by Donna Grant
Cathal’s lips didn’t move. There was no vocal spell that came from him. Seconds turned to minutes. Finally, he pulled his hand away. “There you go.”
To say she was disappointed that he no longer touched her was an understatement. Obviously, she’d been on her own for too long if she were getting excited—and turned on—by the brush of a man’s hands on her skin.
He did more than brush your skin. He’s held you. Tightly. You know just how good that hard body feels against yours. How strong. How utterly f—
“Does it feel better?”
She startled at his voice. Then slowly moved her ankle. There was no pain. She set her foot on the floor and stood. Walked around. When she came back to the chair, she flashed him a wide smile. “Thank you. I feared I had done more damage to it this morning by going to the pools.”
“I’m glad I could help.”
“Forgive me, but I don’t think I’ve ever known a Dark to willingly help a mortal like this.”
He lifted his broad shoulders in a shrug. “I’m not like other Dark.”
She had already guessed that. “All right. You wanted to talk. I suppose you better get on with it.”
His red gaze slid away briefly. “What I have to say won’t be easy for you to hear.”
“That’s usually the case, isn’t it?” She sat back, the happiness she’d felt swiftly leaving. She liked him, and she knew that whatever he was about to tell her would likely make that change. He was the first person she’d spoken to in years that wasn’t family or someone on the isle. Even when she went to Ireland, she hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words to the B&B owner. She didn’t consider that a conversation.
This, what she was doing with Cathal, was definitely a conversation. And it felt good. Not only was he drop-dead gorgeous, but he had also helped her—three times now. He appeared to be a decent fellow. If one could call a Dark Fae decent.
“You say you’re a Druid,” Cathal began.
Sorcha nodded. “Because I am.”
“Why do you say that?”
She laughed as she rolled her eyes. “Because my mother was. My sister was. And I have magic.”
“What of your father?”
Immediately, Sorcha was on guard. “What about him?”
“Was he a Druid?”
“No. He was just someone passing through town that got my mother pregnant. It was a one-night stand, if you must know.”
“What about your sister?”
Sorcha’s brows snapped together. “My sister was older. Her father, my mother’s husband, died.”
Cathal nodded as his gaze lowered to the ground. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Why does any of that matter?”
He drew in a deep breath and looked up at her. “Because you’re a Halfling. You have Fae blood running through your veins.”
Chapter Eight
The stillness that came over Sorcha was something even a blind man would notice. Cathal’s fingers still tingled from touching her ankle. He wanted nothing more than to reach through the few inches of the open window and touch her again. While they talked, she had relaxed.
Now, the wall that had been around her before had gone back up in record time—higher and thicker than ever before. Cathal regretted how he’d told her, but there hadn’t been another way. He’d thought it easier to just give it to her straight. Ripping off the Band-Aid, as he’d heard so many mortals say.
He licked his lips. “I’m sure this comes as a shock to you.”
“You’re lying,” she stated.
“I’m not. A Fae knows another Fae.”
Sorcha shook her head of auburn curls. “I’m a Druid.”
“Actually, you’re a Halfling, who happens to also be a Druid. The fact that you come from such powerful Druids is something that hasn’t happened before.”
“You think?” she retorted angrily. Then, with her face and voice full of sarcasm, she said, “And I wonder why that is?”
Cathal shifted uncomfortably. He really wished Aisling was with him. She’d know what to say right now. He wasn’t good at talking. He always messed it up by saying the wrong thing. “Is it so bad having Fae blood?”
“More than you could possibly imagine.”
Her words were laced with such hatred that it took him aback. If she felt that strongly, why had she allowed him to have a conversation?
Sorcha pushed angrily to her feet. Without looking at him, she said, “You’ve said what you wanted. You need to leave.”
“I’m not finished. There’s more.”
“I don’t bloody care. Leave!”
He noticed her hands fisted at her sides. She shook with emotion. Her gaze was directed away from him, but he saw that her jaw was clenched, and she was doing everything she could to keep herself from falling apart.
Cathal slowly got to his feet. “When you’re ready to hear the rest, just say my name. I’ll come immediately. And…I’m sorry. I never meant to upset you.”
He waited a few seconds, but Sorcha wouldn’t look at him. Cathal drew in a deep breath and walked away. He didn’t get two steps before the window slammed shut behind him. The moment he got to the edge of the porch, he veiled himself and looked back at her. She no longer stood at the window. Cathal hated that he’d caused her stress, but there was no way around it. Besides, there had been a chance that she would’ve taken the news as something to celebrate.
There was no way to look at this that would give him any kind of reprieve. He was the one who had wanted to seek Sorcha out. He had wanted to speak with her. And what had it gotten him? Not a bloody thing.
During the next hour, Cathal guarded the property. More and more Fae showed up. Some stayed, others hid, and a few seemed content just to make sure Sorcha was there. But not one of them realized there were Reapers on the isle—or guarding Sorcha.
When Aisling returned, Cathal had never been happier to see her. “About time.”
She gave him an odd look. “I thought you wanted some alone time with the Halfling.”
“Sorcha.”
Aisling smiled. “Ah. You found out her name. Does that mean you spoke with her?”
“Aye.”
“I take that to mean it didn’t go well.”
He ran a hand down his face. “Not at all. It started off all right. She wouldn’t use her magic to heal her ankle, but she allowed me to do it.”
“Wow. That did start out well. How did you fek it up?”
Cathal couldn’t take offense at her words because they were the truth. “I asked about her family. She said she was a Druid, that her mother and sister were, as well. She said her sister’s father died, and her mother met someone else and became pregnant with her.”
Aisling’s nose wrinkled in a grimace. “Is that when you told her she’s a Halfling?”
“I thought it was the perfect opportunity.”
“Well, to be fair, I probably would’ve done the same. Especially if the conversation had been going well up to that point.”
Cathal looked at the cottage. No matter how many times he walked around the house, he hadn’t seen more than a glimpse of her within. “She hates Fae.”
“Damn. Wait,” Aisling said, a frown creasing her brow. “If she hates us, why did she speak with you?”
He shrugged. “I wondered that myself. She wouldn’t come outside or let me in, but she opened a window a bit so we could talk. Then she let me heal her. Please tell me you found out something.”
“I did, but before I get to that, what the hell?” she asked as she turned her head one way and then the other, taking in the Fae who had shown up but weren’t stepping onto Sorcha’s property.
“I spotted the first one not long after you left. I also found a worn ward against the Fae in the rose garden. It’s on a piece of weathered wood.”
“Which means it’s losing its effectiveness,” Aisling said.
Cathal nodded as he eyed the Fae who had been there the longest. “I checked around the e
ntire property again, but that’s the only ward I found.”
“There could be more inside the house.”
“Could be.”
“Want me to look?”
He hesitated to answer. It would be easy for both of them to get inside the cottage as they’d done earlier, but he didn’t want to invade Sorcha’s privacy—even if it was to protect her.
Aisling held up a hand. “I understand. We might not have a choice later, though.”
“I don’t know what it is about Sorcha.”
The Dark female shrugged and looked away. “You don’t have to try and explain anything to me. I’m the last person who will judge you.”
Cathal’s gaze slid to her. He studied her profile for a moment before he said, “Thank you.”
“It’s nothing,” she said offhandedly.
But he knew otherwise.
Aisling cleared her throat and faced him. “As tightknit as the residents on Skye are, they are quite the gossips.”
“They talked to you about Sorcha?”
“No,” Aisling said with a roll of her red eyes. “I ventured into a pub veiled. It was full of locals, and the main topic of conversation was none other than Sorcha. Well, her and the fact that, apparently, they have spells up that alert them when any Fae arrive.”
Cathal crossed his arms over his chest, not liking that people were talking about Sorcha.
Aisling gave him a flat look. “Don’t get your panties in a wad. If they hadn’t been talking about her, I wouldn’t have found out anything. Besides, they weren’t badmouthing her.”
That made him feel a little better. Not much, but some. “What did they say?”
“Turns out, she didn’t lie. Until a few days ago, when she agreed to go to Ireland to spy, Sorcha hadn’t left her property in ten years. Nor does she do magic.”
“But why?” Cathal asked, confused.
Aisling’s lips flattened for a heartbeat. “I didn’t learn the story behind it, but apparently, it has something to do with the day her mother and sister died.”
“That would explain why she got restless when she spoke about her family.”
“I gather it’s a sore subject.” Aisling shrugged. “I tried to uncover the story, but it isn’t something anyone talks about.”
Cathal dropped his arms to his sides as he blew out a breath. “That explains a lot, actually. I wish I would’ve known all of that before I talked to her.”
“It’s probably better that you didn’t. Whatever happened to her family…it left a raw wound that doesn’t appear to have healed. Take my advice and don’t bring it up again. If Sorcha wants to talk about it, then she’ll bring it up.”
Cathal nodded as he looked at the cottage, wondering what Sorcha was doing. “You’re probably right.”
“I know I’m right. Do you want to talk about your past?”
His head snapped to her as his brows drew together. “Fek no.”
“Then she won’t either. No one likes to talk about a past as dark and horrid as ours. I’ve got a sneaking suspicion hers is just as bad.”
“Fek me,” Cathal said as he turned away and walked a few paces before he stopped.
Aisling walked to him. “You told her what needed to be said.”
“I didn’t finish. As soon as I informed her she was a Halfling, she ordered me to leave. I told her I’d be around when she was ready to hear the rest.”
“The rest? Ah. You mean about the ritual. She does need to know about that.”
He twisted his lips as he met Aisling’s gaze. “You have any ideas?”
“Other than beating the hell out of the Fae who think they can come onto this property? None. I don’t think there’s anything more we can do at this time. At least not until Sorcha wants to hear more.”
“If she ever does.”
Aisling looked over her shoulder at the cottage. “Maybe she’ll surprise us. At least the Druids here are aware of the Fae’s arrival. Though they can’t do anything about it. Not sure it’ll even help Sorcha.”
What worried him more was how long he and Aisling would be able to stay on Skye before Death called them back.
“Look, big guy,” Aisling said as she slapped him on the arm. “It’s going to be all right. It always is.”
He couldn’t say that it always turned out okay. In fact, he was pretty sure it didn’t. But he didn’t argue with Aisling. She was trying to help him, so he left it at that.
She cracked her knuckles. “So, which side of the property do you want?”
“You pick first,” he answered with a grin.
If there was one thing Reapers knew how to do, it was fight. It was one of the main reasons Erith had chosen each of them.
Aisling looked at the Fae who had arrived first. He was a big Light Fae that had yet to take his eyes off the cottage. “I don’t like the looks of him.”
“Neither do I.”
“Well, perhaps it’s time someone urged him to leave.”
Cathal shook his head as he caught her gaze. “Let’s not touch any of them unless they come on the property.”
She rolled her eyes. “You take all the fun out of everything.”
But there was a smile on her face as she started toward the Light Fae. Once she had taken her position, Cathal took his. There was no way any Fae would get near Sorcha now—or ever.
Chapter Nine
He was wrong. He had to be.
Sorcha repeated that over and over in her head after Cathal had walked away. She was glad he’d left, as well as irritated that he had gone so easily. He should’ve forced her to listen to whatever else he had to say.
“Right. Because that would’ve gone over so well,” she said to herself, sighing loudly in exasperation.
The problem was that she had been having a good time with him. A very good time, in fact. She hadn’t been prepared for his words—or how they affected her. Half-Fae. That couldn’t be possible. Could it?
No matter how many times she asked herself that, there was no answer. In fact, the only one who could answer that was her mum. And since she was dead, how else could Sorcha learn the truth? Then, it hit her.
She hurried to her mother’s room. Sorcha had left things decorated as they were. She might have changed up the rest of the house, but her mother’s and sister’s bedrooms, as well as everything inside, had been left as they were. Sorcha was glad that she’d made that decision years ago because there just might be something in here that could help.
For the next few hours, she opened every drawer, looked through every box, but didn’t find anything to give her any clue as to who her father had been. Sorcha remembered being young and asking about her dad. Her mother hadn’t turned her away or tried to talk of other things. She’d been very open about it and said that she’d met him one night, and their passion had been undeniable. They’d had a brief affair before he left. It was only once he was gone that she learned she was pregnant—and had no way to get in touch with him.
Sorcha sat on the bed, letting that conversation run through her head. The one thing she’d never asked her mum was the name of her father. Her mother had talked about her dead husband and Sorcha’s father in generalities often. Maybe that’s why it had never dawned on her to ask her mother what his name was. In this day and age of electronics, it wouldn’t have been difficult to find him.
Unless her mum couldn’t locate him because he was Fae.
Sorcha covered her face with her hands. There was no reason for Cathal to lie to her. Or was there? She dropped her hands and lifted her head. The Fae had proven time and again that they couldn’t be trusted.
And humans haven’t?
“Shut up,” she told her subconscious.
The last thing she needed was to argue with herself. Unfortunately, now that the words had been said, she couldn’t stop thinking about them. She believed Cathal. Not because he was so good-looking, it was sinful. But because there had been sincerity in his face, eyes, and voice. Of course, there was a cha
nce that he could be a great liar, but she didn’t think so.
Sorcha rose and walked to the doorway. She was about to click off the light when she glanced at the bed. That’s when she remembered seeing her mother putting something in between the mattress and box spring when she was a little girl. Sorcha hurried to the bed, shoved aside the comforter, and lifted the mattress. That’s when she spotted six different journals.
She grabbed them all and took them with her into the living room. A glance through the windows showed that it had grown dark. She quickly pulled the curtains and sat cross-legged on the sofa as she found the earliest journal and opened it.
It started the day her mum buried her husband. Sorcha could barely read the words penned with such grief and despair that it brought tears to her eyes. Her mother had loved her husband dearly. His death had been sudden and tragic. The only thing that’d seemed to pull her mother through was Sorcha’s sister, Molly. That journal was full of days of heartache and depression with a few good days sprinkled throughout.
The second journal began a year to the day after her mother’s husband’s death. Sorcha quickly realized that her mum had gone through a lot that year, forcing herself to look ahead instead of into the past. She focused on Molly and being the best mom she could. Men asked her out, but her mum always refused.
The third journal started out much the same, but something changed midway through. Her mum went from trying to find something to be happy about, to being happy. She never mentioned a man by name, but it was obvious that there was someone. Their meeting was nine months to the day before Sorcha’s birth. Unfortunately, her mother didn’t speak much about the man.
* * *
July 18th
* * *
I saw him again. What is it about him that draws me? I can’t seem to stay away. I honestly believed I would never love again after my husband, but now I see there’s a chance. A real chance.