apologise for embarrassing you. You know I’ve only been to the mortal realm a handful of times in the last thousand years,” Fintan said. “And that’s not the only way we differ. My actions will never be determined by my cock. That is a favoured word of yours which I am familiar with. Since the twelfth century,” he added airily.
“How dare you.” Airech clutched his hands to his chest. “I follow my heart, and you know it.”
“And from my observations, neither your heart nor your cock is a reliable guide.”
Fintan turned to the horse, still standing in the water. “What are your thoughts, Capall Donnrua?”
“I’m not sure Cap should get a vote, seeing as he tried to make a snack out of him,” Airech snapped.
The air rippled and the sea frothed as Cap shifted back into his human form. He strode out of the waves, the wildness remaining in his flared nostrils and savage eyes. Catching Airech by surprise, he swatted him to the ground with one flick of a muscle-bound arm. Spitting out sand, Airech decided the dumb animal remark might have been a miscalculation.
He sprang back up in time to see Cap slowly shaking his head, his expression grave.
“There you have it, Airech,” Fintan said. “One for, two against.”
Airech churned with frustrated impatience. He doubted he would ever get used to this tedious need to confer before making any decision. He worked better alone, consulting only his instincts. But it was important to stay calm if he was going to get the others to listen to him.
“Fine. Are you forgetting he summoned us here? And not only that. Did you notice our usual charms don’t seem to affect him? The fact remains, he needs to be thoroughly investigated. Very thoroughly investigated.” He grinned at the thought.
“That is true. He could be a potential ally.” Fintan’s forehead creased. “But he could also be a dangerous threat.”
“I know.” Airech reached up and squeezed Fintan’s cheek. “Isn’t it exciting?”
Chapter 8
Devin
With hurried strides, Devin pushed his body up the steep track, leaving the cottage and a sleeping Bren behind him. It was a two-minute drive to Aill Na Searrach in his battered van, but a much longer walk on this rough path through the fields. Still, it seemed like no time at all before he was cresting the top of the last rise. He couldn’t make sense of what he was doing, roaming around in the dark. He didn’t even remember setting out. But here he was.
Someone was standing at the edge of the drop, fiddle on their shoulder, playing a frenetic tune that sounded like a flock of panicked birds. It was a woman, her long, light hair the colour of pewter under the moon. As he moved towards her, she turned, and her fingers stilled on the strings as she smiled at him.
“Devin, he came back. Didn’t I tell you he would?”
She took the fiddle from under her chin and held it and the bow out towards him.
“Please, let me go. Find a way, my Damán Allaid.”
Devin’s arms were heavy and slow, caught in a current of uncertainty. The woman urged him again with a nod and a smile, and keeping his eyes on hers, he grasped the sleek wood. Abruptly she whirled, facing the edge. She looked over her shoulder, smiling at him one last time, and leapt silently into the darkness.
A cry burst from Devin as he stumbled to the spot where she’d been standing. He peered down and saw nothing but the shadowy waves. A harsh sobbing, like a handsaw biting into wood, bouncing off the steep rock walls. The sound of his fourteen-year-old self.
With one glance he recognised the fiddle in his hands. His own. As he stood staring, it crumbled into dust. Within seconds the fragments were dissolving and sliding through his fingers, whipping away in the wind. His gaze was drawn back to the boiling cauldron of stormy sea, and he felt himself being pulled irresistibly towards it.
On the horizon, a murky cloud formed, swirling and tumbling as it swept closer to where he was standing. As it approached, he realised the seething mass was made up of thousands of small black specks, descending on him rapidly. He peered at the closest one. It looked like a bird, wings outstretched. No, not a bird. A bat. He recognised the distinct shape of the wings.
Devin gave a startled shout as something flew at his face and connected with a muffled thud. Slashes of sudden pain propelled him backwards, leaving him staggering to his knees. Reaching up to protect his face, he sensed the dusky shape swooping past his head again, so close he could hear a rustle of feathers. He peered out from behind his fingers.
The bats hovered above him, suspended in the air, their descent halted. In front of them, a hawk was circling, coming back towards him with worrying speed. It didn’t look like typical bird behaviour to Devin. But this didn’t seem to be the time to call and consult his local ornithologist before deciding whether to run.
He jumped up and took off, the night air stinging his wounded face as he ran. Its nest had to be nearby, he reasoned. But the bird seemed more irrational than territorial, wheeling above him as he ran, almost like it was herding him.
Now I know what a field mouse feels like.
The hawk fell into a dive, giving a blood-curdling screech as it barrelled towards Devin. The gorse lashed his bare feet, tripping him and leaving him flailing on the ground.
Devin kicked out furiously, opening one eye to take in the pale sunlight and the sheets snarled around his bare legs. His skin was clammy, his heart pounding. There was no moonlight, no woman, no demented hawk. And with any luck, his fiddle was not a pulverised pile of wood ash. Feeling slightly ridiculous, he got up and went over to where his case sat on the dresser, opening it with deliberate casualness. His fiddle gleamed back up at him, intact.
Devin laughed out loud with relief. She had seriously got to him this time.
Don’t mess with the fi
ddle, dream Mom, it’s what keeps me in chocolate and craft beer. But nice of you to drop by, excuse the pun.
Bren’s pushed open the bedroom door, steaming teacup in hand.
“Thought I heard you. What’s so funny?” As he looked at Devin his face paled under his russet hair.
“Rough night?” he said slowly.
Devin frowned. “Why?”
“Look in the mirror.”
Devin obediently stooped to peer into the mirror of the dresser. He raised a tentative hand to his face and touched it gingerly, confusion and pain colliding. He was covered in livid scratches, the bloody tracks gouged into his cheeks.
“I think whoever shagged you last night could do with some nail clippers.” Bren’s brow furrowed.
“I was sleepwalking again.” Devin’s face flushed, making his already tender cheeks burn. “I must have run into something sharp.”
“Or something sharp ran into you,” Bren said.
Chapter 9
Fintan
Fintan’s eyes flew open, his chest heavy with dread. He blinked into the soft light, listening to the faint drip of water. The cave was like a living thing, weeping for all the men and women who’d sought refuge there. He never thought he would be one of them. When he’d left his life in the mortal realm over a thousand years ago, it was meant to be for the last time. Was it possible for an immortal to feel tired? All he knew was even his bones ached, deep down to the marrow.
He tried shifting his position amongst the velvety furs. Cap’s solid bulk loomed in front of him, his powerful thighs turning the covers into a mountain range, with Fintan nestled in the valley. The god’s broad shoulders were relaxed and loose in a way they could never be when he was awake. It had taken decades before Cap allowed Fintan to get this close, and it was only while they slept.
Airech’s smooth body was curled up behind, his stiff cock pressed against Fintan’s back, his quiet breath warming the nape of his neck. A delicious shiver coiled in Fintan’s stomach before he suppressed it brutally. From the first day of their uneasy alliance, they had all agreed—it would be foolish to complicate things.
In the beginning, it had been easy to resist, with centuries of mutual animosity to work through. But the longer their quest dragged on, the more unnatural it felt not to turn to each other. Especially at this moment, when the night and Fintan’s thoughts were dark, and temptation was literally breathing down his neck.
Fintan sighed softly. He had allowed himself to hope, to believe they might soon be able to fulfil their purpose and go their separate ways. That had been uncharacteristic of him. In other words, unwise. Instead of being the answer, Devin was nothing but a complication.
His power to summon them from the Otherworld was a mystery, and, as far as Fintan could tell, it was the only magic he possessed. Not counting the strange, heady pull he had over them, transforming them from powerful gods into tongue-tied amadáns. And now, Devin had surprised him again.
Fintan gave Cap a gentle shake. A hand reached out to snatch his fingers, gripping them in a crushing hold.
“Calm yourself, Capall Donnrua. It’s only me,” he soothed. Cap released Fintan and faced him, propping himself up on one sinewy arm.
Sitting up sleepily, Airech pushed a lock of ebony hair from his eyes.
“I hope you woke me for a good reason, Fintan. My dream was very entertaining.”
“I’m quite aware of that,” Fintan said drily. "And I'm afraid it's the opposite of good. Devin has broken through to the Otherworld.”
Airech yawned and stretched. “That’s impossible.”
Rubbing his chin, Cap’s brow darkened. He gave Fintan a questioning look.
“I saw him with my own eyes, Cap. I believe he gained access through his dreams, as I do. But that isn’t the worst of it.”
His voice dropped, the dread rising from his chest to squeeze its icy fingers around his throat.
“I was not the only one aware of his presence there. The Sluagh have found him.”
If Fintan wasn’t so disturbed by what he’d seen, he might have gained some satisfaction from their shocked faces. It wasn’t very often they took him this seriously.
“That complicates things,” Airech said.
Cap rumbled in agreement.
“Yes, we no longer have the luxury of watching and waiting.” Fintan pushed back the furs. “We must bring him here.”
“And do what with him exactly, oh wise one?”
"Whatever is necessary," Fintan said.
Chapter 10
Devin
Devin was on the hunt for antiseptic in the small local supermarket when he saw one of the men from the beach being served at the checkout. It was Fintan, the more reserved one, with the soft eyes and gentle face.
As he moved towards the door, Devin was caught in an agony of indecision. He’d sworn to himself that if he saw Fintan or his friend again, he would move very swiftly in a different direction. Not because he didn’t want to see them. That was the trouble.
Shifting his shoulders, he could still feel the strain from trying to appear casually disinterested during their last encounter. He’d spent the whole time fighting a mental battle, Houdini-ing the hell out of his feelings, straight-jacketing them and wrapping them in chains. All so they wouldn’t escape and betray him.
He couldn’t understand it. Ever since the night of the storm, it was like someone had taken a skinning knife and flayed him, tearing at his protective hide. Every nerve ending was exposed, every emotion heightened. Feelings he didn’t even know he was capable of experiencing had come to overwhelm him, first towards Bren, and now these mysterious men. Feelings like want. And that was the dangerous thing about want. It could turn into need all too easily.
Devin lingered in the aisle for a few minutes before slipping out into the street. Fintan was standing waiting for him, a small smile on his face, which widened as he approached. If he was shocked by the scratches on Devin’s face, he didn’t show it.
“Devin. How fortunate to have met you here.”
That was one of the intriguing things about Fintan. When he spoke, he sounded strangely like a Shakespearean actor with a dash of Irish grandmother thrown in. Yet he was as baby-faced as Devin, maybe even younger-looking, with his warm eyes and mild manners.
“I wonder if I may talk to you.” Fintan cupped Devin’s elbow, causing the most heavenly sensation to creep up his arm.
Devin hesitated, but already Fintan’s touch was obscuring his judgement like a swiftly approaching storm cloud dousing the light. He shifted away, out of reach.
“I… I suppose we could grab a quick coffee. But I have to go somewhere first.” He pointed to a small pharmacy on the other side of the narrow main street.
“The apothecary? I was searching for it, myself. Airech asked me to purchase something there.” Fintan lifted the bags hanging off his arm. “He usually deals with these tasks. I must admit to being slightly lost.”
Walking inside the shop, Devin watched Fiona Darcy, the pharmacist, melt under Fintan’s charming smile. Devin knew exactly how she felt. A sense of calm still radiated through him from the slight graze of Fintan’s hand.
“Hi, Devin. What can I do for ye?” Fiona was one of Bren’s friends and very much like him, full of energy and generous with her smiles. She looked at him more closely, her face concerned. “What happened to you?”
Devin grimaced. “I walked into some brambles. It’s nothing.”
He nodded at Fintan to go first and the man pulled a slip of paper out of the pocket of his jeans, consulting it.
“Good afternoon, Madam,” he said pleasantly. “Could I trouble you for some Boy Butter?”
“What was that?” The smile fell off Fiona’s face and Devin choked, stifling a sudden laugh.
“I believe it’s a lubricant. To enhance intimacy during—”
“I’m guessing we don’t have it,” she interrupted him, peering through her black-rimmed glasses. “I’m afraid this isn’t Du
blin.” She tried to catch Devin’s eye, but he pretended to be very interested in a box of flavoured lip balms. Fiona was definitely on her own with this one.
“Indeed,” Fintan agreed amicably. “That town is many cock’s crows from here.”
“What I mean is, this is a small village pharmacy. We don’t stock it,” Fiona said. “I’d try one of the bigger towns. Or online.” She leaned forward conspiratorially, her hazel eyes dancing in her friendly face. “My eighty-year-old granny orders the stock here, and I don’t fancy getting into a discussion with her about stocking that sort of stuff. I’m still recovering from the time my nephew showed her his dating app and we had to spend half a day trying to explain the difference between bears and otters.”
Fintan gave a small bow, looking slightly perplexed. “Thank you for the suggestion. You’re very kind.”
Fiona turned her attention to Devin.
“Where have you and Bren been hiding? I haven’t seen ye in McGanns for ages.”
“We’ve been busy.”
Pointedly, she swept Fintan up and down. “I can see that. We’re meeting up for a pint tonight if you’re around. The usual crowd. Tell Bren.” She grinned. “And bring your boyfriend.”
“He’s not my—”
“Hey, none of my business,” Fiona said, holding up her palm. “Anything else I can help you lads with?”
“I think that’ll do it. Come on Fintan, let’s go.”
Fiona waved cheerily as Devin rushed for the door, Fintan following closely.
“Bye, Fintan. Nice meeting you. Sorry I couldn’t help with the lube.”
The door swung shut behind them, and Devin moved as fast as he could away from the pharmacy window and any further observation.
“Who would mistake a bear for an otter?” Fintan wondered. “They are two very distinct species.”
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