by Julia Milla
Taking the steps onto the deck, Kyran replied, “Kyran, Kyran O’Connor.” Then quickly began to apologize. “A'm sorry fur th' wey Ah look. Ah’ve bin…camping.”
The lie burnt his tongue where as any other time in all his two hundred plus years he’d been able to deceive like a thief and charm the pants off any lass who’d crossed his path. It also bothered him more than he wanted to admit that he felt self-conscious, somehow unworthy, in this woman’s presence. The need to impress her, show her that he was deserving of her attention…her kindness, made both man and dragon uneasy…off-balance.
Once again, it was the truth he felt in her words that calmed both Kyran and his beast. “I really don’t mind,” she chuckled, running her fingers through the fur at Duke’s neck. “You look fine to me.” Her chuckle turned into a laugh that sounded more joyous than the bells of All Saints’ Cathedral on Easter Sunday. Taking a deep breath, she calmed her laughter and said, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be silly.” She shook her head. “It’s just been a long time since I felt comfortable enough with anyone to laugh and joke. The only people I see are doctors, nurses, and caregivers, who all feel obliged to pity the poor little blind girl.”
Blind?
It was then he saw the tiny white scars emanating from her hairline then flowing around her light blue eyes and across the bridge of her pert little nose like the tiniest of spiders had decorated her porcelain skin to show its appreciation for her beauty. The closer he looked, the more stunning she became. Her long, thick, dark as midnight hair was straight as a stick, flowing down her back and onto her bum while shining in the moonlight like spun silk. The length and curl of her ebony lashes made the crystal azure of her eyes glow against the backdrop of the night surrounding them with just the tips touching the natural pink glow of her high cheek bones when she blinked or smiled.
Her pouty red lips, with their defined cupid’s bow, reminded Kyran of the hearts the vibria’s used to leave in his lunch pail on Valentine’s Day. His mouth watered to see if her kisses tasted as sweet as her mouth portrayed. She was tall and curvy and held herself with confidence, so much so that he was shocked anyone could think of her as disabled in any way.
Watching her hand as she continued to stroke the dog’s fur, Kyran noticed the same web of scars skittering across the back of her hand and winding their way up her wrist. It suddenly made sense why he’d always seen her in clothing with long sleeves. Rage, stronger than what he carried with him every day, burst through him at the thought of someone such a Caitlin having suffered such pain.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” She turned to go into the house with head hung low, murmuring, “Why can’t I just keep my mouth shut?”
Her words jerked him from his thoughts and forced him to rush to explain. “Na, na, na, lass, it's Ah whoo is soory.” Kyran took a step forward. “Ah wasn't thinkin’. Wasn't payin’ attention.” He tried to chuckle and even to his ears it sounded forced, like a rusty hinge being forced open after too many years dormant. “Tis Ah whoo is soory,” he repeated, out of his element and at a total loss for words.
“You have nothing to be sorry about. There’s no way you could’ve known.” She turned back toward him with a look of utter relief that shooed away his clouds of doubt. Motioning with her hand, she headed back into the house, calling over her shoulder, “Come on in. Let’s have something to eat. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
Kyran opened his mouth to tell her he was fine at the same time the scent of something succulent filled the air and his stomach growled with such fervor that Caitlin laughed out loud. Helpless to do anything but laugh along, the black dragon followed the raven-haired beauty across the threshold and into the kitchen. Shutting the door behind him, he stood with his back against the wall and watched as she felt along the counter, stopped at the stove, and after putting mitts on both hands, opened the oven and pulled out a foil covered pan that filled his senses with a most heavenly scent.
Rushing to help, Kyran bit back a curse as he grabbed the hot dish, holding on until it was safely sitting on the top of the stove. Hissing as he looked at his bright red palms, the black dragon reached for the faucet just as Caitlin screamed, “Oh my God!” Tearing off the mitts, she grabbed the backs of his hands and shoved them into the sink while turning on the water. “What were you thinking?” she scolded. “From the smell of burning skin, I’m sure this is going to blister,” she continued, holding his burnt flesh under the steady stream of cool water.
Electric shocks rocketed through his body at the touch of her hands on his. Unable to breathe, never wanting it to end, afraid it would never happen again, feeling light-headed and more than a little disoriented, he could only stare at their joined hands. Holding her head up, facing him as if she could see him, Caitlin scowled so profoundly he could feel her displeasure as she chastised, “Why did you do that?”
“Ah…Ah…” Unsure how to answer because he had acted on pure instinct, filled with the need to help her as she struggled, Kyran finally said, “Ah’ll heal.”
Pursing her lips and rolling her eyes, Caitlin opened a cabinet just above her head and after just a few seconds of rubbing her fingers across the top of several containers, pulled out a brown glass jar, unscrewed the lid, and began to cover his hands with a paste of what smelled like herbs and flower blossoms. Before he could ask, she was explaining, “It’s just liniment my father taught me to make when I was a little girl. And I know you’ll heal. We all heal. That’s not the point. You got hurt in my home. It is totally unacceptable. You have suffered enough.”
Once again her words took him off guard. She cared? About him? And knew… Before he could finish his thought, Caitlin was pulling him toward the table and forcing him to sit. Muttering to herself, she walked to the refrigerator with very deliberate steps, held out her hand at just the right time, opened the freezer, and pulled out a tray of ice.
“How could I let this happen? He’s hurt…again…” she mumbled under her breath. Kyran smiled, listening to her talk to herself as she made two ice packs with plastic bags before returning to his side.
Taking his hands, she laid them palm side up on the table then gently placed the ice packs she’d wrapped in tea towels on his throbbing skin. “How’s that?”
The shock of the cold against his hot skin woke him from his stupor, making him realize she’d asked him a question. “Tis okay, Caitlin. It'll be goone soon enough, bit what dae ye knoo o' mah suffering?”
Turning her head away from him, the blush on her cheeks darkened and her pulse raced. He’d seen it too many times but always in those attempting to deceive him. This time, there was no subterfuge, no need to hide precious details, only Caitlin’s embarrassment and faint hint of fear.
Worried that he’d frightened her, Kyran quickly apologized, “Ah’m sorry. Ah dinnae mean to be gruff.”
Shifting from one foot to the other, Caitlin slowly turned back toward him, laid her hand on his shoulder, and sighed, “Stop apologizing, Kyran. You’ve done nothing wrong.” She paused, took a deep breath, and then continued, “How about we get you something to eat then you take a shower?” Caitlin grinned and pinched the tip of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. “Because I may not be able to see you, but I will admit that you smell a little worse for wear.”
“Ah’m soo…”
“And if you apologize one more time, I swear I’m gonna let Duke bite you.” She laughed out loud. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. That old adage about losing one sense and the others becoming more acute is absolutely true. I swear I know when my neighbors are baking cookies and they live more than ten miles away.”
Feeling a little better but still not sure how one small blind woman could turn his world upside-down, inside-out, and end-over-end, Kyran nodded in agreement then quickly added, “Okay, if yer absoluutelee sure. Ah wull admit yur cookin’ smells reelly good.” As if on cue and to make matters worse, his stomach chose that precise second to once aga
in growl so loudly that not only did Caitlin laugh, but Duke growled back.
Still giggling, she walked to the stove, pulled plates from the cabinet to her left then reached into the drawer on her right and pulled out a knife. Wanting to help but not wanting to seem pushy, Kyran stood, slowly walked to her side, and asked, “Cannae help?”
Taking the foil off the roast, she handed him the knife and teased, “I’m guessing you’re worried about the blind woman using a knife.” Her wink stopped the apology that was on his lips as he took the knife and smiled. “Na, ma’am, nae at all. Juist tryin’ tae hulp.”
Shaking her head, Caitlin grinned. “You’re not a very good liar, Kyran.”
Nae wi' ye…
It was true. He couldn’t lie to her…didn’t want to lie to her. Something about this special woman made him want to be a better man…a better dragon. He knew she wouldn’t like what he had to do; might even try to talk him out of destroying another human being. But she didn’t know Eve O’Baoill. Didn’t know what the evil bitch had done and would keep doing if he didn’t stop her. Caitlin was a sensitive soul. He could feel the empathy and goodness pouring out of her. There was no way she would ever condone the path of revenge he was about to take. He could try to explain, try to make her see reason, but then what would she think of him? Would he lose the precious gift he’d just received?
Her hand on his arm made him jump and ask, “What?” with much more force than he intended. But she smiled. “I think you’ve sliced enough. By my count there’s ten pieces and, unless you have your whole clan out there, I’m thinking you can stop.”
“Mah clan?” he asked, stepping away from her touch, needing to shield himself from whatever spell he was under and look at Caitlin with clear eyes and an even clearer head.
His dragon growled and pushed the man to return to her side, but Kyran fought the need, instead asking, “Whit dae ye knoo o' mah clan? Or any clan fur that matter?” He leaned forward. “Whit dae ye knoo o' me, Caitlin Brookes?”
Knowing she couldn’t see the threatening look on his face honestly made Kyran feel better. Both his expression and his tone lacked his normal fierce demeanor and the rage that was always brewing just under the surface. Because if Kyran O’Connor was honest with himself, he didn’t want to intimidate Caitlin, didn’t want to scare her. He wanted to protect her and keep her safe from anyone or anything that could take the smile from her face. Unfortunately, the fact remained, this little blind girl, as she’d called herself, saw more than most and he needed to know how and why.
“What I know of you, Kyran O’Connor, is that you are a dragon,” she answered with more sass and attitude than he thought possible as she slammed her fists to her hips, furrowing her brow and continuing, “Not only a dragon but a one of the elite Dragon Guardsmen.” She took a step forward. Her ample breast heaved as her temper grew. “I know that you have suffered at the hands of your enemies. I know that you have more regrets than dreams. I know that the need for vengeance drives your every move and I know that you sat out under my weeping willow for six nights, standing guard, protecting me, without a clue why.”
She took one more step forward, shaking with a rage he somehow knew wasn’t directed at him but that he nonetheless needed to understand. Opening his mouth to ask, the words froze on his tongue as Caitlin added in a low ominous tone, “And what I know, that you never could’ve guessed when you found your way to my home, is that I want Eve O’Baoill dead even more than you do.”
Chapter Two
She hadn’t meant to say that. Hadn’t meant to let him know she knew what he was, what he’d been through, or that she too, had a personal vendetta with the evil bitch, Eve O’Baoill, but as her old granny used to say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. And…Caitlin never could keep her mouth shut, especially when she was angry.
Her propensity to open her mouth and insert her foot had only gotten worse since the fire, and the many, many foster homes she’d run away from in the middle of the night to keep innocent lives safe. Not only had she needed to stay hidden from the hunters who killed her family, but also the full-blooded banshees who wanted to use her hybrid power for their own ill-gotten gains. Her mother had told her stories about the ones called The Others. How they lived on the fringes of human society and apart from the other special people in the world, using their advanced knowledge of death to steal from those bound for the afterlife right under the noses of their grieving families. They were evil, tired of being pushed aside because of their affinity for death, and out for no one but themselves.
Because Caitlin was both banshee and gypsy, she not only possessed the foresight of death but also the ability to tell a person’s future….to see more with her magic than anyone’s eyes ever could. The Others, should they find her, would use her advanced knowledge to find a plethora of unsuspecting victims who were still months, or more likely, years from death when their powers only allowed them a week or two. With the ability to plan further ahead, they would be able to amass untold fortunes, overthrow the supernatural hierarchy, and rule the paranormal world. That much unchecked death and gloom would be detrimental to the delicate balance of light and dark and ultimately, lead to Armageddon. There was no way Caitlin could let that happen. So, she stayed hidden, waiting, watching, and praying for an answer. Never had she imagined it would come in the form of the dragon standing before her. But here he was and there was no way she was losing her opportunity.
Or him…
She felt his shock, heard the knife hit the floor, and recognized Duke’s warning growl a split second before Kyran’s hands were on her shoulders and he was demanding, “Whit did ye juist say?”
Focusing on both the angry dragon and the snarling German Shepherd, Caitlin ordered, “Down, Duke,” before adding in a softer tone, “I’m okay. Kyran won’t hurt me.” To the dragon, purposely ignoring his question, she challenged, “Am I wrong?”
His fingers tightened ever so slightly on her arms. It was obvious he was trying to intimidate, not harm her. His breath brushed her cheek as he took several deep inhales while trying to calm the chaos within. She could feel him looking into her eyes. The intensity of his gaze a warm caress, making her wish she could look back at him with the same intensity, make him see the truth of her words. But that was not to be. It was yet something else the O’Baoill’s had taken from her…so, she patiently waited.
When Kyran finally spoke, it was through gritted teeth and his hands shook where they still gripped her arms, “Na, nae wrong, but how dae ye knoo?”
Squaring her shoulders, working hard to ignore the sparks of their connection skittering through her body, she calmly explained, “I know what you’re thinking. Can feel your suspicions. But you couldn’t be more wrong.” She paused, wishing once again for her sight. Something she hadn’t done in years but now, with this man, pined for. It would make things so much easier if they could look into one another’s eyes and he could see that she was telling the truth. But, that ship had sailed long ago. Now, it was all up to Kyran and that damned thing called Fate. He either would or wouldn’t believe her. She didn’t have the dreadful feeling of death filling her soul. Didn’t have the need to wail and call the reaper, and because of that she powered on, pouring everything she felt into her words. “I’m a banshee…well, part banshee and part gypsy. Dad’s family was from Romania and still practiced the old ways – magic and fortune telling, a few evil curses on their enemies - you know, the good stuff.” She snorted with the hopes it might ease the tension.
Yeah, fat chance…
“Mom, she was the banshee, like I’m guessing your mother was.” She felt the tension increase in his hands and could see the turmoil in his mind. The visions of his mother from his childhood were vivid and filled with love and happiness. Unfortunately, an all-encompassing darkness quickly swallowed the light as the gut-wrenching sadness of her death washed away his short-lived joy.
His memories broke her heart. She saw a young wavy-haired boy sittin
g on the highest ledge of a huge mountain overlooking the ocean as the waves crashed against the shore and lightning streaked the turbulent sky. Tears filled her eyes as the child contemplated diving into the icy waters with the hopes of finding his mother in the afterlife. This man’s suffering began at such a young age and only intensified as the years passed.
Rushing to explain, Caitlin rambled, “So, as luck would have it, when you mix a gypsy and a banshee, you activate what the Celts call the An Radharcna Beatha Agus Bás or as I’m guessing you already know, the Sight of Life and Death. What it means is that when I come in contact with someone, I can see the highlights of their life… Although I must admit, I get more from you than anyone else I’ve ever touched.”
No sooner had the words left her mouth than Kyran’s hands were off her body and she heard his hasty steps backward. Unable to hold back her laughter, Caitlin chuckled. “It’s a little late now. I’ve seen it all.”
Biting her bottom lip to stop any further giggles, she added, “I mean it’s not like I saw you naked or anything. Your memories, the ones that had the most impact on you at the time they actually happened, just run through my mind like a movie on fast forward pretty much all the time.” She shivered at the absence of his touch, her arms instinctually wrapping around her own body, trying to restore the warmth lost when Kyran backed away. “I will admit it’s the first time images have actually jumped out at me like the ones involving the O’Baoill’s did, but I’m guessing that’s because of our shared history with them.”
The fact that she could still feel what he was feeling was disconcerting. Usually, the transference stops as soon as the contact ended, but not with Kyran. With him, only the images disappeared. The emotions remained just as vibrantly as if they were her own. The need to console him, to make him understand, beat at her like the waves on the shore, forcing her to add, “Of course, there’s one big difference in our situations. They thought I was dead. I never had to endure their torture.”
