“Not livestock. That,” Dub said as he jabbed a finger at the phone, “is a gods damned baobhan sith. What in the hells is a Scottish fae doing in Sligo?”
“What is a Bevo—”
“Baobhan sith,” Mell corrected. “It’s a female immortal that subsists on the blood, and life, of men who long for their loves.”
“And it should not be in our town.” Shar finally sat, taking his place beside Mell. He picked up the phone and examined the photo. “I am not as familiar with them, but Dub would know. He’s hunted them before.”
Something like horror tightened her belly and threatened to send back up the berries. “You have hunted other immortals? Given them the second death?” For isn’t that what the soul blade did?
He grunted. “No. We just track them down and send them home, reporting them to the branch of the guardi who is supposed to monitor them. I’ve only ever killed one immortal, and it was not a little fairy woman, however bloodthirsty.” Dub frowned again, and it was the scowl she had first seen, the one that closed him off from others. Not a line of inquiry to follow right now.
“So, we have two women, one green-haired and known, a ring, and a print. We know the person who wielded the knife was female, or had very delicate hands, and is freckled. We also can assume Dano was here to—” she broke off and swallowed. “He was here to bring me new boots.” She frowned, sorting through possibilities and unknowns. “Was the murderer already here, or was Dano followed? Who would have known that Dano would come back here? And if they were already here, was Dano the original target? Or was it one of you? And, how does a hoofed, blood-drinking female factor in? I didn’t see any bites, but maybe they were hidden? And, if she was the killer, why stab him?” Bat shook her head and slumped. She nudged a strawberry with her finger but didn’t pick it up. “Too much we still don’t know.”
“There should be no ‘we’ about this. The guardi are the ones who handle this kind of thing.” Mell sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I know the guy who is running the investigation. He’s good. He’ll get to the bottom of this, figure out who’s responsible.”
“But he does not know what I saw.” Bat didn’t want to let this go. “Or have the ring you took.”
Mell kept his gaze on his fingers and began picking at a callus that was peeling on his middle left finger. “I could call him, pass along the information. It... would be for the best, I think.”
Disappointment stole the strength from her limbs and sent chilling hurt through her middle, where it mixed with the sickening horror that hadn’t faded. She looked away from them all, from the berries and the flowers. The boots on her feet were suddenly too tight.
What Mell said made sense. The locals would be more likely to see what was out of place—what didn’t fit—and catch the murderer. She would simply be in the way. She didn’t even know the simplest of things about this land. There was no reason for her to be hurt.
But emotions and reason were not often in agreement, and he managed to hit her in the exact place she was most sensitive. He rejected her help. He told her she was useless, that someone would be able to handle this better.
And what hurt the worst was he was probably right. Doubt crept through her, and she blinked back the tears that threatened.
When did I turn into such an… emotional being?
When the visions promised hope. Hope really was the curse some said it to be.
Dub slammed his hand onto the table, and the new crack spread. “Stop it.”
The doubt evaporated, and she gasped in anger. Anger and doubt. So similar. They could make your stomach churn, and your thoughts fly away. They were disorienting and dangerous. But anger could give you strength, where doubt only took it away.
She glared at Mell. “That was a despicable thing to do.” Her voice was low, almost soft. But if she didn’t keep it low, it would come out as a scream. “You... are a wanker.”
“Wanker’s English, not Irish. You’ll want to call me a bollix,” Mell said. The words were playful, but his voice was flat.
Dub reached across the island and to his brother, slapping him behind the head. Bat looked at him and nodded. “Yes. Good. He deserves violence directed against him for that stunt.”
Chapter 9
DUB
Dub suppressed another laugh. This girl... No, not a girl, goddess. She just seemed so young sometimes, alternately thrilled and grieved by a pair of boots. At other times, she was remote, almost chilly, exactly as he thought a goddess should be. Then there was her language. So formal, but occasionally she would spout some nonsense like “chill pill” or “stunt.” The mixture of old world and slang was charming. And frustrating.
How was he supposed to keep his distance?
Maybe he wouldn’t.
Now she looked at him with those star-filled eyes, a hard, angry expression on her round face. Her cheeks were flushed, and her chest rose and fell with her anger. His blood surged in answer, and he hit his brother again, never taking his eyes off Bat.
Her lips twitched and then stretched into a wide grin as Mell cursed and moved out of reach. Dub thinned his lips to keep them from forming into an answering grin. He pushed the strawberries closer to her. “Eat the fruit Shar picked for you. You’re hurting his feelings.”
The playful words slipped out. He felt it within himself, a softening in his heart. It had been like steel for nearly two millennia, and this softening was for a goddess who considered strawberries a worthy offering and sought justice for a leprechaun.
He knew for a fact that the only reason the guardi cared was because of the use of a soul blade. It meant someone was maneuvering for power, and gods did not give up their power easily. If Dano had simply been attacked… well, what was the harm in injuring a leprechaun?
He suspected Bat would have sought justice even if Dano had merely gotten a stubbed toe. Whatever floorboard or loose stone had perpetrated the act would have been eliminated with swift retribution.
She picked up a berry and sent an apologetic glance to Shar. “Sorry.”
His brother smiled at her, gently of course. “He’s teasing ya. It is very hard to tell, isn’t it?”
“Oh.” Bat peeked up at him through her lashes and then back down, before finally facing him. “I have learned some of your frowns, but it is very hard to tell when you are acting playful. I am used to more smiles when that is the case. I will work on this.” She gave him a short nod and continued. “But can you explain why your brother decided to be a wanker?”
“Told you. Proper term’s bollix,” Mell said.
“I will call you a wanker if I please. I like this word better.”
Dub’s lips twitched again, but he quickly got himself under control. “I suspect he is concerned for you.”
“Really?” Her eyes lit up and she turned back to Mell. “You are worried for me? But then why do something so wicked as to make me doubt?”
Mell’s lips parted, but he didn’t speak. Remorse and dismay were writ clear on his features, though he held the emotional threads back.
Dub took pity on him, though his brother didn’t deserve it, and continued his explanations. “He called in Finn Cumhaill to handle the investigation. Or, he asked Finn to handle it and Finn agreed and pulled some strings to ensure his team was assigned. And because of who Finn is, and his power, he now knows you, a foreign goddess, are here and involved in the death of a fae.” Her mouth opened, probably with yet another question, and he held up a hand to stop her. “Finn’s Tuatha, of the de Danann, but he’s still a good man. The problem is, he will have to report your presence. And after last night there will be rumors flowing already.”
Her face fell with dismay.
So expressive. He swallowed.
“Because Dano made boots for me?” She swung one of her legs, and his gaze was drawn down. She really was stuck on those boots. A seed of jealousy wormed into the soil of his soul and put out a root. Fuck. He did not need this.
“No.” His voice came ou
t harsh, but instead of drawing away as he expected her to, she frowned, matching him. “No,” he continued, evening out his tones. “Because you picked up the Dagda’s ever-loving harp, and proceeded to enchant a room full of fae who are more known for their rebellious ways than for offering anything to a god or goddess, ever.”
She let out a frustrated sound, half groan and half sigh. Her hand closed around that necklace of hers and she pulled on it, lightly. Her brows furrowed. “You may be right about the idiot’s guide. It has left a lot out. There was no mention of a dagda or a harp.” She let out a light groan and rubbed a hand over her face. “I should not have let the cat talk me into this. I don’t care what the visions promised.”
What visions were these now? Dub shifted on his stool and cleared his throat, wanting her attention back on him. “The Dagda is one of the de Danann gods. He’s a bit of an arse, but then, most gods are.”
Bat’s eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open. Then she smiled, wide and joyous. The smiled stretched until she was laughing.
She laughed so hard he was afraid she would topple right off the stool. Dub held out a hand, ready to catch her. He also caught the thread of Mell’s amusement and enjoyment. Even Shar grinned wide. Dub’s own lips twitched and then stretched.
The woman before him filled the room with mirth and took them all with her.
Finally, her laughter died away, and she wiped her hand over her face. “Oh, yes. Yes, gods can be real arses. I like this one. This word. I will use it. It is almost as good as ‘chill pill.’ So simple. Arse.” She giggled and nodded, the grin still wide on her face. After a moment it faded away and she sobered. “I admit I did not think how your local gods would feel about my visit, but I cannot imagine giving up the hunt for justice for such a paltry reason. What could they do to me?” She tilted her head, a gesture that was becoming very familiar to him. “As you said, a god cannot be killed. Not truly.”
Disappointment moved through him. And there it was, the arrogance—and selfishness—that seemed endemic to all deities. She really was like the others. He latched onto the thought.
“We are not gods.” The words ground out of him, and he pushed back from the island with a force that sent the stool tumbling from beneath him and the island screeching into Shar’s side.
Mell’s face fell, but he kept a tight leash on his powers, not leaking any of what he must be feeling because of that... goddess’s words. The word felt ugly to him now.
Dub had seen that expression before, though, on the day his brother had returned home from the last war, the one the humans liked to call The Great War. There was nothing great about a war fought without honor, with weapons that killed from a distance while the enemy hid.
His hands curled into fists and a haze fell over his mind, bringing dark memories of his own. There were many, many such wars fought, all without honor. And most of them were because of callous and cruel gods.
“Dub.” Shar’s warning tone cleared some of the haze and Dub realized he had moved. He had gripped Bat, his fingers digging into the flesh of her upper arms even through the thick sweater she wore. He squeezed harder and knew he could break her. She was so diminished. His strength wove through him, settling in his fingers.
Her gaze met his, and there were the stars he’d been fascinated with before. Now, they made him sick.
She didn’t struggle. Instead, she relaxed into him, softening her body. Her head tilted, and her hair brushed over the back of his hand. “I’m sorry.” She licked her lower lip. “I am sorry for my heartless words. This time I was the wanker.”
Dub broke. That was the only word for it. Groaning, he pulled her closer and bent down, seeking her lips with his. When he found them a fire ignited, hotter than the forges he used to smith weapons in. Her lips parted beneath his and he invaded. Like the Fomoiri of old, he took her invitation and plundered, stealing away with her. Well, with this piece of her.
Something between a cry and a groan came from deep in her chest, and she clutched at his sides. Needing her closer, he skimmed his hands down her arms, over her hips, and he gripped her thighs, pulling her up to him. Her arms went around his shoulders, and her fingers dug in.
All the time the kiss continued.
Her legs wrapped around him and he kneaded the softness of the flesh where her thighs met her ass. Her arse.
A chuckle, wholly unprepared for, escaped him. He pulled his head back from her and studied the slightly dazed look she wore, her lips parted and soft.
A throat cleared to his right. A finger poked his shoulder to the left.
And a knock sounded on the back door.
Fuck.
He eased Bat back to her feet and gave her arse one last squeeze. However, he was in no condition to answer the door. “I think one of you will need to handle whoever that is,” he said to his brothers as he grabbed a corner of the island and pulled it back into place, avoiding looking at them. He moved to the far side and used it to disguise the state of his body. He should probably go into the pub, they were due to open soon, and there was still work to complete, but he didn’t want to leave Bat until all of this was settled.
He did not appreciate the chaos she had made of his emotions and thoughts, but he also couldn’t deny this was the most alive he’d felt in centuries.
His goddess still stood where he left her, eyes swirling and lips swollen. He suppressed the urge to kiss her again and, instead, left the shelter of his spot and pulled her back to her stool just as Mell answered the door.
Chapter 10
Bastie,
I may not send this one. But… one of them is a very good kisser.
- Bat, the blushing and befuddled goddess.
BAT
Bat was barely aware of Mell answering the door, or the low voices. Her mind, her body, her very spirit, was filled with the feel of Dub.
Could a goddess go into shock? Because she feared that was what had happened to her.
The kiss had been amazing. But beyond it, she sensed a deep pain, one that she yearned to heal.
And maybe this was another reason she was here. The brothers were out of balance. Dub, torn with pain and violence and betrayal, but filled with such need.
Shar, Searbhan, the giant. He was gentle, and calm, and seemed to maintain the balance between his own brothers, but there was something under it all, a sense of inadequacy, and a need of another kind, one to... protect?
Then there was Mell. Laughing Mell, joyous Mell, teasing Mell, who used his power, and constructed emotions to hide his true self. What hid behind that mask? Who was he really? Did he even know?
The price of a long life, as she well knew, was the opportunity to accomplish much greatness, but to also suffer an unending pain, if it could not be healed.
She had two months here. It was not much time, but perhaps, once Dano’s killer was found, she could help these brothers that brought her strawberries, and flowers, and kissed her senseless.
“It’s for you.” Mell crossed the room to her, concern pinching his brows together.
Bat sat up straighter on her stool. “Me?” She slid off the stool, took a step to the door and then hesitated. “Who is it? I don’t know anyone, yet. Is it Ailis? She knows I’m here.” She pressed her lips together, realizing she was rambling.
“No, it is not Ailis. It’s the pooka.”
Another new term. She tilted her head in inquiry.
“He... has something for you.” The caution in Mell’s voice warned her to step lightly.
“Is there something I should know?”
Mell opened his mouth then closed it. He shrugged his shoulder and raised his hands.
It was Shar who answered her. “Just do not promise anything. Two reasons. The pooka can be tricky. Well, trickier than many other fae. Also, if the gods learn you are answering the supplications of those who come to you, it could put us in an… interesting position.” He shot a tense look at Dub then looked back at her. “Just tread carefully. As you said, yo
u may not be able to die, but the gods of this area could make things very uncomfortable for you during your visit.”
She crossed her arms over her middle, hugging herself. “And you do not want any of that to come back at you.” Unbidden, her gaze moved to Dub.
When none of the brothers spoke, confirming or denying, she nodded. “I will be careful. Thank you for the warning.”
Turning to the door, she pulled it open and stepped out on the stoop.
Before her, stood the man she had noted the night before, the one with the long beard and who smoked a pipe. He had also sung with them from his seat, his gravel baritone offering a lovely counterpoint to the harp’s sweet tones.
“Hello.”
Though he stood on the bottom step, his head was even with hers—he was that tall. He’d been shrouded in shadow most of the night, tucked in his corner, and she had not seen his build. He was tall, taller than Shar, but thin, as though a normal body was stretched and pulled into an almost unnatural length. His beard, grey as the clouds overhead, curled down his chest and his eyes were a dark well. If she looked long enough, she would see to the heart of him. Darkness lurked there, and she suspected this particular darkness was not one she wanted to see.
He dropped his gaze and held a leather pouch out to her. “In appreciation of the night’s celebrations.” He peeked up once and then looked back at the steps. “For the harp. When you play not in the pub.”
Bat looked closer at the offering. Yes, the shape of it was right. And similar to her boots, bright blue curled over the top flap in swirls and stylized animals.
“I—” She extended a hand but stopped short, remembering the brothers’ words. It went against her instinct to reject such an offering.
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