Dark Alpha's Lover

by Donna Grant

  She strode past him, seemingly indifferent to his gaze feasting on her gorgeous flesh, and headed for the bathroom.

  His eyes dropped to her bottom, watching her hips sway with each step. He remembered the feel of those hips moving as she sat atop him and brought him into her body.

  “By your silence, you agree.”

  He blinked, his mind pulled back to the present. “I agree that it could be a ploy, but I don’t think Bran would go that route when there’s another way.”

  She turned the shower on. “What might that be?”

  “Coming to you himself.” He walked to the bathroom doorway and leaned a shoulder against the jamb as he watched her testing the water.

  “You really think he’s going to just come up to me?” she asked with a laugh.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “I would.”

  She looked at him over her shoulder before wrinkling her nose. “I suppose. But won’t he realize you’re with me?”

  “I’m sure he’s counting on it.”

  Cat pinned her hair atop her head and climbed into the bathtub before she pulled the clear shower curtain closed. “Bran is nuts if he thinks I’ll go anywhere with him if he attempts to kill you.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” He was trying—and failing—not to look at her and think of the water gliding over the skin he’d touched and kissed just hours earlier.

  He tried not to think of her ragged breaths, her moans of pleasure, and her cries of ecstasy. The more he attempted to turn his mind away from it, the more the entire night replayed in his head.

  His gaze followed her movements as she soaped up her body then rinsed off. He’d never seen anything so sexy. The fact that no Fae female would ever let him this close was partly to blame for his fascination.

  “Please tell me you don’t want me to sit around waiting for Bran to pop into my kitchen,” she said as she turned off the water. She pushed the shower curtain open and held out her hand.

  Fintan handed her a towel. “Bran can’t get inside the house anymore. I warded it.”

  A slim red brow lifted. “Is that so?”

  “You need to be safe somewhere.”

  “And how are you still inside, then?”

  He smiled. “I’m that good.”

  “Yes. I know you are.”

  Her seductive look had him hard in an instant. She smiled as if knowing what she’d done. Then she stepped out of the tub and hung up the towel.

  When she walked out of the bathroom, he sighed. How was he ever supposed to think straight when she looked at him in that way after making such a comment with carnal undertones?

  He walked into the living room and thought of Bran. What was the bastard’s next move? Bran wanted Cat, but why had he killed the grandfather? Something didn’t make sense. There was a piece missing, some knowledge Fintan lacked that could help him see the bigger picture.

  “Staring at the wall isn’t going to give us answers,” Cat said as she came up beside him. “We need more information.”

  He hated that clothes now covered her amazing body. “And by that, you mean finding Bran.”

  “Where else but with him will we find out what we need to know?”

  Fintan shook his head. “Cat, you’re playing a dangerous game. You’ve not seen what Bran can do. He manipulates people and things to his advantage. You can’t believe anything he tells you.”

  “I won’t. But you know I’m right. We need information.”

  No matter how he looked at it, he couldn’t make a move without knowing more about Bran’s interest in Cat.

  And how she had called the weapon.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cat walked from Galway through the paths toward her grandfather’s cottage with a mist of rain being blown about by the high winds. But it wasn’t the weather that concerned her.

  Though it had been her idea to be somewhere Bran could reach her, she’d been more confident in her own home. It didn’t matter that Fintan was veiled behind her. For all intents and purposes, she was alone.

  And that scared her.

  She put her hands in her coat pockets and huddled in the scarf she’d wrapped around her neck. The ice in her veins from fear only made her colder.

  With each step that took her away from Galway, she knew something big was going to happen. She didn’t know what or how, but it was a sensation she couldn’t shake.

  She blinked against the wind that cut into her eyes, already itchy from lack of sleep. It had been dreams of her grandfather dying that had kept waking her. Though, each time, Fintan was there with his arms around her. It was his presence that had allowed her to drift back off.

  In between the few hours of rest she’d gotten, she thought about the dagger—the same weapon that was now hidden in her jacket.

  There was no explanation for how the blade had gone from her kitchen table to her hand. Fintan couldn’t give her an answer, but maybe Bran could. That is if she wanted him to know she had that ability.

  Ha. Ability. She rolled her eyes. She, more than anyone, knew that she had no magic. Nothing she’d done growing up had produced even a thimbleful of it. So, why now?

  Was it the weapon?

  No, that couldn’t be it. If it were, Fintan would’ve told her.

  Was it Fintan?

  He was a Reaper, but he hadn’t mentioned any of the other Halflings suddenly finding magic with the Reapers around. So that was out.

  Was it Bran?

  This one stumped her because she honestly didn’t know. She couldn’t come up with a reason to exclude him as she had the other things. But at the same time, she couldn’t say it was him, either. It was a conundrum.

  Her steps slowed when the cottage came into sight. She hadn’t been able to look at it yesterday—the grief had been too raw. And today wasn’t much better.

  She was alone. Completely alone now. Holidays wouldn’t be spent surrounded by family with laughter and stories from prior years. They would now be spent in the quiet of her house, pretending that whatever holiday it was didn’t exist.

  God, how she hated the Fae. Why couldn’t they have left her family alone? Why had she been born a Halfling? Why couldn’t she have had a normal family that fought all the time? At least they’d be alive.

  A family that hounded her about her poor decisions or her hair or a man. A family who would call, demanding that she come for Sunday dinner every week, or who popped by without calling. A family who made her drink excessively at Christmas because being surrounded by all of them gave her hives.

  Any family at all would be welcome. No matter the problems, no matter how much they might drive her mad, she just wanted family again.

  The loneliness had never struck her so hard as it did at that moment. It cut through her, causing her to gasp from the pain of it.

  She made her way to the burnt shed where she’d seen Bran beckoning her. Fintan was sure he was watching her. She hoped Bran was because she was ready to talk. Though she wasn’t sure if she was all that ready to hear what he might say.

  That’s what made her stomach clench in dread. A gnawing, churning feeling in her gut that had begun the moment she’d gotten out of bed that morning. It was a sensation that something was about to happen, and she had a suspicion that it wasn’t going to be very good.

  The thing was, if Fintan knew Bran was watching, then Bran had to know Fintan would be veiled and waiting near her. Fintan was only one Reaper, and Bran would have other men with him.

  Which meant there was a very good chance Bran would kill Fintan. That couldn’t happen. She refused to allow such a thing to occur.

  She might not have been able to save anyone in her family, but there was a tiny, infinitesimal chance that she could keep Fintan safe. After everything he’d done for her—was still doing—she had to try.

  It wasn’t just keeping Fintan alive. There was also a burning need to know what Bran wanted with her.

  She squeezed her tired eyes shut. If only she could be som
ewhere where Bran couldn’t hurt her but that Fintan couldn’t see them. Thereby allowing her to get all the information she needed.

  When she opened her eyes, Bran stood in front of her.

  She was so startled that she took a step back. For his part, Bran merely looked pleased.

  “Hello, Cat,” he said. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you and I were able to talk.” His silver eyes held no malice, but then again, madmen often hid their true feelings.

  “Here I am. Talk.” She sounded much braver than she felt. Was Fintan near enough to hear the conversation?

  “Don’t you want to know about me?”

  “I already do,” she retorted. It took every ounce of willpower not to look around for Fintan.

  Bran scrutinized her curiously and smiled. “Well, that’s not quite fair, now is it? Considering you heard my story from a third party who wasn’t even there.”

  “There were rules, you broke them, Death killed your woman, you got angry and divided the Reapers, and then you killed some. All before Death put you in the Netherworld. Did I leave anything out?”

  Instead of becoming angry, Bran threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, you are a treasure, Catriona Hayes. Now I wish we would’ve talked much sooner.”

  “Because I say what I want?” she asked sarcastically.

  “Yes.”

  She wasn’t fooled by his charm or the fact that his eyes were silver instead of the red they should be. “Is there anything you want to add to the story about you?”

  The smile melted from his face as his gaze became haunted. It was there just a moment before the look was shuttered and replaced with a mask of indifference. “Have you ever been in love?”

  “I can’t say that I have.”

  “Then you don’t know what it means to find someone who is your other half, who fills a void you didn’t know you had until you met them.”

  Her thoughts immediately turned to Fintan. Was it Fate that put a Fae in her path, one who gave her all those things? “I don’t, no.”

  “What a pity. Maybe then you would understand the depth of my anguish when Death killed her.”

  “You broke the rules. What did you expect?”

  “I expected that my time and loyalty to the Reapers would earn me some leniency.” Bran snorted and looked over her shoulder toward the sea. “Instead, the love of my life was killed before I could warn her or say good-bye.”

  There was a part of Cat that began to feel sorry for him until she recalled what he’d done next in the story. “That still doesn’t give you the right to break the rules and expect special treatment. Nor does it give you leave to kill your brethren.”

  “Death’s time is setting. Mine is rising. It’s why she didn’t want any of us to love.”

  Cat raised a brow at the use of she. So Death was a female. She hadn’t seen that one coming. But she quite liked the idea. “You believe that Death put the rule that you couldn’t have a relationship in place because it would give you more power if you had someone to love?”

  “I do.”

  “Then why are there three Reapers who have fallen in love and brought their women into the fold?”

  Bran’s face didn’t change, but the force of his fury nearly bowled her over. “What did you say?”

  Shit. Was she not supposed to tell him that? Was it a secret the Reapers were keeping? If only she would’ve thought to ask Fintan.

  “Tell me,” Bran demanded.

  She immediately took offense and put a hand up to keep him away. “I don’t have to tell you a damn thing.”

  He began to take a step toward her, then thought better of it. “You’re right. You don’t. It’s your choice.”

  “What do you want with me?” It was time to change the subject—and get some answers.

  Bran looked at her curiously. “It really isn’t an act, is it?”

  “What? That I have no magic? Of course, it’s not an act.”

  His lips lifted in a smile. “Who lied to you, Cat?”

  “No one lied to me. I’ve known my entire life.”

  “That’s not true.”

  She frowned at him, hating the spike of hope that surged within her. “What do you mean?”

  “How did you call the weapon yesterday?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He nodded slowly, his lips twisting as he gazed at her. “And how did you call me?”

  “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Look around, my dear girl.”

  Cat was suddenly afraid to. That knot in her stomach twisted painfully. She took a deep breath and then turned. Her mouth fell open when she saw that there was a clear dome around them.

  “What did you say or think about me?” Bran urged.

  “That I wanted to talk somewhere you couldn’t harm me.” She left off the thought about Fintan. No need to alert Bran that he was near.

  Bran laughed. “Brilliant. Perfectly brilliant.”

  She turned back to face him. “You’re saying I did this?”

  “Of course.”

  “How? How is this possible when I’ve not been able to do anything magical before?” she asked.

  His smile was sly, cunning, and it instantly put her on edge and had warning bells tolling in her head.

  Bran held out his hand. “Come with me, and I’ll tell you everything.”

  “No.”

  He lifted his brows. “You might want to rethink that.”

  “The answer is a firm, and final, no,” she declared.

  His arm dropped to his side as he tsked. “What a pity. I thought you might want to see your grandfather.”

  Of all the things she’d thought he might say, that had never occurred to her. With the grief still so fresh and raw, her fury went through the roof.

  “How dare you,” she said with every ounce of her fury lacing her words. “How fekking dare you. Who do you think you are to play with someone’s emotions like that? I’m going to make sure you go back to the Netherworld because I’m going to take your sorry ass there myself.”

  She yanked the dagger from her jacket and launched herself at Bran. He fell back on the sand, not bothering to defend himself. She didn’t care. All she knew was that the one responsible for her grandfather’s death was right before her.

  And it was time for payback.

  She sliced his chest once, twice. Then she raised the weapon over her head to plunge it into his heart. That’s when she saw his arms out at his sides, his eyes staring at her without an ounce of fear.

  “Why aren’t you defending yourself?” she demanded.

  He shrugged helplessly. “I can’t. It’s your magic.”

  “So I could kill you now.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good,” she said and raised the weapon higher.

  His eyes widened, a hint of fear showing. “Wait! Don’t you want to know about your grandfather?”

  “You’re lying about him.”

  “Am I?”

  The taunt was there, hanging between them. Fintan told her not to believe anything Bran said. Then there was the part where she could end the war Fintan and the other Reapers were involved in.

  But what if Bran were telling the truth? What if he had her grandfather?

  “Whose body burned?” she asked.

  Bran lifted his shoulders. “I told Searlas to find a mortal.”

  Cat lowered the weapon. She couldn’t believe she wasn’t going to kill him, but the thought of possibly having her grandfather returned was too good to pass up.

  She got off Bran and stood. “If you’re right and I can use magic for things like this,” she said, waving her hands at the dome, “then I can do it again and kill you.”

  “If that’s what you believe.”

  There was something about his words that bothered her. “I want proof that my grandfather is still alive. Once I have it, then we’ll talk.”

  “That’s a reasonable enough deal. However, you’re goi
ng to have to rid yourself of a Reaper.”

  “Go away,” she told him, wishing it with all her might.

  And he did.

  The dome vanished, as well, and in the next heartbeat, Fintan stood before her with rage shining in his red-rimmed white eyes.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The wariness in Fintan’s eyes caused Cat to second-guess her decision. He might not have been able to see her with Bran, but he knew. It was there in his gaze, in the condemning way he looked at her.

  She didn’t step back, though she wanted to. She stood her ground, chin up.

  “What did you do?” he demanded.

  An avalanche of words tumbled through her mind, but there wasn’t a single one she found that could be used to make him understand why she’d done what she’d done.

  “Cat,” he said. “Tell me what you did.”

  It didn’t matter if she wanted to tell him or not because she knew she couldn’t. What had happened with Bran needed to be kept from Fintan. For now.

  At least, until she knew if Bran spoke the truth about her grandfather or not.

  But there was one thing she could tell him.

  “I used magic.”

  There was no surprise on his face, no form of delight at the news. Instead, he stood stoic and apathetic. “Magic.”

  “Yes.”

  “For someone who has stated many times she wasn’t able to use magic, you now suddenly have it. Strange, is it not?”

  She swallowed, hating the gulf that divided them. She reached out her hand, grasping his arm. Last night, she’d never felt closer to another person. And now . . . she’d never felt farther away.

  “I didn’t lie to you before. I honestly believed I didn’t have any. The more I thought about the dagger, the more I wanted to replicate what I did. So I tried.”

  “How?” he demanded.

  She couldn’t tell him about Bran. Not even when there was a chance he might understand because of her grandfather. Simply because she knew Fintan would come to one conclusion: that she had betrayed him.