04 Sphere Song - The Isle of Destiny

by Tricia O'Malley

  “Who will take us at this early hour?”

  “I’m sure a hostel or a hotel will be open. Or we camp,” Dagda shrugged, unconcerned.

  “Or, Dag, you and I can switch off driving – we drive straight through, the girls sleep, and then we can check into an inn as soon as we arrive and rest for a few hours.”

  “Also an option,” Dagda said.

  “Let’s do shifts then. I’ll stay up with Dagda so he doesn’t fall asleep, and then you two switch out in a few hours,” Neala said.

  “Sounds good. I’m about to drop as it is,” Bianca admitted, snuggling into the crook of Seamus’s arm in the back seat. In but a few moments, their breathing turned rhythmic and Seamus began to snore lightly.

  “That didn’t take long,” Neala commented.

  “Adrenaline crash. I’m fine to drive, you can sleep,” Dagda said, the night cocooning them intimately in the front seat as he drove.

  “No, I’ll keep you company. Wouldn’t be fair,” Neala said, and stretched in her seat before turning to look at him. “You said you had no family to speak of. What does that mean?”

  “Nothing to be said about them,” Dagda said, his face a mask in the glow of the dash.

  Neala just waited, saying nothing, until Dagda sighed.

  “Women. Always talk, talk, talk. My family and I parted ways years ago. We didn’t see eye-to-eye on things like the fae way of life, career choices, and whom I should marry. They are exceptionally conservative and feel that the fae world should not intersect with the human world. They are of the old sect, who will continue to live in magickal realms only, never meeting or interacting with humans. I didn’t feel the same.”

  “I… well, that’s fascinating. I never really thought about that. Granted, before a day ago I never much believed in fae to begin with, but to think about an entire society existing outside of ours, with no wish to interact with us… Is this belief held by most of the fae?” Neala almost pinched herself. She couldn’t believe she was having this conversation – but hey, she’d just called down the wind, so anything was possible, really.

  “The majority of the fae either encourage, delight in, or are ambivalent about intermixing with humans. There is a small sect that refuses to do so, thinking they are like peasants, and that we are destroying our bloodline by sleeping with or marrying humans.”

  The image of sleeping with Dagda slammed into her so forcefully that Neala had to consciously make herself breathe normally. Her entire body had flushed in desire. She sincerely hoped he didn’t have some magickal power that could read her lusty thoughts. Thanking the darkness, for she was certain her face would be flushed, Neala swallowed before answering.

  “I suppose the mixing of races has been an age-old issue across many cultures. Why would it be any different with magickal realms?”

  “Exactly. I didn’t agree and so I left. We don’t speak, and I think all of us have made our peace with that.” Dagda shrugged.

  “You’re on your own, then.”

  “Aye. Just me, lass.”

  “I get that,” Neala said, tucking a foot under her leg and wishing briefly for a cup of hot chocolate and a warm chocolate chip cookie from her bakery. “I’m the same. I think you end up having to create your own family then. Or just let it go.”

  “When did your da die?” Dagda asked.

  “Going on seven years now,” Neala said. “But our relationship had deteriorated by that point anyway. For the most part I just called him on holidays. He chose that time to rant at me about my politics and life choices, endlessly trying to needle me because I didn’t agree with him.”

  “Why didn’t you pretend to agree with him to mollify him?” Dagda asked.

  “Not my style,” Neala said, smiling over at Dagda.

  “Aye, lass, mine either.”

  “And here we are, two loners on a mission to save the world – even those who don’t share the same views as us,” Neala said.

  “You can’t always pick and choose. We fight for the greater good, to save those who are too blind to see. It may not feel good, but imagine if nobody picked up the fight? Then all would be lost.”

  “That’s the truth of it, then.”

  “Are you angry with your father?” Dagda asked.

  “Aye, I am. He was so fixated on himself, his world, and his wants and needs, that he couldn’t see past that to try and form a real relationship – one of mutual respect. I was willing to allow him to hold his own views; why couldn’t he let me have mine? It was childish and controlling, and, yeah, I’m angry.”

  “Anger isn’t good for the soul,” Dagda commented.

  “Neither is regret.”

  Chapter Twenty

  They found a little seaside bed and breakfast with two rooms available early in the morning. Dagda liked it for its location by the cliffside and the open land around it – not as easy for the Domnua to creep up and ambush them. Neala liked it for the cheerful blue front door and the yellow shutters that beamed like a beacon of friendliness on another gloomy day along the water.

  “Girls in one, guys in the other?” Neala had asked brightly, expecting Bianca to easily acquiesce. She was surprised when the blonde shook her head adamantly.

  “Sorry, love, but I want to cuddle up with my honey,” Bianca said, and she and Seamus had disappeared up the stairs without another thought as to what position that would leave Dagda and Neala in.

  Neala gulped as she climbed the creaky wooden steps and followed the innkeeper to their room. Dagda smiled at her small sigh of relief when she saw two double beds tucked under the eaves in a small but charming room.

  “She’s small, but will keep you cozy against the winds today. Let me know if you need anything else. I’m thinking you’ll be wanting some rest so I won’t be bothering you.” The innkeeper bustled out with a smile on her face.

  “I’ll be back in about twenty minutes or so,” Dagda said, gesturing to the door to the small bathroom tucked in the corner. “Feel free to use the shower.”

  “Wait, where are you going?” Neala asked.

  “Perimeter check. And to see about getting some supplies.”

  And with that, he was gone, leaving Neala to be grateful for a moment of alone time. While tired to the bone, her mind was whirling with all the new things she’d learned and experienced in the last day. She doubted she would be able to sleep anytime soon. Instead, the shower beckoned. Delighted with the hot water, which poured out in a steady stream, Neala took a long, luxurious rinse in the shower, combing through her hair with her fingers and allowing the warmth of the water to sweep any lingering tension in her muscles away. When she had finally dried off and wrapped her hair in a towel, exhaustion had done its work on her. Eyeing the only shirt she had, Neala pulled it over her head and peeked out into the room. Seeing that Dagda was still gone, she picked a bed, dove under the covers, and dropped off to sleep the minute her head touched the pillow.

  By the time Dagda returned, Neala had tossed and turned enough that her hair had come unwrapped from the towel and the blankets were wound around her legs. He hadn’t been prepared for the punch of her – the vulnerability of her face in sleep, at total peace, nor the way her hair tumbled across the bedsheets, its rich auburn against the stark white of the pillow. Though he knew it was rude, he couldn’t help but follow the curve of her hip, down one luscious thigh that was exposed from the sheet, to a delicately shaped calf. It pained Dagda not to be able to cross the room and slide beneath the sheets with her, to entwine themselves until they were one, so that he could protect her and she him.

  Silently cursing, he ran his hand through his hair and dropped a package lightly on the floor by her bed before crossing the room to squeeze himself into the impossibly small shower. Whenever he decided to settle down and buy a house, he was going to build himself a massive shower with enough room for six people and a bench to sit upon.

  Or make love on.

  Dagda groaned and forced himself to drown out the images of
Neala that flashed through his head, and instead concentrated on the task at hand. Get a few hours’ sleep, keep the group moving, leave few tracks behind. He had to remember they were at war, not on holiday.

  Their lives depended on it.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  He’d bought her clothes.

  Neala almost laughed at the sheer absurdity of picturing Dagda in a clothing store, speaking with a saleswoman about sizes and the like.

  “I can’t believe you found a clothing store,” Neala said in delight, pawing through the bag she’d found next to her bed. She was still under the hand-quilted coverlet, and still only in a shirt, but none of that mattered now that she had a change of clothes.

  “I have my ways,” Dagda said and sat up in bed, crossing his arms on his bare chest, which suddenly had Neala’s undivided attention. The man was built. And she’d been right about there being some tattoos – none of which she could decipher, as they seemed to be in an intricate script she couldn’t read. “Go on, see if you like them.”

  “Oh, right,” Neala said, tearing her gaze away from Dagda’s muscles. She pulled out a long-sleeved shirt in deep green, a beautiful softly woven wool sweater coat in a misty grey pattern flecked with greens, and a pair of brilliant green emerald silk panties. Neala held up the panties and raised an eyebrow.

  “You didn’t strike me as the plain white cotton type,” Dagda shrugged, completely comfortable with buying sexy underwear for a woman – which immediately miffed Neala. Just how many other women had he bought underwear for?

  “I’m not, thanks,” Neala said, flushing a bit at the thought of him knowing what kind of underwear she wore.

  “I didn’t pick a bra, because, well, I haven’t had that particular pleasure so I can’t be the best judge of size and all,” Dagda said, and Neala held up a hand to stop him.

  “These are great, thank you. You like green?”

  “I like you in green,” Dagda said, his voice holding a sexy timbre that sent shivers through Neala’s body.

  “That’s nice of you. My assistant is always telling me to wear more green, but I have a tendency to just buy white. I get a lot of stains at work, even if I wear an apron, so I like stuff that’s easy to bleach,” Neala said, then slammed her mouth closed, realizing she was babbling. “I’m just going to go put these on.”

  She realized she was holding the decidedly sexy underwear in the air, and flushed once again. Holding her head high, she got out of bed, tugging her shirt down to make sure it covered everything, and hightailed it for the bathroom, clutching her clothes in her hand. A quick freshen-up later, Neala came back out in her jeans, long-sleeved green t-shirt, and green silk panties that fit like Dagda knew every inch and curve of her body. His eyes skimmed over her, lingering at her waist, before meeting her gaze.

  “Looking good,” Dagda said.

  “Thanks again. Everything fits. And, uh, yeah, it’s nice to have a clean shirt,” Neala said, refusing to bring up the underwear situation again. They were both adults; this was no big deal.

  A knock sounded at the door, followed by Bianca’s voice.

  “Are you guys up? Am I interrupting anything? We’ve got visitors.”

  Neala gaped as Dagda jumped from the bed and threw the door open. Luckily, he was wearing pants – which she thought was odd, until she realized that a warrior was never unprepared. Which explained why he now held a dagger in his hand and was looking over Bianca’s head down the hallway.

  Bianca gaped at the muscled chest that met her eyeline, and then peered around Dagda to where Neala stood.

  “Okay, just checking to make sure you had clothes on,” Bianca said. “It’s not Domnua. Meet us in the breakfast room. We’re ready to move.”

  “Be down in five,” Dagda said, and closed the door in Bianca’s face. “Pack up.”

  “I’ve got like two things to be packing. I’m ready,” Neala pointed out.

  Dagda actually laughed. “You’re right. I’m used to women carrying a lot of bags.”

  Neala waited for Dagda to use the bathroom, throw his things in a bag, and button up a red tartan shirt that made her want to snuggle into him. Damn the man for being impossibly sexy. She desperately wanted to ask about the women he’d traveled with who carried a lot of bags, but held her tongue, even though she was faintly annoyed.

  “Say it,” Dagda said with a small sigh, standing at the door of the room.

  “What? It’s nothing.” Neala shrugged.

  Dagda crossed his arms and blocked the door.

  “It’s never just nothing with women. Speak,” Dagda ordered.

  “I was just thinking it’s remarkable that you were able to guess the right size of my clothing” – Neala refused to say ‘panties’ – “and that you seem to know so much about traveling with women, is all. Seems to me you’ve had a lot of women in your life.”

  Dagda’s face split in a full grin and Neala wanted to kick him in the shin.

  “Aw, darling, are you getting jealous on me? I didn’t know you were thinking of me that way,” he said, and Neala groaned.

  She muscled her way past him, digging her elbow into his side as she went. “I’m not,” she insisted.

  “Sounds like you are,” Dagda said, his tone decidedly cheerful as he followed her down the steps.

  “If I even was, now I definitely would not be,” Neala said, even more annoyed by him.

  “The lady doth protest too much,” Dagda said from behind her.

  Neala threw up her hands in disgust as they entered the breakfast room, Dagda’s low chuckle following her. Bianca was right. Goddess save them from men and their egos.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A tall man with brown hair tied at the base of his neck and intense green eyes paced the breakfast room, with a decidedly purple tinge hovering around him. Judging from his tightly wound movements and mutinous face, Neala wondered if this was another protector.

  “It’s Sasha, then, that’s been taken,” Seamus said without preamble. Neala glanced to where Bianca was sitting next to an older woman with striking white hair, wearing an oversized button-down shirt and trim khakis. Whiskey-brown eyes smiled at her from across the room and there was something about her energy that made Neala feel immediately at home.

  “Brother,” Dagda said, striding across the room to perform some sort of complicated handshake with the impatient man.

  “Aye, ’tis Sasha that’s been taken. I’m Declan, by the way,” Declan said, nodding across the room at Neala, “her love and her protector. And I failed her.”

  “You most certainly did not, young man.” The older woman spoke so sharply that everyone in the room immediately straightened their shoulders. “You can’t be on guard at all times. It’s not your fault. It’s that coward of a goddess Domnu.” Lightning cracked outside at her words and the woman looked up at the ceiling. “Knock it off.”

  Neala raised both eyebrows at the woman. Whoever she was, two things were certain – Neala didn’t want to get on her bad side, and she really liked her.

  “I’m Fiona,” the woman said, introducing herself to Dagda and Neala, who were apparently the only ones who didn’t know her. “Let’s just say I’ve had some involvement in this quest you’ve all been on.”

  “You’re Danula then?” Neala asked, sliding into a chair across from Fiona and gratefully accepting the cup of tea Bianca pushed across the cheerful blue wooden table to her.

  “No, I’m not fae. But that’s not to say that my bloodline doesn’t have a touch of its own magick.” Fiona smiled at her. “I’m a healer, among other things, and Danu has entrusted me to help here and there along the way on this quest. We’re all fighting for the same thing, after all.”

  “A healer… as in, with magick? One of those ‘you lay your hands on someone and heal them’ type deals?” Neala leaned forward, genuinely interested. She’d read a book about someone like this once and had a ton of questions to ask.

  “Aye, that’s the way of it. A wee bit
more complicated than that, but close,” Fiona smiled.

  “So…”

  “I hate to interrupt, but can we please go rescue Sasha? I’m barely holding myself back from breaking every table in this room,” Declan declared, and the innkeeper popped her head into the breakfast room.

  “It’s best ye be moving along then. I won’t be holding with no violence in my place of business,” the innkeeper said sternly.

  They all stood, muttering their apologies on the way out the door, while Dagda tipped her handsomely for the room.

  “I don’t know why you tipped her so much. It’s not like we even stayed the night,” Neala pointed out.

  “She’ll be less inclined to speak of us after I tipped her so well and said we’d be back on our way out of town so long as she kept our visit quiet,” Dagda said smoothly as they made their way to the Land Rover.

  “Neala, would you like to ride with us?” Fiona asked.

  Dagda shook his head no. “She stays with me.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Bianca immediately volunteered, and leaned over to give Seamus a smacking kiss on the lips. “See you soon, handsome.”

  Seamus’s eyes lit with love and his cheeks flushed, which told Neala all she needed to know about how Seamus and Bianca had chosen to spend their time in the B&B.

  “You’re certain about this island?” Declan asked.

  “It’s the southernmost point – well, southernmost inhabited point, aside from another tiny island with a lighthouse. We found Clare in a lighthouse already; I honestly can’t imagine Domnu being so stupid as to put Sasha in one as well. But we’ll have a boat and if we don’t find her here, we’ll head there next.”

  “And you, Seeker – this feels right to you?” Declan demanded, his tone still murderous, and Neala stiffened.

  “Yes, it’s right,” Neala said, raising her chin to meet Declan’s eyes.

  “Then I’ll be thanking ye when this is over.” Declan nodded once and climbed into a sturdy looking SUV, and Neala was surprised to see Fiona take the wheel.