Hell Hound's Revenge (Fae 0f The North Shore Book 1)

by A. S. Green

  “We need her,” Declan whispered in his ear.

  Damn. Even sick, his brother was too fucking good at reading faces. Aiden needed to school his expression. The last thing he needed was for Branna to sense his discomfort. Though, for now, she wasn’t paying any attention to him.

  He hated to admit it, but her ambivalence was almost worse.

  As soon as the foursome had tilted into the woods near the falls, the three cú sídhe had sensed the blood. Cormac immediately lost control of his human form and lifted his head to howl in agony. Fortunately, the roar of the falls covered the sound. Branna kicked him square in the ribs anyway, and sent him flying.

  “One of you shut him up before he gets us all killed,” she grumbled.

  Declan took on that responsibility while Aiden crept closer to the outermost edge of the trees, keeping his body low to the ground. From there he could see the mangled body of a leannán sídhe, her blood pooling in the bowled indentations of the rock, an odd flower-shaped pillow by her side.

  Aiden’s first reaction was relief that it wasn’t the scent of Meghan’s blood that filled his nose. Then he spotted his brother’s mate, and he realized that that dreaded scent was simply yet to come.

  Meghan’s ankles were bound with ropes, and she was sitting on a wooden pallet that rocked dangerously on the water. For now, it was tethered to the shore by another rope held by a large brethren of the Black Castle. All it would take would be for him to let go, and Meghan would float away from the shore then shoot over the falls. If she wasn’t dashed on the rocks below, she’d be drowned. If that didn’t get her, hypothermia would.

  In the clearing near the edge of the raging river was a stump with a bloodied hunting knife sticking out of it. On the ground beside the stump was a large, navy blue box of table salt. Aiden snorted in response to the box. It was an effective, but cowardly choice of weapon.

  Then his gaze glanced to the black-cloaked pádraigs who were standing in a circle, talking, several feet from the stump. What were they waiting for?

  He had a sinking feeling that he knew exactly what they were waiting for.

  Aiden pushed himself backward, away from the edge of the trees, before standing again. When he looked down, a black rabbit was standing on her hind legs beside him, her keen and clever eyes still fixed on the scene.

  “Let’s go,” Aiden whispered as he ducked under the tree branches and strode back into the woods where his brothers waited. He felt Branna hopping after him. He thought it might have been the first time she’d let him lead.

  When they arrived, Cormac was flickering in and out of himself and the hound, unable to control his hold on one shape or another. Depending on his form, he raged, paced, snarled, or tore at the trees’ scaly bark with every swipe of his hand.

  Declan was holding both of his hands up and coaching their older brother in the same deep breathing exercises Declan did under his nurse’s instructions. Branna resumed her human form and did nothing to hide her irritation. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

  “We haven’t been able to control him his whole life,” Aiden said in response to her contempt. “Ye think we’re suddenly going to break through when his anamchara is in the hands of the Black Castle?”

  “I feel for the guy as much as the next person,” she said, sounding only mildly convincing. “But his behavior isn’t helping.”

  Aiden didn’t disagree, but he understood where his brother was coming from. Right now, his own hound was barely under control. Cormac’s was shaking his head like he’d been swarmed by bees. It sent great gobs of slobber flying through the air.

  “Gross,” Branna muttered.

  “Cormac,” Aiden said, walking closer, hand extended, pacifying. “It’s not Meghan’s blood.”

  The hound gave his head another furious shake and, in a flash, Cormac was standing in front of them again, his expression so dark, Aiden had to take a step back.

  “I know that,” Cormac growled. “Ye think I don’t know the scent of my own mate? But she’s out there, isn’t she?”

  Declan, Aiden, and Branna closed in, forming a half circle around Cormac.

  “She’s out there,” Aiden said softly. “But alive. Cormac, she’s alive. And we’re going to get her back.”

  His attempt at instilling calm didn’t work. Cormac scowled and hunched his shoulders forward. “I need her.”

  “We know ye do,” Aiden said.

  “Now!”

  “We understand.”

  “Ye don’t. Ye couldn’t possibly.”

  Aiden swallowed hard and fought the urge to glance at Branna.

  “Brother, calm,” Declan said. “What ye need is a clear head if we’re going to get her out of there.” Then he turned toward Aiden. “How many are we dealing with?”

  Branna answered. “Seven Black Castle. One dead leannán sídhe. And Meghan.”

  “We’re wasting time!” Cormac bellowed.

  “She’s on a pallet at the top of the falls,” Aiden said, then he clarified, “On the water.”

  Cormac’s face paled. “She’s afraid of the water. They know that!”

  “Brother, I think it’s you they want. They could have killed her by now, but they’re keeping her tethered to the shore. They think you’ll come for her.”

  “And they’re right,” Cormac growled. “But it’s not only Meghan I’m coming for. I will kill them all. Do ye hear me? I will avenge our parents, Madigan, Meghan, all the sídhe that they’ve mutilated and killed. I will have this, Aiden. They are mine. And if anyone tries to take that right from me—”

  “Ye go bursting out of the trees, they’ll drop the rope. Meghan will go over the falls, and—”

  Branna put up her hand to stop the debate. “Here’s what we do. But Cormac…”

  His eyes narrowed in response to her warning tone.

  “You’re going to have to leave instinct behind.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  CORMAC

  “I don’t like it,” Cormac said. He may not have been stuffed inside a cupboard, but it felt like he was hiding again.

  “Trust the plan,” Aiden said as the three brothers’ normal attire gave way to hiking gear: wicking shirts, fleece layers, and sturdy boots. Given the day’s weather and the early hour, there were no sightseers or other hikers in the area yet, but they’d come eventually. The Black Castle was taking a risk staging a scene like this at such a popular spot, and that level of desperation left Cormac feeling edgy and unbalanced.

  Still deep in the woods but now from a vantage point where they could see, they watched as the cloaked Black Castle Brethren paced and checked their watches—clearly more impatient than they’d been only minutes before.

  “Ironic, isn’t it,” Aiden said.

  “What are ye talking about?” Declan asked, his focus locked on the scene.

  “Only that their ancestors worked so hard to rid Ireland of the sídhe and all the druids, and now they go around dressed up like them. It’s weird, right?”

  “We need to hurry,” Cormac growled. He was in no mood for esoteric questions. He could feel Meghan’s terror despite the distance between them. Every time a wave rocked the pallet, he saw her knuckles whiten as she dug her fingers into the wood.

  “Hold, brother. Let Branna do her work, then we’ll walk in like hikers. Get close, then shift. Ye can’t go racing in as a hound. They’ll be expecting that.”

  A low rumble vibrated through Cormac’s chest, but he held because, just then, Branna hopped out of the woods and onto the rocky plane. She stilled, rabbit ears erect, head lifted. When none of the pádraigs seemed to notice her, she hopped closer to the box of salt.

  “That’s it,” Declan whispered.

  Branna stilled again, gave the scene another review, then began to gnaw along the cardboard base, along one side, then around the corner and down another.

  “Hurry,” Cormac muttered.

  “Cormac, hold,” Aiden warned.

  A rogue wave crashed against
the boulders and rocked the pallet sending Meghan rolling to the edge. The brothers sucked in a collective breath then let it out as she caught herself and inched her way back to the center.

  “Done waiting,” Cormac said, and before his brothers could stop him, he shifted.

  “Fuck!” Declan cried, and he and Aiden both shifted in response.

  Twelve large paws pounded at the ground and tore up bits of moss that flew out behind them. They snaked their way through the trees, cutting left then right, before barreling into the clearing, white teeth flashing and ears laid back like bristled demons from hell itself.

  * * *

  MEGHAN

  Two of the Black Castle shrieked, and Meghan’s head jerked up just in time to see them bolt into the forest with their black cloaks flapping. A humongous wolf was close on their tails. But it was no wolf. It was also not Cormac.

  Meghan shivered. Her clothes were soaked. Her feet bound. There was nothing she could do but watch in horror as another hound burst into the clearing, red eyes narrowed to slits, hellbent on the other five Black Castle.

  When Meghan’s aunt grabbed the box of salt, Meghan flinched; she no longer underestimated the innocuous household item when it came to subduing a member of the sídhe. But when her aunt picked up the box, the bottom fell out and it emptied into the wet grass.

  It might have been funny had the man holding the rope to her pallet not let go. He lunged for the hunting knife stuck on the stump.

  “No!” Meghan screamed, but her sight line was suddenly blocked by a third hellhound who was bellowing so loud, so angrily, she barely noticed her pallet breaking loose from the shore. Cormac.

  He leapt onto a boulder that jutted across the river and near the fall’s point of no return. Then he leaned out.

  “Cormac!” Meghan cried in terror as a choppy wave splashed her already wet body.

  He bared his teeth and stretched his neck to reach for her as the pallet dipped and surged, moving closer to the edge of the falls but also, thankfully, closer to the rock.

  Meghan held on for dear life because she saw what he meant to do. Somehow he planned to snag the rope with his teeth as she went by. She wished there was something she could do to help, but the water was too choppy and any movement from her would upset the raft.

  Meghan’s cold, numb fingers dug into the edge of the pallet, and she silently prayed. He could do this. He could save her. This was Cormac. He wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her.

  The pallet hit a wave and angled up. She closed her eyes. Any second and she’d feel the tug and know that Cormac had her and was pulling her safely to shore.

  She opened her eyes. Another foot to go. Cormac stretched his neck as far as he could. His lips were pulled back, his teeth exposed. Thank God, he was ready to latch on to the ropes, the raft, her—whatever he needed to do. Yes, thank God. Thank Christ. Thank Danu.

  But just as the pallet got into range, it was caught on the edge of an eddy and spun around. The momentum slung the raft in a different direction—away from Cormac and toward the center of the falls, twenty feet from shore. No!

  Meghan was headed for the brink. In seconds she’d go over the edge. No, no, no! Help! Cormac!

  She twisted her neck around to see him sink back onto his haunches, building energy in his muscles. Then, before she really knew what was happening, he sprung out across the water. His legs extended, dark eyes focused.

  Oh, shit! Wait. No! He was going to get himself killed.

  There was a second when Meghan felt sure time had stopped. The world went silent. The roar of the falls was gone.

  Then Cormac’s front paws hit the pallet, and the raft flipped. Meghan flew into the air, and she screamed. It was over. Really over.

  The cold breeze snapped at her wet skin. She floated for a second, then gravity took hold and she fell—down, down, down—not into the raging river, but into empty space. This was it. This was how she was going to die. Cold. Wet. Unable to breathe. Then dashed on the rocks. Broken into a million pieces.

  But not alone. Somewhere out there—falling with her—was Cormac. And the sad peace of that thought…was everything.

  * * *

  AIDEN

  Aiden looked up from the Black Castle who was pinned to the ground and under his paws. Declan returned to the clearing, his muzzle bloodied, his expression satisfied.

  Aiden huffed a question, which his brother easily interpreted with a smug curl of his black lip. He’d got both of the bastards who’d tried to run. Nice.

  For himself, Aiden had torn out the throats of three, but regrettably one got away. The last was now under him and starting to cry.

  He’d saved it for Branna, who approached with the hunting knife that had been left abandoned on the ground. Her expression was flat. There would be no clever comments, no dragging this out for the sake of toying with the monster. She acted as if he was as meaningless to her as a housefly: an irritant quickly dispatched.

  Aiden had been on the receiving end of her blank looks before. It was not a good place to be. Fortunately, she’d never come at him with a knife.

  She lowered herself onto one knee, and Declan felt the man’s heartbeat quicken under his paws.

  Then—without hesitation, regret, or repulsion—Branna drew the blade across his throat.

  * * *

  CORMAC

  Cormac had no thought for what was happening with his brothers. He would allow himself to feel guilty about that later, but not now. For now, all he wanted was to see Meghan safe. Warm and dry. And home.

  A split second after his hound had given him the necessary strength to leap twenty feet across the falls, Cormac had transformed into a man. Only then was he able to snag Meghan’s body in his arms and tilt them both away.

  They’d landed in the same spot where he, his brothers, and Branna had planned this outrageous attack just moments before.

  Ye should have followed the plan. But no. He’d been reckless. Now Meghan’s body lay across his lap. She was pale in his arms, her lips blue.

  “Oh, sweet Danu. Mo cuisle. Please be okay.” He used his palms to scan her body, touching every inch of her as he searched for injury. “Are you hurt? Meghan, please say something.”

  She lay silent.

  Cormac kissed her cheek, blew warm air against her neck, rubbed her arms. He did everything he could think of to bring her back around.

  “Meghan?” he whispered, wrapping her tighter in his arms. He willed all of his heat into her body. He rocked her, holding her, but her arms hung limp.

  “Wake up, mo cuisle. Please. Wake up.” He checked the pulse at her neck and found nothing. His anamchara was dead. He hadn’t saved her. He felt sure that he would, but it hadn’t been enough.

  Did she hit her head? He pushed her wet hair back from her face but found no wounds.

  “Come on, baby. Wake up for me. You’ve done this before. Ye can do it.”

  Still nothing.

  Cormac clutched her against his chest and continued to rock. His lips pulled back in agony, and he made silent promises. If Danu would only save her, he’d make amends. He’d be better. He’d do better. “Please, please, please, please.”

  He kissed Meghan’s temple and squeezed her tighter. Then he felt something against his neck. The tiniest flutter, like a butterfly’s wings against his skin. He pulled back and Meghan opened her eyes a fraction of an inch. It wasn’t a lot. But it was enough.

  Cormac let out an exhale so strong it nearly turned him inside out. “Meghan. Sweet baby. Ye scared me.”

  He pulled his knife and slashed at the ropes that still bound her ankles, then he pulled her back into his arms.

  “I’m sorry, Mack.” Her voice was weak.

  “You’re sorry?”

  “I should have never left without you, but you found me. I knew you would.”

  He almost smiled. “I had help.”

  Meghan’s eyebrows raised in question, then a look of panicked understanding spread across her
face. “Where are they? Are they okay?”

  “I don’t know.” He wished he did.

  Her expression crumbled, and tears filled her eyes as she tried to sit up. “My uncle. He killed that poor girl. I saw him do it. He’ll kill them, too.”

  “He may have tried….” said a voice from out of the trees.

  Cormac and Meghan both turned their heads to look. Cormac let out a sigh of relief, and he felt Meghan’s body do the same.

  Declan, Aiden, and Branna strolled into the clearing as if it was just an average Sunday afternoon.

  “What happened?” Cormac asked.

  “We got them all, but one,” Aiden said.

  “Which one?” Cormac asked.

  “Her aunt got away.”

  Meghan’s body slumped against his chest. That wasn’t good news.

  “We’re sorry about that,” Aiden said, addressing Meghan. “But, counting the one that ye got before….” Then he turned his head meaningfully to Cormac. “The tally now stands at seven.”

  “It should be eight,” Cormac grumbled.

  “No,” Aiden said. “We’ve avenged our family twice over.”

  “And I can claim none of it,” Cormac snarled. “It’s the same as before.”

  “It’s not the same,” Aiden said. “It’s nothing like before. Ye couldn’t save our parents; ye had no opportunity to save Madigan. But ye saved Meghan, and we’re all grateful for that.”

  Cormac looked down at her, then he inhaled and hung his head. Yes, that was all that mattered.

  “That’s more than ye were able to do before, and far more important than anything else,” Declan said. “Let yourself have this redemption Cormac, because ye never really needed it from us.”

  Cormac nodded, and Meghan threw her arms around his neck. Cormac looked over her shoulder at Declan, silently vowing that the woman who called herself Meghan’s aunt would not get away forever. She would pay for what she’d done.

  Declan understood without him saying a word. “Yes, brother. If the threat is there, we will do what cú sídhe do.”