Blood In Fire (Celtic Elementals Book 2) (18 page)

Aidan hadn't been that child, that man or that
human
for ages.

His lips twisted as he stood back from the now blazing fire.

He'd have given almost anything back then to be just like
Cúchulainn
. But he hadn't even managed a noble death. Just a perverted mockery that would indeed end with a bloodstained tree—the same twisted tree that Abhartach had first taken him against. His life would end for good right there only a scant dozen years later.

That particular memory wasn't one he was willing to face right now.

If ever again.

He opened the door and let the fire eat away the dark, wishing it could burn away the blackness of his past as easily.

Bav opened her eyes to a hill overlooking the sea. Unsurprising that. Everywhere on Mac's damn island was a hill overlooking the bloody sea. She had expected maybe an entrance to the Otherworld. She knew Mac had one, though no one knew where it was.

This was just a simple hill. In the real world. She could smell the grass, the salt spray of the air…even the sheep dung. Her nose wrinkled.

Where was he?

At her thought, a man stepped away from the shadow of a standing stone. He was nearly bigger than the stone itself. His hair was russet, even in the scant light of the moon it shone red and it was wild. His eyes, though she couldn't make them out at this distance, she knew to be greenish-grey, as varied in their moods as the sea he loved so well. Manannán mac Lir.

His only consideration to her audience was his lack of modern dress. He wore a rough storm-blue cloak, cut of shark skin. His trident wasn't visible, but that didn't mean it wasn't here.

"Bav."

"Brother."

He gave her a sharp look.

Usually they played down the family relation, by mutual agreement. They were two of the few of the Tuatha de Nanaan that could claim full-blooded, legitimate status. Danu was their mother, as she was of all the oldest of the de Nanaan, and Lir was their father. In their case, as in a lot of royal families, the closer the relationship, the keener the hatred.

She couldn't stand him, Bav thought as she regarded her older brother face to face for the first time in an eon, but she had a wary respect for him.

Oh yes,
wary
fit her feelings for Mac perfectly.

"To what do I owe this visit, sister dear?" Mac's voice made a bored sneer of turning her familial term back in her face.

That was the question, was it not? How to approach her worries with him, that was a better one. She couldn't overplay her hand. She needed to get information from him, not give it out.

Tricky, tricky.

She had mulled for a long time last night on the proper approach. Hopefully, not in vain.

Vanity, that was the thing.

Traditionally, vanity was unfairly labeled a woman's vice. Bav had always found most men to be vain, in one form or another. Either about their strength, their intelligence, their fighting or sexual prowess.

She knew that if you could find their particular vanity and make use of it, either to stroke it or challenge it, you would have control of the man.

Mac wasn't so easy. He was proud, sure enough. But not vain. Vanity was empty where pride was strong. She hadn't thought she could reach him through vanity. Then it occurred to her, there was
one
area. Maybe.

Magic.

"Actually…I need some advice."

Mac's eyebrows shot into the sweep of hair that fell over his forehead. "Advice?"

"Yes, I need to change a spell of time."

He frowned, his face unreadable. "Tha' canna be done, no' by us. Yer in need of Aine…or Lugh. But ye know tha' already."

Bav drew a breath. Was she reading too much into his tone, or had she heard just a hint of slyness there? A shiver worked down her spine as she forced herself to continue calmly. "Tha' is the problem, I enlisted the chit's help and she made a mess of it." She was being paranoid, that was all.

The chances Mac knew anything from Aine herself had to be slim to nil. Not with the history between Mac and Aine's part of the family. The circumstances that had destroyed Mac and Aine's half-sister, Fand's, marriage weren't the sort that led to polite conversations. If Mac and Aine had said two words to each other in the last millennium, she'd eat crow.

It was only the
possibility
that he might have felt the original spell that brought her here. She knew the vision of him in the pool was likely only due to his past promise to Aidan.

The future was hers.

The spell she had first cast on the girl had been so long ago and she had been so secretive. So very careful.

Mac couldn't know.

But she must be
sure
before going forward. If Mac knew, if he interfered…

Everything she had done was pointless.

"Did she now?" Mac's eyes wandered to the sky, where the moon was draped in clouds of silken blue."

"Ye know her magic is no' the strongest, but 'tis stubborn. I believe she said the words I gave her wrong."

"Ye believe?"

Bav shrugged. "I confronted her, but she insists she spoke exactly as I bade her."

Mac chuckled softly. "Really? Did ye expect
tha'
one to say any different to yer face? Lying is second nature to her kind.
To all our kind
." Bav swallowed hard as he continued.

"I am curious though, how do ye know it weren't yer magic tha' went wrong and no' her words? Truth be told, sister, ye make a mess of things fair often."

She ground her teeth together as Mac's gaze lowered to hers. His face was bland, but she could read the lazy satisfaction there. Oh, sweet Danu…!

He knew.

"I was tricked." Everything was spiraling away from her, the ground seemed to tremble under her feet. Her plans, everything coming together perfectly. Her last hope to bind Aidan to her at long last, the one she had worked on for centuries…all gone. In one sardonic look from her brother's eyes.

He tsked. "Donna feel quite so good from the other side, does it, sister?"

"How long have ye known?
Who told ye?"
Bav couldn't think, couldn't face that everything she had done had been for
nothing.

He gave her a smile, but didn't speak.

"I only wanted to see him happy again, ye know." Tears streaked her face, leaving ghostly trails in the moon's light.

For the first time, Mac showed a twinge of temper. His huge hands clenched and far in the distance Bav heard the low growl of thunder, followed by a flash of lightning over the black sea.

"Yer a narcissistic twat, Bav! Ye always have been. As much as ye may lie to others, fer bloody sake's, donna lie to m
e—
or yer own self!
Ye would
use
her, just as Abhartach sought to use her What makes ye any different than tha' abomination?"

"I wouldna have hurt her!"

"As I suppose ye believe ye didna hurt O'Neill, eh?" Mac shook his head, but his hands relaxed as he took a deep breath. "Thankfully, there willna be need to test ye on tha'. She is
mine
, she always has been, Bav. Even before the day he placed her under my protection."

"But 'tis been so long…"

"Do ye think my word has an expiration date?!"

She bowed her head, the salt-tinged wind caught her curls and flung them around her face. "I've never known ye to give a damme about humans, Manannán. Why this one?"

"Humans are nothing," he waved an indifferent hand. "They come and they go. I pretend no great attachment to any of them, unlike
some.
She always amused me, tho', the little one. They can be very amusing, canna they? Ye have found it so. More than once." His voice was cutting.

"Tha's a terrible cruel thing to say."

"Well, blood will tell, wonna it?" He sighed. "I did
promise
him, Bav. What did ye expect, me to forget tha'? Have ye ever known me to break my word, no matter what the consequences?"

"Mac, without her, I canna hold him!" Bav was frantic now. Her desperation getting the better of her.

"If he needs to be held, then he isna yers t'all, Bav! Bloody hell, woman. Will ye n'ver learn tha'?" Mac turned away, his words cold, stinging her skin like the spray of the sea. "Let him go, let him live unbound by yer schemes. Give him tha' much if ye care for him the least bit. Has he no' earned it after all this time?"

Bav bent over, one arm wrapped around her middle, gasping as she tried to accept that she had truly lost. She had feared this, coming here, true. But she had never really believed it could all end like this.

"Will ye tell him what I did? Will you tell him about her?"

Mac stared out at the sea for so long, watching the dark waves glided in moonlight, that she thought he didn't intend to answer her. Silent sobs racked her body as she lifted her hood with trembling hands.

"Nae." He spoke just in time for her to hear that one word before she vanished. The rest of Mac's words fell on his ears alone, echoing over the sound of the sea. "But others will, sister.

"Others will."

The city of Limerick was glittering in the night, fool's gold cast against black velvet hills.

Ronan stopped on O'Connell Street, his big hands on the wheel.

"I donna think I'll get out. The little lady might nae like it if I come home bloody and ossified."

"Yer pussy whipped, Fitzpatrick."

"Aye." Ronan said, with a sideways grin. "And watch yer damme mouth. When ye want me back?"

"Make it two-ish, mate. 'Round here, tha' will be more than enough time."

He made sure his gloves were tight and pulled high on his wrists, and then Aidan slipped out of the car into the already thick, boisterous crowd.

His leathers and his height earned him some considering glances from cocksure blokes looking for a fight, but his eyes kept them back. A lot of the men wanting to exercise their fists were arseholes sure enough.

Being an arsehole wasn't enough to make someone prey. Not in Aidan's book.

Usually, anyway. He wasn't a damme saint. He let smell guide him first. Every human had a distinct smell, certain characteristics gave off similar odors; self-confidence was citrusy, kindness—warm and spicy. Selfish was cloying, like cheap perfume. Liars smelled like burnt friggin' toast.

But the blend, the blend of each was always unique. He was looking for something, something like—

There.

Stagnant water and ashes.
Aidan lifted his head.
Juniper
. Ugh, this one was foul. Aidan turned on the spot, trying to focus through the mass of people around him just as he locked gazes with another man. A man who was also very tall, tall enough to see over the crowd. He had white-blond curly hair and dark blue eyes that were staring directly at Aidan in recognition and an odd triumph.

Aidan raised his eyebrows.

That was his man, sure enough. He sniffed again and wrinkled his nose. Weird fucker. Aidan never seen him before. So why was the bastard looking at him as if they were long lost mates? That was
not
a vampire, Aidan was sure of it. But whatever the man was, he was well beyond normal nasty. The psychic reek off of him was enough to make the eyes water.

There was something else there, too. A certain tang that clung to the man, a familiar one that he couldn't quite place.

Aidan inhaled deeply, trying to catch it. In that second, the man's eyes widened in surprised terror and he slipped off through the crowd like a pale snake. Aidan cursed.

The people around him seemed to cling like colorful leeches as Aidan tried to move. He was forced to press through the bulk of the crowd, while the white haired man, on the outside edge, had spun away easily. Aidan got a glimpse of him disappearing into a pub across the street.

When Aidan finally broke free, he followed. Dashing through the rain drops that had just started to fall. Inside the pub it was dank, smelly and loud, befitting O’Connell Street’s reputation. Aidan shoved past a knot of men at the door, one of whom muttered something nasty in Gaelic under his breath and grabbed his arm.

“Watch it there, mate, or someone will have to sort—“ The man’s words cut off the instant Aidan’s gaze fell on him.

Releasing his arm at once, the man raised his hands palms up in front of his chest and took a step back. Aidan turned away with an impatient snarl. His chin lifted, nostrils flaring as he tried to catch the psychic trail again. There…a faint burn of juniper with that rotten undertone. He got to the back of the pub in time to see an ancient stained fire door with a disabled alarm swinging shut.

Out in the alley, the storm had let loose for real. The narrow passage was full of broken bits of junk; strewn with litter and a layer of filth no amount of rain could ever wash away, even if it came from the hand of
Dian Cécht himself
. Aidan stepped forward, catching a flash of white just disappearing round the street corner.

A soft cry, almost like the mew of a kitten had him turning his head.

Through the driving rain he saw two figures, so close together they looked like one. A step closer revealed a man with a pinched face and small, rodent-like eyes pressing a woman face first into the alley wall. His hand was twisted in her sodden dark hair. Aidan shifted so he could see the woman’s eyes, though by then it was not necessary. The thick stench of fear and despair had reached him, along with the rapidly fading bite of juniper.

With a curse and a regretful glance at the point where his quarry had vanished, Aidan grabbed the rat-eyed man by the back of the neck. Twitching in shock, the man released the woman, who only slumped farther down the wall. She was intoxicated, but more than that she was paralyzed by hopelessness. Aidan put his free hand on her head, tilting her face up so that she could see his eyes. He forced the other man’s features from her mind, wiped away the sick feeling of shame as best he could and dropped his hand.