by A. S. Green
“Just browsing,” Declan growled. He directed Rowan all the way through the store to the back exit and into the alley. When they hit the fresh air, they joined hands, closed their eyes, and were gone.
* * *
Declan pulled Rowan inside the house, feeling as though the threat was still on their heels. It wasn’t, of course. Pádraigs couldn’t tilt and, for as long as he could remember, there had been a protective charm on the house that made it invisible to pádraigs, full-blooded ones at least. They couldn’t be followed.
Rowan’s face was still pale as she turned toward him. “Were they… Do you think they were…?” Black Castle was the unfinished ending to her question.
“Still don’t know for sure, but I didn’t like the look of them. Better safe than sorry.” At least when it comes to you.
He wiped sweat from his upper lip, and Rowan noticed. “How are you feeling?” she asked. “Stress can affect your symptoms. I’ll check your vitals, then make us some tea.”
She walked down the hall toward the kitchen with Declan close behind her.
“I don’t know if we keep tea in the house,” he said.
Rowan turned over her shoulder to respond and accidentally knocked her shoulder against the built-in cupboards in the hall. The jarring disengaged the spring lock to one of the doors, and it popped open. The smell of its interior—wood and whiskey—rushed out into the hall, flooding Declan’s senses and conjuring his dark memories so intensely he could not defend himself against them.
He staggered backward, caught himself on the opposite wall, and doubled over, putting his hands to his knees.
“Declan? Honey, are you all right?”
He shook his head while his vision grew dark. The sight, the smell of that damn open cupboard… The taste of bile and whiskey in his mouth… It was all still so fresh. It made his head spin and his eyes roll back. His body felt the same sense of light fluidity as when he tilted. But he went down like a bag of sand.
“Wake up! Declan! Wake up. We need to hide.” It was his brother Cormac’s voice, and he sounded panicked. That couldn’t be right. His big brother wasn’t afraid of anything.
“What are ye doing?” Declan asked, throwing an arm over his eyes.
“Let’s go,” Cormac said. “Hurry!”
Declan moved his arm and opened his eyes. There was a black rabbit at Cormac’s feet. It made him laugh. He must be dreaming. He slumped back against his pillow and turned over.
“No,” Cormac whisper-yelled. “Get up!”
Declan twisted his neck and squinted at him. Aiden and Madigan were now in his room, as well.
“Fine,” he said, deciding to play along. Maybe it was a game. That would make sense. Cormac always had the best ideas.
But it wasn’t a game.
The rabbit hopped over to the large wardrobe in Declan’s room. Aiden followed the rabbit and dragged Madigan along with him. That’s when they all heard their father’s angry voice from downstairs.
Cormac’s head jerked around. “This way,” he said, leading them away from Declan’s wardrobe and toward his doorway.
The rabbit went up on its hind legs in alarm, then it raced to the doorway as if it could block their path. What the hell was a rabbit even doing in their house? How did it get inside? Cormac didn’t seem to have any of these same questions.
Declan could hear his parents arguing downstairs. His father sounded angry; his mother, scared.
Declan grabbed the back of Cormac’s nightshirt; Aiden clung to Declan, and Madigan to Aiden, the four of them connected like the cars of their toy train. They crept on quiet stockinged feet toward the stairs, then down, along the corridor and into the built-in cupboards outside the kitchen. It had been a favorite spot during games of hide-and-seek, until it became the first place they all checked.
When Cormac pulled the door shut behind them, they were shrouded in darkness. The only senses Declan had left were the feel of Cormac’s shirt still held tight in his fingers, the sound of his parents’ voices, and the smell of wood and whiskey.
“The Black Castle,” their father said.
“Here?” his mother asked. “They’ve followed us here?”
“Aye, Siobhan. Are the lads asleep?”
“Yes, but, Conan, what does this mean?”
There was a knock at the back door.
After that, all Declan remembered was a symphony of wet, gurgling, gruesome sounds and the dull thud of weight hitting the floor. He didn’t understand, but he could smell the blood, and he could smell the fear. It was like fear had become an extra inhabitant inside the already crowded cupboard.
“Search the house,” said a stranger’s voice, just an inch from the cupboard door. “They may have children, or boarders.”
Declan didn’t move. In fact, he barely breathed, and he vowed to do nothing else without Cormac’s permission.
It seemed like hours later, when Cormac finally opened the cupboard. They walked into the kitchen, and Declan lost the last bit of control he had left. As Madigan cried for their mother, Declan retched in a pool of his father’s blood.
He was only eleven years old, but Declan grabbed a bottle on the counter and washed his mouth out with whiskey.
“Declan. Declan. Wake up now. That’s an order.” Rowan slapped him gently on his cheeks.
When he opened his eyes, she was on her knees beside him, her gorgeous strawberry blond hair falling like curtains on either side of her face. She had his boots off, and she was holding his legs off the ground, higher than his heart.
How fucking humiliating could this weekend get?
“Welcome back to the living,” she said. “We’ve missed you.”
Declan cringed at her choice of words, but as her gentle hand pressed a cold cloth to his forehead, her bright smile banished the lingering darkness from his mind.
Declan closed his eyes and let her words sink in. She’d said “we,” but he was pretty sure she’d meant “I.” I’ve missed you. And somewhere in the back of his mind, he had the vaguest memory of something else. Of her calling his name… Calling out to him… Calling him…honey?
Chapter Seven
ROWAN
“Better?” Rowan asked as she handed Declan a tall glass filled with a thick green concoction she’d made from puréed broccoli, turnip, collard greens, and clam juice. She’d managed to get him to the red leather couch in the sitting room and now had him wrapped in a plush green blanket. She sat beside him, and pretended to check the pulse in his wrist. Any excuse to touch him. It was starting to get pathetic.
Declan stared into his glass and wrinkled his nose in the most adorable way. “What is this?”
“A health tonic.”
“It smells disgusting.”
Rowan looked at him for a beat, then rolled her eyes. “Fine.” Concentrating and pulling from her rarely used skills, she glamoured the tonic into a thick vanilla milkshake. At least, she hoped she had; she’d got the color change right. “Is that better?”
Declan looked again, then he laughed once through his nose. “Nice trick. Looks good.”
Rowan shrugged. “I try.”
“I’ve never seen a daoine use their talents. What else can ye glamour?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have reason to do it very often, so just a few little things. And not clothes like shifters. Now, that’s a talent!” Rowan blinked when she realized the significance of what she’d said, then her face blazed molten at the reminder that, even though she could see Declan fully clothed, those clothes weren’t really there. In reality, he was sitting next to her…on the couch…buck naked.
Declan seemed completely oblivious to that reality and took a long draw of milkshake through the straw. He winced when the cold hit his brain, so she felt pretty good about the level of detail she was able to put into the glamour.
“This is not how I wanted this weekend to go,” he groaned, looking down into the glass.
“How did you want it to go?” she asked. She hoped her minimized
reaction to his collapse was making him feel a little less self-conscious about it, but she wasn’t sure it was working.
He took off his glasses and set them on the arm of the couch. “Well, I didn’t want this weekend to happen at all."
She knew that, but still, ouch.
"At least not at first.” He propped his feet up on the coffee table, accidentally knocking the remote onto the floor, and crossed his ankles.
“But?” she prompted, trying to keep her eyes off those damn sexy feet of his.
“But once I knew it was inevitable, I wanted to be a hell of a lot cooler than I’ve been.”
Rowan shrugged to signify he was worrying about nothing. Despite the faint, his color was definitely improving. In fact, overall everything had been improving. The sallowness and dark circles under his eyes had faded greatly just in the last week, and even more since breakfast.
“You’re fine,” she assured him.
“Screaming out in the middle of the night, fainting in my own house… This is not the behavior of an alpha male.”
This made her smile. “And that’s what you want to be?”
He smiled back. She thought it might be the first time they'd shared something like that, and it warmed her right down to her toes.
“Well,” he said, leaning toward her conspiratorially, “I suppose Cormac has dibs on Alpha since he’s the oldest, but I’d like to achieve solid Beta status before ye have to leave.”
She pulled her legs under her and stretched her arm out along the back of the couch. “If it makes you feel better, you’re doing much better than I was expecting. Drug withdrawal can be a nasty business, and I haven’t even had to use the restraints yet.”
A look of scandalized surprise flashed across his face, then he arched one eyebrow. “You brought restraints?”
She shoved his shoulder playfully. “I’m not talking velvet ropes here, Romeo.”
He feigned disappointment, then his face went serious, and he turned to face her straight on. “I think I owe ye an explanation for what happened in the hallway.”
Rowan inhaled deeply through her nose. Declan hadn’t reported any symptoms of losing consciousness to Doc; at least, she hadn’t read anything about it in his chart. If he’d been holding something back, it might affect the treatment regimen. “I’m listening.”
“Today is the anniversary of my parents’ death.”
Declan said it so bluntly that Rowan’s mouth dropped open in response. Shit. No wonder his moods had been so mercurial. Doc must have known this. He’d been around when the MacConalls died. Why on earth would he have chosen this weekend to yank away Declan’s crutch? Rowan closed her mouth and stayed quiet, hoping he’d keep talking.
“That’s why Cormac insisted on getting married today. He wanted to give this day a new meaning. Replace a bad memory with a good one. It’s also why Aiden wanted to go. He hates being in the house on the anniversary.”
“But not you.”
“For me…” He paused for a few seconds before continuing. “I can’t be anywhere else but here. I owe my parents that respect, that observance.”
Rowan thought she understood what he meant. If anything happened to her parents, she’d probably live in Dún Laoghaire Manor for the rest of her life. Not because she loved it—she didn’t—but because she imagined that would be the only place she’d be able to still feel them with her.
“What happened in the hall a few minutes ago… My brothers and I were hiding in that cupboard when the attack occurred. We heard everything. When the cupboard door popped open today… It… It was too much.”
Rowan didn’t say anything right away. Anything she could say seemed trivial and trite. But eventually she came up with something. “Thank you for telling me.”
Declan nodded. “I wanted ye to know. The sídhe in Ely talk. They think they know, but they don’t. Not really.”
They were silent for a while, and Rowan noticed Declan’s expression change. His eyebrows drew together in concentration, and it seemed his thoughts had taken him someplace else altogether. “So… Your da…”
Rowan blinked then took a second to re-orient herself. “What about my father?”
“He doesn’t seem to like me very much.”
She closed her eyes and bowed her head. There was no point in lying. “No.”
Declan didn’t seem surprised or offended. “He’s told ye that straight out?”
She opened her eyes and shrugged one shoulder. “In his way.”
“What did he say?”
She inhaled deeply through her nose and gave it to him straight out. “He said you didn’t need me to take care of you. You needed a veterinarian.”
Declan stared at her for a long second, then he laughed. Laughed! She had no idea what in the hell was so funny, but that sweet, beautiful sound filled her heart and washed away any trace of sadness left in the room. It made her feel joy, amazement, and gratitude that Declan MacConall, a sídhe who hadn’t known much joy in the last half century, shared that brief moment with her.
But then that beautiful bubble of brightness settled back to earth. She wanted him. She wanted him like she wanted nothing else. And even though he could laugh with her, he didn’t want her. Not like that anyway.
“Please, forget about my father,” she said. “He was trying to make a point on the street with all that talk of suitors. Most of it was total fucking bullshit.”
Declan choked and sputtered, then he laughed even harder than before. “‘Total fucking bullshit?’” He shook his head. “Such vulgar language from an upstanding daoine princess.”
Rowan rolled her eyes. “Don’t be a jerk, Declan. You’re in a weakened state, and I’m pretty sure I could take you if you pissed me off.”
“Take me?” he asked, giving her another one of those sexy smiles that she knew was just an act. He set his glass on the coffee table. “Is that right?
“Don’t try me,” she warned. She was losing patience with his teasing. It was starting to hurt too much. “You don’t know what I’m capable of.”
Declan’s eyes darkened, and he leaned in. “Are ye telling me there’s more to ye than meets the eye, Nurse McNeely?”
Oh, sweet Danu. He was so close. She could feel the heat coming off him and somewhere in the back of her mind she noted that that was a positive development in his recovery. “There’s more to everyone than what you see on the outside.”
The glint in Declan’s gray eyes faded, and his face took on a more serious expression. “So ye know I’m more than just an addict?”
His question was heavy. She could feel the importance of it in his voice, and she felt the need to assure him, even if she couldn’t tell him everything that she thought about him.
“Of course,” she said, matching his tone. “Declan, no one wakes up one day and declares they want to be an addict when they grow up. You had good reason for wanting to protect yourself from so much pain. You just found it in the wrong place.”
“What’s the right place?” he asked, sounding sincerely curious.
With me, she thought, but outwardly she shrugged. “I heard Cormac once say that the right place was with a good woman.”
Declan’s face broke into another wide grin, and he was back to teasing. “Know any?”
Rowan’s eyes snapped to his, and for a second she wondered if he wasn’t just having fun at her expense. Could he be seriously flirting with her? “Declan… What’s happening?”
“I’m not sure.” And he sounded like he meant it. “Did I hit my head when I passed out?”
Rowan stood up quickly. She had it right the first time. He was jerking her around, and she’d almost let herself fall for it. Right now, the smart thing to do was to put some distance between them. She needed a clear head. She needed a good steamy romance book and her vibrator, the latter of which—unfortunately—she’d left at home. Damn.
She stood but before she was able to move away, Declan grabbed her hand. “Don’t leave me.”
<
br /> Rowan stared down at where their skin touched. The warmth of him wicked up her arms and settled deep in her chest. Slowly, she sat back down on the couch, but her posture remained rigid and on guard.
“I need to tell ye something,” he said. “A kind of confession.”
“Make it,” she said. “I need to clean up the kitchen.”
His gray eyes flashed, then his face fell into an expression of contrition. “You’re mad. I went too far with the teasing, didn’t I.”
She didn’t answer him.
“I’m an asshole.”
She folded her arms. “Is that the confession? Because I already knew that.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “What I wanted to tell ye is… I’ve wanted to tell ye this for a while. Lately I’ve wondered if telling ye might even help with my recovery, so…”
“Spit it out, Declan.”
He cleared his throat, like he was stalling—like, what he was about to say was going to hurt. “I’ve met my anamchara.”
Rowan sucked in a breath. Yep. That hurt. That hurt like a mother. Then she nodded and blinked back the tears before she made a complete fool of herself.
Rowan always knew this would happen for him. Someday. She knew once he crossed paths with “the one,” it would be hook, line, and sinker. Then there’d be no hope for her—not that her fantasies ever had a prayer.
She plastered on a smile. “Congratulations! I’m so happy for you! Does she know?”
He smiled huge, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. God, he looked so happy.
“I’ve told her.”
Rowan nodded again. “And how did she respond?”
This time his smile turned coy. “She congratulated me then asked, ‘Does she know?’”
Rowan’s heart stopped, then started up again at an alarming rate. A shiver ran down her arms, and her head seemed to float. He must be joking. He had to be fucking joking, but he couldn’t be that cruel, could he?
Declan kept staring at her like he was waiting for his words to sink in. She felt like she was having an out-of-body experience, working back through her memories, trying to give new meaning to his every flinch… his every sigh. He always held himself so rigidly whenever she was close…