"I wouldna have hurt her!"
"As I suppose ye believe ye didna hurt O'Neill, eh?" Mac shook his head, but his hands relaxed as he took a deep breath. "Thankfully, there willna be need to test ye on tha'. She is mine, she always has been, Bav. Even before the day he placed her under my protection."
"But 'tis been so long…"
"Do ye think my word has an expiration date?!"
She bowed her head, the salt-tinged wind caught her curls and flung them around her face. "I've never known ye to give a damme about humans, Manannán. Why this one?"
"Humans are nothing," he waved an indifferent hand. "They come and they go. I pretend no great attachment to any of them, unlike some. She always amused me, tho', the little one. They can be very amusing, canna they? Ye have found it so. More than once." His voice was cutting.
"Tha's a terrible cruel thing to say."
"Well, blood will tell, wonna it?" He sighed. "I did promise him, Bav. What did ye expect, me to forget tha'? Have ye ever known me to break my word, no matter what the consequences?"
"Mac, without her, I canna hold him!" Bav was frantic now. Her desperation getting the better of her.
"If he needs to be held, then he isna yers t'all, Bav! Bloody hell, woman. Will ye n'ver learn tha'?" Mac turned away, his words cold, stinging her skin like the spray of the sea. "Let him go, let him live unbound by yer schemes. Give him tha' much if ye care for him the least bit. Has he no' earned it after all this time?"
Bav bent over, one arm wrapped around her middle, gasping as she tried to accept that she had truly lost. She had feared this, coming here, true. But she had never really believed it could all end like this.
"Will ye tell him what I did? Will you tell him about her?"
Mac stared out at the sea for so long, watching the dark waves glided in moonlight, that she thought he didn't intend to answer her. Silent sobs racked her body as she lifted her hood with trembling hands.
"Nae." He spoke just in time for her to hear that one word before she vanished. The rest of Mac's words fell on his ears alone, echoing over the sound of the sea. "But others will, sister.
"Others will."
The city of Limerick was glittering in the night, fool's gold cast against black velvet hills.
Ronan stopped on O'Connell Street, his big hands on the wheel.
"I donna think I'll get out. The little lady might nae like it if I come home bloody and ossified."
"Yer pussy whipped, Fitzpatrick."
"Aye." Ronan said, with a sideways grin. "And watch yer damme mouth. When ye want me back?"
"Make it two-ish, mate. 'Round here, tha' will be more than enough time."
He made sure his gloves were tight and pulled high on his wrists, and then Aidan slipped out of the car into the already thick, boisterous crowd.
His leathers and his height earned him some considering glances from cocksure blokes looking for a fight, but his eyes kept them back. A lot of the men wanting to exercise their fists were arseholes sure enough.
Being an arsehole wasn't enough to make someone prey. Not in Aidan's book.
Usually, anyway. He wasn't a damme saint. He let smell guide him first. Every human had a distinct smell, certain characteristics gave off similar odors; self-confidence was citrusy, kindness—warm and spicy. Selfish was cloying, like cheap perfume. Liars smelled like burnt friggin' toast.
But the blend, the blend of each was always unique. He was looking for something, something like—
There.
Stagnant water and ashes. Aidan lifted his head. Juniper. Ugh, this one was foul. Aidan turned on the spot, trying to focus through the mass of people around him just as he locked gazes with another man. A man who was also very tall, tall enough to see over the crowd. He had white-blond curly hair and dark blue eyes that were staring directly at Aidan in recognition and an odd triumph.
Aidan raised his eyebrows.
That was his man, sure enough. He sniffed again and wrinkled his nose. Weird fucker. Aidan never seen him before. So why was the bastard looking at him as if they were long lost mates? That was not a vampire, Aidan was sure of it. But whatever the man was, he was well beyond normal nasty. The psychic reek off of him was enough to make the eyes water.
There was something else there, too. A certain tang that clung to the man, a familiar one that he couldn't quite place.
Aidan inhaled deeply, trying to catch it. In that second, the man's eyes widened in surprised terror and he slipped off through the crowd like a pale snake. Aidan cursed.
The people around him seemed to cling like colorful leeches as Aidan tried to move. He was forced to press through the bulk of the crowd, while the white haired man, on the outside edge, had spun away easily. Aidan got a glimpse of him disappearing into a pub across the street.
When Aidan finally broke free, he followed. Dashing through the rain drops that had just started to fall. Inside the pub it was dank, smelly and loud, befitting O’Connell Street’s reputation. Aidan shoved past a knot of men at the door, one of whom muttered something nasty in Gaelic under his breath and grabbed his arm.
“Watch it there, mate, or someone will have to sort—“ The man’s words cut off the instant Aidan’s gaze fell on him.
Releasing his arm at once, the man raised his hands palms up in front of his chest and took a step back. Aidan turned away with an impatient snarl. His chin lifted, nostrils flaring as he tried to catch the psychic trail again. There…a faint burn of juniper with that rotten undertone. He got to the back of the pub in time to see an ancient stained fire door with a disabled alarm swinging shut.
Out in the alley, the storm had let loose for real. The narrow passage was full of broken bits of junk; strewn with litter and a layer of filth no amount of rain could ever wash away, even if it came from the hand of Dian Cécht himself. Aidan stepped forward, catching a flash of white just disappearing round the street corner.
A soft cry, almost like the mew of a kitten had him turning his head.
Through the driving rain he saw two figures, so close together they looked like one. A step closer revealed a man with a pinched face and small, rodent-like eyes pressing a woman face first into the alley wall. His hand was twisted in her sodden dark hair. Aidan shifted so he could see the woman’s eyes, though by then it was not necessary. The thick stench of fear and despair had reached him, along with the rapidly fading bite of juniper.
With a curse and a regretful glance at the point where his quarry had vanished, Aidan grabbed the rat-eyed man by the back of the neck. Twitching in shock, the man released the woman, who only slumped farther down the wall. She was intoxicated, but more than that she was paralyzed by hopelessness. Aidan put his free hand on her head, tilting her face up so that she could see his eyes. He forced the other man’s features from her mind, wiped away the sick feeling of shame as best he could and dropped his hand.
“Get out of here,” he ordered, his voice flat.
She blinked and stood up slowly, straightening her clothes almost as if she were sleep-walking before she pushed her way past him back into the pub.
The noise and music from inside pulsed once into the alley when she opened the door, then all went quiet. There was only the sound of the rain and the rat-eyed man’s harsh breathing. Aidan threw the man hard enough into the wall to snap his nose.
With a squeal that matched his rodent eyes, the man spun around to face Aidan, one hand pressed over his smashed nose, blood and snot flowing down his face with the rain. The other hand held up the waist of his unbuttoned pants that were threatening to slid down his skinny hips.
“Come on! I wasna doing nottin’ she dinna want, mate. Ye know 'ow these pub chits are…”
Aidan took a deep breath, pretending to consider the man’s words as he cocked his head.
“Led ye on, did she?”
“Tha' she did, frackin' prick tease! She deserved what she was getting, sure enough. Ye know how it is.” He blubbered again.
“Oh aye, I
know how it is.” Aidan agreed softly.
He removed the glove from one hand, while Rat Eyes stood there, gaping at him stupidly. The idiot only thought to open his mouth to scream when Aidan seized him by the throat. It was far too late by then.
Aidan stumbled as an onslaught of images—broken women, their eyes dull and blank, flashes of screams and pleas along with the heavy throb of a sickening lust—trapped him for a moment. Danu. How many women had this bastard…
The number didn’t matter. One would have been enough. Aidan didn’t bother to put his glove back on, he was going to enjoy this one's fear.
He drew his lips back, wanting the man to see what was coming for him, wanting him to feel the terror. His fangs were hard and cold, just like his anger. In contrast his hunger burned its way to the surface, hot and ravenous for a kill.
Aidan could see the glow of his own eyes reflected in those rat-like pupils.
A blast of the man’s absolute horror streaked through his mind, clearing away the awful images. Rat Eyes stared upward, unable to cry out or struggle as Aidan held him in thrall. The sharp odor of urine filled the alley as the man’s bladder let loose.
Aidan bent and with one slash of his fangs tore the man’s jugular from his flesh.
The rainfall slowed to a rhythmic drumming, punctuated here and there with fat, scarlet drops of blood splattering against the stones.
Soaked and shaking, Declan leaned against the wall outside his flat. His heart was thundering in his chest, every beat almost painful. His cock was throbbing between his legs, rock hard, in both terror and excitement.
O’Neill had hunted him. Had almost caught him!
He was sure the prince didn’t have a clue who he was, but something about him, about Declan himself had drawn the vampire. He didn’t know what, but obviously he was special. Declan was riding a tide of bliss, finally sure he had been right all along.
It was his destiny to be one of them. Not just a servant, a slave, a plaything. But one of the chosen.
Slowly, almost unconsciously he stroked himself through his wet jeans, imagining the taste of blood on his lips. All the things he had dreamed of doing for so long, but that he had been too scared to try…soon he would have no limits, no need of caution. The power to unleash his imagination would be his at last.
He leaned back and closed his eyes, a feral smile twisting his face through the glistening sheets of rain.
Declan didn’t know it, but at the moment he looked more like Abhartach than he could have ever dreamed.
Aidan was pissed when Ronan picked him up. Stone-cold furious that what he had sensed was the far more worthwhile prey had gotten away.
Ronan seemed to sense his mood. They rode in silence back to the house. Aidan kept reminding himself it was important to take out the weasels as well as the jackals, but the failure rankled far more than it should have.
The kill itself had given him what he had needed, the sustenance of heart blood that the monster inside him required to survive. That didn't stop Aidan from feeling thoroughly sick by the time they got back to the Fitzpatrick's.
Aidan went to the bathroom at once, stripped and showered. It didn’t help. The taint of the man in the alley clung to him. Water sluiced off his hard body in steaming rivulets, but it wasn't enough. He didn’t know why this kill had gotten to him so bad, he’d dealt with far worse in his day. No matter how long he stood there he couldn't get the awful smell of the rat-eyed rapist off of him, and the memory of the otherone—the one that had gotten away—was even worse.
He'd have to go back for the bastard, and soon. Aidan had the distinct feeling if he didn't, he'd be sorry and so would a lot of other people. What an awful blackness had clung to that one! He shuddered and turned the water to scorching.
When he found Heather curled up on his couch in the library, fast asleep, he stood over her in indecision. He needed to sleep before dawn came, but he didn't want to touch her, feeling the way he did right now.
His hesitation vanished when her sweet smell drifted up to him, a cleansing balm, pushing back the darkness. He sank to his knees next to the couch, breathing deep.
It wasn’t enough.
Carefully, he slipped in behind her and she stirred. He brushed her hair off her face. Her lips curved at his touch.
“Heather?”
“Mmm, what is it?” Her voice was soft with sleep.
“I need…” He stopped short, pressing his lips to her neck. Unable to speak.
She must have picked up something from his tone, because she turned her head at once to blink up at him.
“What do you need, Aidan?”
He whispered the words in her ear. “I need to wash this taste from my mouth. Please.”
Her forehead crinkled in confusion. Her eyes searched his silently. Aidan saw the exact moment when what he was asking for dawned on her. Her face cleared. She lifted her hand, her fingertips brushing his jaw.
“Of course.”
No questions, no hesitation. Just those two words. She lowered her lashes, they floated down like dark smoke against the pale curve of her cheek. For a moment he could only stare at her, his throat tight.
Slowly, he raised her arm so that it curved back behind his neck.
Aidan trailed his fingers over her silky skin, soaking in her psychic essence, that wonderful smell like spice and flowers and honey. He pressed a kiss to the crook of her elbow, letting his tongue flick out over the pulse that beat there. That sweet throb that was starting to flutter and dance under his mouth. He could see the flush teasing along her collarbone as her heart began to race. There was no trace of fear on her, he noted with wonder.
None at all.
He sank his fangs into the vein he’d chosen, watching her lips part as she drew in a breath. She trembled and he curved his body tighter around hers. His eyes closed as her blood flowed into him. The cloying, sickening stench of the two men in Limerick began to fade, washed away in the luscious beauty of her on his tongue. Her fingers brushed the back of his neck as he drank, making him shiver.
He opened his eyes to see her looking at him, her pupils dilated by desire, dark pools ringed by all that sexy violet. He drew deeply, one last, long swallow before he released her arm.
"Why?" She whispered. "Why do I feel like this when you drink from me? Is it something that always happens?"
Aidan laughed hoarsely. "Gods, no. I could force it, with some, if they were already so inclined. But no one has ever reacted like ye do…and vice versa."
"Really? It doesn't turn you on to drink from anyone else?"
"I wouldna say 'turn on,' though the blood lust is fierce. It's more like…like satisfaction, like sating the hunger of a monster inside me who is absolutely starving."
"And that's different for you, with me?"
"Aye." Something cold tickled his spine, like a warning. A warning he didn't need. This conversation was over. "It 'tis, but only because ye taste so damme fine."
She drew back a little at the flippancy that had chilled his tone. His arms tightened around her against his will, keeping her close.
"Damme, jus' quit talking, nobody. Go to sleep. The dawn will be here soon."
If Heather noticed the desperation hidden in his words, she didn't react to it. She only nodded, curling to face the back of the couch, away from him.
He was asleep long before her.
Heather stared at the patterns and swirls on the copper-colored fabric of the library couch. Obviously, Aidan hadn't had the best night. Something had shaken him. Since it was patently obvious he was not a man easily shaken, the conclusion was that his hunt in Limerick had turned nasty.
She wondered who was dead. She also wondered at how little the thought of Aidan killing someone bothered her. Killing was a necessity for him, she understood that.
He had told her while they were talking last night that he only hunted people who truly deserved it, though he had mentioned it with a certain reluctance. Reluctance she understood complet
ely. Aidan wouldn't like feeling the need to justify his actions. She had been surprised that he had bothered to try to in the first place. Aidan wasn't the type to explain himself to anyone.
Now she was wondering at that. Mulling it over again. Feeling uneasy.
Was Moiré right? Could Aidan have feelings for her…actual feelings? What had the woman said, that she sensed a 'softening' in him?
Well, what was pressed against her ass right now was certainly not 'soft'. Heather smiled wryly, but it didn't reach her eyes. Even in sleep, he wanted her. And the feeling was mutual. She squirmed.
Those hard feelings, those sexy, brash ones. She was a-okay with those. But—
How would she feel if he did…have those other 'soft' feelings for her?
Her heart jumped in her chest in pure, instinctive fear.
She wasn't made for relationships, for love. She had always known that. Light relationships, sure. Easy, breezy, cotton-candy sweet ones that melted fast were fine. Perfect. Nice and airy. Hard and hot ones that burned out fast, ditto.
Aidan, despite his smart-ass mouth and casual as hell attitude, was anything but light and fast. He was dark and deep and fucking terrifying. If she slid down that rabbit's hole, she might never make it back. Not in one piece.
It might already be too late to get out without leaving a part of herself behind. The question was fast becoming—how much of herself was she willing to lose?
Ronan came to wake them a couple hours later, a soft knock on the library door. Aidan untangled himself from Heather's limp form and stepped out into the hallway.
"Shh..," he said to Ronan when the big man would have spoken. "Let her sleep."
Ronan frowned, but gave a short nod, moving into the kitchen.
Aidan slipped into a chair at the table, rubbing his forehead as Ronan slapped a cup of tea in front of him. Hard. Aidan was reminded forcefully of Moiré.
"Oy, 'tis nae need to wake the whole household."
"They're off already, ye twit. Remember, up to Dublin for the day."
"Oh, aye." Ronan had decided the rest of the family should be out of the way for Aidan's little excursion. Neither of them believed anything would go wrong, but Ronan wanted to focus on patrolling rather than splitting his attention on that and his family.
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