At her stunned gasp, he had practically fallen over himself to assure her they’d already had a friend tow the car into Limerick, which was the only town near with a mechanic capable of fixing it. It just so happened, said mechanic was a friend of theirs and would fix the damn thing at cost, as a favor to the Fitzpatricks.
So once again, she’d cycled from disaster to relief in the blink of an eye.
It was becoming an annoyingly frequent happenstance lately. Lacey had also gotten a nap, in a truly amazing bed with a goose down-filled mattress and pillow. She’d slept 3 hours. When she awoke, Moiré had firmly refused her help with dinner.
Instead, she was pushed into a chair by the fire, a peat one that smelled sweet and smoky--almost as wonderful as the food, and bidden not to move on pain of torture. Then, she was surrounded by a horde of freshly-washed children clamoring for stories about America. She was happy to comply.
After stuffing herself shamelessly with the delicious dinner, Lacey finally felt not hungry for the first time since she’d left the States. It really was a very pleasant feeling, to be full of good food in a house full of good will. Moiré had just sent her to bed early and Lacey was too exhausted to protest.
She felt so sleepy as she made her way down the hall to the little pink room she’d napped in that afternoon. Pictures lined the hallway walls and though she couldn’t make out details in the dim light, most of them seemed to be of various Fitzpatricks with their arms slung comfortably around each other. They were a particularly close family, anyone could sense that.
Which made it so curious that no one had mentioned the other brother, Ronan, all night. Not even the children. Not once. It made her wonder if he was always a pariah, and that his off-putting behavior really had nothing to do with her personally. A comforting thought.
One she found herself unable to swallow. Everything about the malice in those eyes had been personal. Very.
Lacey sighed, eyeing her reflection in a huge gilt mirror as she yawned widely. She had no energy for solving a mystery tonight. She was just too damn tired.
Even when her head sunk into the downy softness of her pillow and she realized she hadn’t called Kate, she couldn’t bribe her body into moving. Tomorrow, she thought, sleepily. It will wait for tomorrow.
But the dreams didn’t wait. They pounced the moment her eyes closed. And in them the man with gray eyes was waiting.
He had to wait hours before he was convinced no one was stirring. Hours of muscle-knotting tension. But when Ronan finally slipped into her room, he was a fluid shadow. Loose and ready for battle, wearing only the light sweatpants he donned when transforming over his muscular body.
His mother had given the woman the twin’s room, which was right next to her own. The large pink bed with its pile of stuffed animals at the foot was incongruous with his murderous mood. Which was nothing to his fury when he slipped nearer and saw it was mussed, but empty.
"Damnú air!" He breathed.
Did you plan on murdering me in my sleep then?” The soft voice from behind him nearly made his heart stop. Ronan forced himself to turn slowly, showing no sign of weakness. His keen eyes could scarce make out her faint outline, huddled in the old settee the girls had shoved under the low-slung eaves. He didn’t reply but moved closer.
She shifted and he caught a glint of bright hair in the slice of moonlight that was all the heavy lace curtains allowed in.
“That’s close enough, I think.” For the first time, Ronan noticed her voice was hoarse, as if she’d been crying and it fair shook with terror, though her words were firm enough. “I haven’t made up my mind whether or not it’s a good idea to scream.”
“It’s not.” He growled, ignoring her distress. It was undoubtedly a trap to pull him in so she could strike when his defenses were down. “If you bring my family into this you cannot imagine what I’ll do to you.”
“Oh, I’m not sure you’re right about that. I think I’ve just had a preview.” This time when she moved Ronan caught the sheen of a wet cheek, and her voice was unmistakably shaking. She sounded terrified...and utterly forlorn. It was an effort to ignore the compassion that instinctively rose in him…, but Ronan contemplated the price of such weakness and cut it off at the knees.
“Enough with these games, witch,” he hissed. “I’ll be stopping you before this goes any further.”
“Witch?!” he heard her whisper to herself, as if in shock. Impatient with this play-acting, Ronan strode to the window in two long strides and tore the curtains from their rod. He dropped them to the floor, grunting in satisfaction as both moon and star-light illuminated the room.
“I care not what ye call yourself, Lacey Ryan." Ronan spat, using the name he'd heard his mam call her through the kitchen walls. "Witch or sorceress or plain devil. I know naught except ye are no Changeling. But you’re here to do ill, do nae deny it!”
Ronan had spoken before turning to face her and when he did, he was struck by how skilled her treachery was.
Cast in the silver glow flooding the room, she was pale as water, wearing a scrap of white cotton that left most of her shoulders and legs bare. Clutching her knees to her chest, her eyes were huge and shadowed and fixed on him in apparently bewildered terror. He hated seeing her cower from him--the sight of her tears made him sick. But Ronan knew better than the most that evil can play the heart’s strings with a melody so cunning even the strongest are brought to their knees.
He leapt across the room, his hand shooting out to grasp her by the throat and yank her gasping to her feet.
Ronan pressed his face into hers.
“Stop the charade, bitseach," he whispered, his lips brushing the hair at her temple. He could feel the breath jetting from her mouth as she struggled for air, both her hands scrambling at the iron muscles of his forearm. He tightened his grip on her throat, feeling the delicate bones of her jaw under his thumb and forefinger. “We both know you....,” his voice trailed off.
Her breath had ceased to warm his face and her fingers were slipping from his arm like slackened ribbons. Ronan frowned.
This was altogether too easy. Another trick, he thought in disgust. Until her body went limp and her eyes, those terribly beautiful eyes started to roll back. She was dying.
If it was a trick, it was going to be a damn permanent one. For a long, slow moment, Ronan twisted on the spit of indecision, unable to reconcile a victory in what felt more like a slaughter.
With an oath, he flung her back onto the settee.
Ronan moved to the bare window frame, ignoring the choking sounds from behind him, his whole body shaking with furious confusion. What was this madness?
His head pounded with the need to understand, and he barely resisted the urge to pound his fists likewise into the sill. He wasn’t wrong! This was no mere mortal, no matter what his daft brother thought. He didn’t dream of mere mortals. He didn’t wake covered in the cold sweat of fear because of some stranded tourist. Gods’ play was at work here and he would damn well find out how.
He whipped around and stalked to where the woman lay. She scrambled up quickly as he approached, one hand at her already bruising throat. He ignored the way she flinched as he knelt down so that they were eye to eye.
He had to focus on every syllable to keep from shouting, even so, the words ground against each other like stones.
“You will. Tell me. Everything. You know. Understand?”
She stared at him with wide, wet eyes before nodding, but even that slight movement had her wincing, then coughing again. Ronan swallowed, the taste in his own throat bitter.
He was not accustomed to inflicting pain on the weak. It rankled.
With a sigh, Ronan stretched out his fingers. She made a strangled sort of yelp and jerked away. He glared at her and shook his head warningly. It was hard for him to be wary of her now. She looked so lost and full of pain as her eyes darted to his fingers, then his face.
Obviously realizing there was no option, she lifted her chin an
d glared right back at him. The show of spirit might have been more convincing if her lips hadn’t been trembling.
Ronan stretched out his hand again and held it an inch from her injured throat, breathing shallow and fast until light he willed danced across his fingers, starting out silver, but fast becoming an intense cobalt.
Her eyes widened in the glow and her delicate nostrils flared. He could tell it took every ouch of courage she had not to scramble away and he wondered about that as well. His magic was scant, being innate and would impress no real practitioner of the art. It was effective enough for this, though.
His fingers caressed her throat once, gently. She was soft as a rose petal under his touch and the way she trembled made him suck in a breath. The light jumped from his fingers to her skin, flared up like flames in a breeze, then flickered and faded. The sharp tang of smoke drifted through the air.
Both of her hands darted to her now unmarked throat. Cautiously, she took a deep breath and then another, without coughing. She bit her lip, her eyes dancing to his and away, her hands falling to her lap and twisting together.
“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me how you did that?” Her voice came out as a whisper, even though he know his healing had been complete.
Ronan rolled his shoulders in dismissal. “I can undo damage I’ve wrought. Though I can nae bring back the dead, which is what you’ll be, if ye don’t start talking.”
"I honestly have no idea what you expect me to say, I'm pretty damn sure I'm the most clueless person in this room at the moment." She swallowed nervously but met his gaze.
Ronan narrowed his. "Well, why don start with how ye knew I was coming tonight, if yer so clueless?"
"I didn't know anything! I just had a dream, a really terrible dream. I couldn't go back to sleep. You were in it..." Her voice faded and she shuddered once.
"Ye had a dream about me?" Ronan kept his tone mild, despite his suddenly thundering heartbeat, watching her face intently.
"Well, yes. It was in the woods again..."
"Again?" he growled.
"I had a dream last night, too." She stared up at him and tucked her legs beneath her, the scalloped edge of her nightdress slipping high on her thighs.
Ronan loathed how aware he was of her. It was a craving opium and having someone light a pipe right in front of you kind of ache. The smell of her clawed at him, light as heather in the dew. He had to push himself to concentrate on her words.
"My…my sister had a nightmare about me the night I left and it freaked her out. I guess it freaked me out, too. Because I had a dream just like she'd described. It was really your stock nightmare: dark woods, me alone, running from something awful."
Ronan knew damn well it had been more than that, but he let it go. "But, tonight," he prompted, "was it not so… typical?"
"No," Lacey said softly. "I...I've never felt anything like it. I woke up shaking...and sick. I walked for a minute," Her hand floated back and forth, indicating pacing. "Then I sat on the couch. I didn't want to go back to bed, but I didn't want to wake anyone. Then you came in. I kinda thought I was still dreaming at first. Until..." She stopped and looked awkward.
He understood. Dreams, even truly awful nightmares, didn't actually try to murder you. At least in not in the so-called 'real' world. And he was beginning to consider for the first time that Lacey might just be from that world.
Unfortunately for her, it didn't mean she couldn't be a pawn. And pawns could bring down a king. He'd seen it happen.
Ronan was no king, though he'd been used by a few. And like a king he had people to protect, a duty to bear. He couldn't afford not to consider every angle.
He leaned back on his heels, watching her face. Emotions flickered across it like light on water. Very normal human emotions: exhaustion, confusion, and fear.
The fear was the only constant, it radiated from her like the rays of a cold sun. He didn't miss her furtive, despairing glances toward the door. He had enemies that could easily have foreseen his reaction to Lacey....or induced it.
Aine.
How diabolical would it be, Ronan thought, if they were actually using a normal human to bring about the unseen doom the dream warned of? Guilt tightened his throat again. If that were true, what he had done, and what he probably would still have to do, was almost unforgivable.
But only almost. And only if it were true.
"Tell me about the dream." It was a command, but he softened his tone slightly, recognizing now that if she were truly just a human woman, he was lucky she hadn’t already passed out on him.
Bewildered, but obviously terrified of refusing, Lacey closed her eyes and leaned back against the whorled cushions, in a clear attempt to calm herself. But Ronan could see the rapid rise and fall of her breasts beneath the thin nightdress. He could practically hear her heartbeat. His hands clenched.
"I was in the woods...the woods between here and Lough Gur." From her pause, she had just realized that.
It was no surprise to him.
"I was running through those woods. I had scratches everywhere and blood here," her fingers indicated her forehead, her eyes remaining closed. "And there were all these aches and pains all over my body, like I'd been in a car accident, or had fallen over and over again, really hard—something like that. But I couldn't stop running, it was too important. Something terrible was coming, and I felt awful, sick.., like I wasn't going to get there in time."
"Where were you going?" Ronan hissed, fighting to keep his voice low.
Lacey moved her shoulders. "I don't remember, but the urge to get there was overwhelming. I think I was headed… east? It went so fast, trees flashing by and all these shadows from the moonlight. It had to be the full moon, because it was so bright, but the shadows were...scary. I don't think they were just shadows either, but I didn't stop to look. There were too many images racing through my head, memories. Like when people say their life flashes before their eyes? But I remembered some...things..." Her eyes fluttered open and she shifted uncomfortably, not looking at him.
"What things?" Ronan snapped, impatient to hear if she was going to remember more details than he.
"Things that... haven't happened. That I haven't done, at least not with..." Even in the moonlight, he saw her flush, but she did manage to bring her eyes to his. There was no mistaking her distress.
Oh, Ronan thought. And felt a grim satisfaction he wasn't the only one being tortured in that respect. Good.
Lacey seemed goaded by his silence. "Oh, for God's sake, let's just say, they were memories I don't have now. Memories I will never really have." She looked at him with the first hint of real defiance.
Ronan didn't see the need to argue with her. Though he hardly agreed.
He inclined his head, and she continued, obviously relieved he wasn't going to comment. This time she kept her eyes open, but focused on a point behind him.
"I stumbled, and my leg twisted. God! The pain was unbelievable and I was so scared, so sad because now I knew I could never make it. I was going to fail. I was crying by then."
Her voice turned flat and empty, and Ronan could tell the emotions from the dream were beginning to steal back over her.
"I started to crawl. Then there was all this mist... No. It was smoke. But not smoke from a fire somehow... I don't know. But it grew ahead of me, a huge cloud of it and for a moment, I was...," her eyes flickered to his face and Ronan raised his eyebrows in question.
"I was relieved." Lacey said simply.
Ronan was taken aback. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to hide his surprise. If what she was seeing was him transform-which is what it certainly sounded like-relief was the last emotion he would expect her to feel.
"But then ...you came out of somewhere. You were so angry, really furious and...and awful..." Lacey's hand went to her throat and Ronan winced.
Then Lacey raised both her hands, covering her face, her voice growing very soft. "Then you... You...ah... You turned into a...in
to a—oh, crap. A wolf. You were a werewolf." She peeked at him through her fingers.
"How remarkable," Ronan said dryly. "Continue, please."
Lacey dropped her hands, staring at him. "Well, that's it. I woke up and then you came in and tried to kill me." For the first time, she sounded a bit angry.
"Just what in the hell is happening here? You were really going to kill me, weren't you?" Her eyes were looking too bright, it was as if she was just now catching up to what all had happened to her in the last few minutes. "Ever since my plane landed, crazy things have been happening. I wanted to come here my whole life! It was supposed to be perfect. Instead, everything is so...so damn insane! And nothing makes sense and..."
Her voice continued rising and Ronan knew that she was finally nigh to her breaking point. He pulled her into his arms before she had a chance to think about the possibility. Lacey's voice didn't so much trail off as shut off, like someone had flicked a switch. Her heart pounded against his, speechless with terror.
Ronan wished he could ease her fear of him, but that wouldn't be right. She should fear him. Not that it would save her, but still…
He could give her some measure of peace for this night, at least until he got a chance to think this over. He quickened his breathing and in seconds cobalt light had formed around them. Lacey arched away, her face panicked.
"Nae," he whispered, holding her easily as his magic spread. In overlapping tongues of blue flame this time, it moved over her tension-racked body. Her eyes fell shut and her heartbeat slowed. Her body relaxed.
Almost immediately, she turned into him, one slender arm thrown around his neck, a splash of fiery gold hair tickling his arm, a soft cheek pressed against his hard shoulder and her lips brushing his bare chest. It shocked him.
Ronan stared down at her for a long moment, his own pulse starting to throb in his ears. Sweat popped out along his shoulders and the backs of his arms. Fighting the darkness had never been harder than at that moment. He wanted to throw her down on the floor and take her. Now. To see if she tasted as good as she smelled, if she was as soft as he was hard.
Smoke in Moonlight (CELTIC ELEMENTALS) Page 5