Smoke in Moonlight (CELTIC ELEMENTALS)

by Heather R. Blair

  Then finally…"I don't know why I indulge you, but..."

  "I'm thankful you do." Aine said fervently, meaning every word.

  Until Bav smiled.

  "Very, very thankful, I hope. I have an idea in mind for that favor, or I wouldn't be so indulgent. I'll be calling on you-soon."

  Aine swallowed and nodded. "Whenever you're ready."

  She hopped off the fountain and exited the garden, not wanting to consider what she might have gotten herself into. In addition to the shite she was already in. Her shoulders hunched as she walked away, her triumphant mood had evaporated completely.

  Aine didn't notice the way Bav’s eyes narrowed and followed her. "You're nervous, little one. And scared, scared right down to the bone. Not your usual MO."

  She pulled the hood of her robes up, covering her red hair with the white silk that she favored in her current incarnation. "It's a good thing I always hedge my bets. Because I'm afraid that right now, Aine dear, you’re not a very safe one."

  Chapter 9

  The children had finally been coaxed to bed, after trying to personally inspect each and every one of Lacey and Ronan's wounds.

  Ronan definitely won the ohh and ahh factor there. Especially since he'd already healed the worst of Lacey's. The bump on her head and her lacerations on her feet had vanished, so she knew he had healed her. She even had a vague memory of cobalt light glowing over her closed eyelids, but other than that Lacey couldn't remember much after being knocked to the ground.

  Only a tsunami wave of exhaustion before she'd woken up in the kitchen, Ronan's taste on her lips. Lacey didn't care to think too much about how that had happened.

  She had a fair idea, she just wasn't sure whether confronting him with it was a good idea or not. Especially since the way that he'd looked at her when she woke up suggested he would welcome just such a conversation.

  Now, she sat on a rust-colored couch on the main family room of the house. It was a big, comfortable room, with lively landscapes on the walls and a pleasant scattering of cozy furniture.

  The large glass window to her right was draped against the night, covered by cheerful mauve and white striped curtains. If Lacey glanced over her shoulder, as she had several times since sitting down, she could look through a wide archway, opening directly into the dining room with its huge, rectangle of a table glowing warmly in the yellow light coming off the kitchen behind it.

  Ronan and Moiré were still in there. Lacey and Ronan had had back-to-back showers, which was good enough to clean the scratches Lacey had sustained, but Ronan's ribs needed to be taped, and worse, the bite from that thing had to be lanced. A process he had refused to have her watch, not that she was at all anxious to.

  Changelings. That's what he had called those hideous things that could mimic human form, and human faces. Lacey had heard of changelings, of course. Ugly fairy children exchanged for human ones. But those old fairytales were a joke against the real thing.

  Michael had told Lacey while Ronan was showering that that was the way of the old stories. They seemed tales told to frighten children, but the truth of it was they were watered-down versions of an all-too horrible reality. As if the tales could somehow diminish the power of the nightmarish truth. Of course, very few humans ever encountered it. So much the nicer for them.

  Lacey wished she could be so lucky. Everyone had seemed okay with having their secret out, though they did treat her like a china doll. Even the children showed extraordinary care about her. Afraid she might break if one more stone was thrown at the shiny veneer of her reality, but Lacey had just listened as they discussed the attack, and worried about its ramifications.

  When he had first entered the kitchen with her in his arms, Ronan had laid out the facts for them in black and white. There was no pain, no color and no fear in his version of events. It was cold and succinct.

  Moiré had quickly bustled her off to the bath then, but once she'd finished, dressing quickly in a soft cream knit dress that she favored for its comfort, and Ronan had took his turn under the water, the conversations that she had heard should have made her brain implode.

  Lacey found herself taking the barrage of surreal information rather well. Maybe killing a soulless zombie had toughened her up.

  That’s basically what Changelings were. She pieced together that much. People who died and lost their souls due either to the evil they had done in life, ill-considered bargaining with the gods or other means unknown, became slaves to this demon Aillen guy. They were called the Sluagh.

  The Sluagh were also what had killed Ronan’s father. Michael had told her that, too. Which explained what Ronan had meant when he said he went a little mad. According to his brother, Ronan had single-handedly, in his wolf form, gone after the creatures that torn apart his father. He had killed a nest of several hundred. In one night.

  Daire had said that Lugh had charged Ronan then and there to fight Aillen and his minions. The god gave him his own sword and finally made good on his promise to keep the Fitzpatricks together and cast the spell he had been avoided for twenty years.

  Lugh had been trying to keep the Changelings and their master at bay since time immortal, bascially. Since he was the sun-god, and these things creatures of the night, Lugh had found himself at a disadvantage. He had few warriors that could walk the night and tangle with demons. Until Ronan came along. Cursed by Aine to stalk the night, loyal by blood to Lugh.

  It was just as Ronan had told her earlier, too perfect. She hadn't understood it then. Understanding it just made her feel worse, for him and his family. He was absolutely right about the gods and their games, and she understood now why he was so bitter.

  She still wasn’t seeing where she came in.

  Sure there was a connection between them, if you could call dreams and mutual lust and irritation a connection...

  Michael and Shelagh were curled together, across from her in a small divan. Her long legs stretched over his thighs, their heads touching, his golden-brown, hers a deep red. They were conversing in low tones, their eyes intent on each other. Lacey sighed softly, watching them.

  No, that was a connection. What she and Ronan had wasn't anything like that. It just a crazy tangle of mistrust, fear, anger, confusion...and a burning desire to get each other naked.

  Not a healthy mix. Lacey wiggled deeper into the couch. She had to get Ronan to tell her why he was so interested in her dreams, and why he had tried to kill her that first night...God, was that only last night?

  And why he'd stopped---and why this goddess Aine had sought her out. Lacey remembered the voice she had heard in her head, before she picked up the sword. Why had Aine spoken to her? To get her to save Ronan, obviously. Though the damn man refused to admit he'd been saved.

  Ronan hated Aine, and it followed she must hate him. He’d said as much. So why did Aine care about saving Ronan-a man she had cursed? So many whys and what the hells. Lacey groaned and squeezed her aching head.

  To her left, settled into his own squishy gold armchair beneath a shaded lamp, Daire gave her a sympathetic look. "Don't force it, lassie. Ye've been asked to take in a powerful lot that's hard to swallow. Take care you donna choke on it."

  Lacey considered him, this handsome man who by all rights ought to have fallen in love, married, had a family and died-centuries before she'd even been born. What must it be like, to be him? She hesitated, but Daire's temper was much easier to risk than Ronan's, especially since as far as she could tell-he didn't have one.

  "How do you deal with it all, anyway?" Not only Daire's, but Michael and Shelagh's eyes as well turned her way. Great, now I've offended everyone.

  But no one looked offended.

  "It's rougher on Daire, than us." Shelagh offered when Daire remained quiet. Her fingers found her husband's, and intertwined. Lacey understood that, they had each other and the children, Daire had all of them, of course, but it wasn't the same as being able to make family of his own.

  She wondered if he had ever
been in love. Surely during all this time, he must have been.

  "Aye, it's rough. Terribly rough." Daire finally said, his voice so low Lacey could barely hear him. "But it's none of us that have the worst of it." His eyes flickered over her shoulder to the kitchen. To his brother.

  Her mind had a hard time wrapping around this family and how much love they were able to carry. Love that bound them so tight that even after centuries trapped in a curse, there was no whisper of guilt, of recrimination or blame. Just a lot of tried and true love.

  It made her ache. She'd always had Kate, then Kate and Heather-whom she'd met at college. Lacey didn't make a lot of close friends, but she'd always had someone to love her.

  But she wanted this: acres of love, oddles of it, an excess of love, so you could be sure if one source was cut off by fate, you wouldn't be left alone. Her eyes started to sting. She would not think of her parents. She would not. Lacey blinked determinedly, ducking her head just a bit to hide her face. Then asked another question that had been burning in her mind.

  "What was he like...before? Ronan?" She'd definitely never get the courage to ask Ronan that one. And she was sure he would never answer it anyway. At least not honestly.

  The reactions to her question were surprising and varied. Daire laughed, Michael shook his head and Shelagh gave an unladylike snort.

  "Aye, wasn't he just the devil in britches?" She said, her eyes twinkling.

  “Gods truth, he was," Daire said. He leaned out of his chair, his hands on his knees, smiling at her. "It was Michael who was always the responsible one, even though Ronan was the eldest by a scant year, and me being the dreamer, but Ronan... Damme! Ronan never met a dare he wouldn't take, a joke he didn't like or a girl he wouldn't kiss. Full to the brim with life, he was, bursting with it."

  Lacey's eyes were flying from one fondly amused expression to the other, her mind reeling. Ronan? They were talking about the same Ronan? The dark glowering menace who...

  "That was a long time ago." The words were quiet, but Lacey jumped as if Ronan had shouted. Why did he always have to come creeping up behind her like that?

  Daire leaned back in his chair as Ronan walked around the couch. "Aye. That it was." He gave his brother a sad look before getting to his feet.

  "Well, it's been a night, if ye're all stitched up then, we should hit the hay."

  Ronan nodded calmly, but Lacey saw a muscle in his jaw twitching.

  "Ye'd better. I need a word with Lacey.”

  Daire looked as if he might protest this. But he glanced at his brother's hard face and shrugged in resignation.

  "Ye'll do what ya must, and I canna stop ye. But take care, big brother. Ye push her anymore and they'll be naught left."

  With another sad smile that belied his concern, Daire bid Lacey goodnight. Michael and Shelagh, as well, Shelagh giving her hand a squeeze before they walked out-and left her alone.

  With him. Lacey felt a shiver work its slow way down her back, as she looked up at Ronan.

  He hadn't taken advantage of his shower to shave and the shadow on his jaw made him look even more dangerous than usual. His black hair was damp and curling. She could see the bandages winding up his left arm, from his wrist to under the loosely rolled up sleeve of a blue flannel button-up he had thrown on over another pair of worn jeans. He could have been wearing rainbow-colored suspenders and still been devastating. Lacey swallowed when Ronan reached out a hand, but he only flicked off the lamp, casting them both into darkness.

  "We'll go somewhere more private," he said. His words drifted to her through the shadows and Lacey stood up, somewhat shakily at the thought of going somewhere 'more private'.

  Ronan navigated the dim interior of the house easily, threading around furniture and through a doorway she hadn't noticed before. He moved aside to let her pass, though not enough to keep her hip from brushing his thigh, the slight contact almost like an electric shock.

  Then he shut the door. Lacey heard the unmistakable click of a lock as she stood, trying not to ignore her pounding heart in the now total blackness.

  A candle flared and the sharp tang of sulfur filled the air. The wavering golden light danced across rows and rows of books, shelves stacked clear to the ceiling behind the small table Ronan was placing a tall candle holder on.

  His shadow rippled across the hundreds of bindings, distorted by their shape and candlelight into something eerie. Lacey wrapped her arms around her chest. The rest of the long, narrow room included an unlit fireplace, a roll top desk and a couple of low couches. She sank into one immediately. Her legs didn't seem very trustworthy at the moment.

  "I'm not planning on attacking you." Ronan was leaning against the wall of books, his expression amused. He seemed as relaxed as she was tense.

  "Well, that makes for a nice change." Lacey said, irritation replacing some of her nerves. "But forgive me if I can't get all warm and cozy at the prospect of being alone with you. Nothing good has come out of that yet."

  “That's a matter of opinion." He gave her a glance out of those smoky eyes and Lacey's felt heat steal along her spine, turning it liquid and warm as she remembered the rough feel of his hands on her body...

  "Don't," Lacey whispered. "Just...don't. You wanted to talk to me about something, so talk." Her eyes were on his, and she knew her tone was pleading.

  Ronan left the wall and walked closer. She swore she could feel a tremor with each step. Damn him!

  "I have so many things to talk to ye about, it fair boggles the mind. But suddenly, I can nae think of one." Ronan stood over her and Lacey gulped at the look on his face.

  "You said you weren't going to attack me."

  "Lacey," Ronan said, his brogue drawing out her name, as he stared into her upturned face. "Do nae be a mouse."

  Before she could blink, Lacey found herself moving through the air.

  When things righted themselves, Ronan was sitting on the divan and she was half-straddling him. Her heart was racing and beneath her hands the beat of his heart matched hers.

  Lacey gasped as his hand found the small of her back, pulling her closer. She could feel his erection, thick and hard, pressed intimately between her spread thighs. The fire that shot through her was abrupt, and yet it wasn't. Because every second they spent around each other it was always there. Like a craving you tried to ignore, but couldn’t get rid of. It was an incredible relief to just give in to it. It didn't matter if it was crazy or stupid...or why. She just wanted him.

  She wanted him now.

  Ronan had other plans. With his eyes fixed on hers, his hand moved up her spine, fusing her to him inch by inch. Her soft, flat belly against his warm hard one, her breasts rubbing against the muscles of his chest. It felt as if they were skin to skin, as if the scraps of fabric between them were so ephemeral they did not exist.

  When Ronan brought his lips to hers, Lacey was greedy for a taste of him. Her tongue sought his, her arms slipping around his neck. Ronan's hand darted into her hair, his fingers tightening in the short tendrils, crushing her to him, then pulling her back.

  She resisted. She was far from through with kissing him. His mouth trailed from her lips to her ear.

  "Easy, lass," he murmured. His hot breath moved down her collarbone. Lacey's arms loosened and her head fell back. Ronan tugged down the soft cowl of her knit dress, exposing the pale gold skin of one shoulder inch by slow inch. His lips never leaving her body, the feel of those soft lips and warm tongue and the light rasp of his stubble an exquisite combination.

  He slipped a finger under the satin cup of her bra and freed her breast. The lick of cool air against her bare skin made Lacey bite her lip and slid both hands into his hair, urging him on. She whimpered as his mouth moved lower almost brushing the puckered circle of her areola… then cursed ripely when he lifted his head to look at her.

  "There's a side of you I have nae heard." His chuckle rumbled against her ribs. She wanted to scream, but all the air left her lungs as his tongue flicked over
the taut skin, circling the tight peak. She tugged at his hair, not knowing or caring if she was hurting him, the black strands between her fingers like raw silk...Oh my god…I remember this! The memory of her dream streaked through her dazed mind just as Ronan's warm mouth finally closed over her hardened nipple. But this was no dream, it was damn near unbearably real. She arched back, her hips grinding into his, trying not to scream, not to make a sound.

  Then she felt Ronan's hand, warm and heavy on her thigh, pushing up the material of her dress, moving aside the lace of her panties to cup the damp curls beneath. Lacey's breath caught, her eyes fixed on his as she rose to her knees, knowing exactly what he wanted to do to her.

  Lacey trembled at the intimate contact, her hands falling from his head to his shoulders for support. His mouth pulled at her nipple, as his fingers moved inside her. One and then two, sliding deliciously back and forth, in and out until she was gasping for air. When his thumb worked into her slick flesh and caressed her swollen nub, Lacey's world simply exploded with pleasure.

  She leaned forward, opening her mouth against his shoulder to stifle the scream she couldn't hold back, her body shaking from head to toe.

  Before the tremors had faded, Ronan's hand moved from between her thighs to cup her bottom. He stood and pivoted, her weight wrapped around him a totally insignificant hindrance. He half-set, half-dropped her back into the divan.

  Ronan gave her one dark unreadable look, his hand raking his hair, before turning away to stare blankly at the flickering candle. Lacey slowly smoothed her dress, pulling the neckline up and the hemline down, her movements languid. She felt warm and somehow softened, like a wax figure place too near a blazing fire. Muscles still danced in her thighs.

  If she'd ever had an orgasm like that in her life, she sure as hell couldn't remember it.

  It took her a second to register the tension in Ronan's spine. Immediately, she felt a stab of guilt. He'd given her incredible pleasure, while she'd barely given a thought to his. Actually, she hadn't given any thought to anything whatsoever except what he was doing to her...so it was his own fault. The idea of returning the favor was far from unpleasant.