Haunting Embrace (14 page)

He stared at her with an open mouth, eyes widened with shock.

“And I thought I’d seen it all,” he said, cutting that dark stare from Meaghan to Áedán and back. Then he shouted over his shoulder, “Kyle, get your ass down here. We got company.”

Áedán took a step closer to her until his shoulder brushed against hers. She glanced up and caught a brooding expression on his face before he hid it.

A moment later, another man appeared in the doorway. Meaghan recognized him as well. He’d been dressed as a priest when he’d been captured by Cathán. He wasn’t wearing his clergy collar anymore, though, and with his overlong hair and shadowed jaw, he looked anything but holy. She remembered the first time she’d seen him, she’d thought him too sexy to be a priest. She’d wondered how many of his flock had sat through his Mass thinking of sinning with the good Father.

Now he wore faded blue jeans and a tattered gray sweatshirt that brought out silvery flecks in his hazel eyes. He caught sight of her and stopped, foot suspended over the last step down.

None of them seemed able to speak when a third man came around the bend of the lighthouse, climbing up from the rocky shore. A scar at his right temple cut three parallel lines through his short hair. Chain links made of black tattoos circled his throat and his wrists, binding him to some figurative ball and chain that it seemed he carried wherever he went. At his feet stood a wolf the size of a small pony.

He, too, froze as his gaze landed on Meaghan.

Though they acknowledged her with wary nods, none of them seemed to even recognize Áedán. Meaghan wasn’t surprised. She’d been the only one able to see Áedán when they’d all been trapped in the world of Fennore, after all. He’d been invisible to all of these men.

The man who’d opened the door held it wider. “You might as well come in. Looks like the gang’s all here.”

Chapter Nine

Á
EDÁN stood beside Meaghan while every instinct shouted at him to get as far away from this place, this woman, as he possibly could. He felt threatened just by her presence. Endangered by the waves emanating from her, grating against his skin. At the same time, he couldn’t bear to distance himself from her. She weakened him with the emotions she stirred, and at the same time, she entranced him with her scent, her voice, her unfathomable blue eyes.

She didn’t think he was evil. Of course, she was wrong, but he could not shake the way her implacable faith had made him feel.
Feel,
he thought disparagingly. What was becoming of him that he pondered on
feelings
?

She’d said they had history.

Yes, he knew it to be true, but he couldn’t begin to understand why. From the start, he’d felt drawn to her, and each moment in her presence only increased his undeniable fascination. In his mind, he pictured the way she’d looked when he’d found her in the cavern and she’d wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer. He’d noted her unfocused gaze, suspected that she’d been bespelled. Even knowing that, he’d had to force himself to push her away.

With that indiscernible hum enveloping her now, the notion that her actions were being influenced by something outside of herself became more grounded, but the
how
and
why
of it confounded him. He didn’t believe the Book had corrupted her yet, but he had nothing to base that belief on. Insidious and treacherous, the answers he sought hovered just out of reach, like the whispering drone that Meaghan seemed blithely unaware of.

Cathán was trapped in the Book now, had been even before Áedán had escaped. He’d grown strong there, feeding on the power of the Book, taking to the symbiotic relationship like a fish to water. He hadn’t fought it, like Áedán had in the beginning. No, Cathán had embraced it, and in return, the creation that was the Book of Fennore empowered Cathán.

Áedán could scarcely fathom how it had happened. First Cathán’s children—Danni and Rory MacGrath—had injured Áedán by damaging the Book, and then Cathán had moved in for the kill. And now here was their sister, stirring emotions inside him. Radiating an energy that had to be linked to the Book of Fennore.

But
how
did Meaghan fit into this twisted, shattered puzzle?

Cathán had the power of the Book in his grasp, and even though he didn’t fully understand all that he could do with it, he was a fierce opponent. Though Áedán hated to admit it, he feared Cathán. Feared what he might do next. Feared what he
could
do. Already he could be more powerful than Áedán had ever been, though once again, the how of it eluded him.

How
had Cathán gained so much in so little time?

Áedán shook his head. No matter his strength, Cathán still lacked the knowledge that Áedán had spent eternity amassing. Knowledge Cathán would come after, Áedán was certain.

And once he’d learned everything he needed to know, Cathán would destroy Áedán, and with him, the only enemy with a chance of defeating him.

It was what Áedán would do in his shoes.

Now more than ever, Áedán needed his sharp mind and keen, ruthless instincts. He needed them ready, honed, and poised for attack. He knew there was danger every way he turned. He couldn’t outrun the Book of Fennore. He’d seen others try when he’d been the hunter. It was futile.

Besides, Áedán didn’t want to simply outrun it. And he refused to become a prisoner again—not Cathán’s, not the Book’s. He’d been the genie trapped in the bottle for too long.

“I’m Jamie,” the black man who’d opened the lighthouse door interrupted Áedán’s ominous thoughts. He gestured over his shoulder at the other men as he led them inside. “That’s Kyle. He’s Eamonn.”

Áedán knew who they were. He recognized all three men even if they didn’t know his identity.

The scarred one who had chained himself to his shame with the black tattoos was Eamonn. At one time, Áedán had considered him a foe. Now he simply thought of Eamonn as a miserable landmark to a past he’d fled but, it appeared, could not escape.

Jamie, the dark-skinned man, and the one called Kyle were among the last of a line of Keepers—men who’d been tasked with preventing the Book of Fennore from finding its way into human hands and from anyone who might be corrupted by its lure of power, its bribes and promises. There’d been another Keeper with Jamie and Kyle when they’d been trapped in the world of Fennore—an old man with knowledge of the old ways. He’d been the most dangerous of them. Had he not escaped with the others?

Áedán needed to be wary of the Keepers. Even if only Jamie and Kyle remained and the old man had not survived, these two were still his enemies. True, the Keepers had failed dismally in their job over the centuries. For a time, they’d ceased to believe the Book was real. Certainly, they’d forgotten its threat. When he’d been the voice inside the Book of Fennore, Áedán had been able to call his victims from afar, the Keepers no more than an ineffective barrier he’d been forced to circumvent on the rare occasion.

Then Áedán had discovered Cathán. Pathetic, needy Cathán, who’d been willing to sell his soul, sell his own children for a taste of the power Áedán had offered. Who could have guessed that such an unworthy prey could wreak so much havoc on the predator?

Brooding, he followed Jamie and Meaghan up the winding stairs, with Kyle and Eamonn behind them. He didn’t like having them at his back, but he didn’t want to reveal his discomfort at being here, in his rival’s keep.

As if hearing his thoughts, Meaghan glanced back at him, and what he saw in her eyes almost made him stumble. For an instant, the flare of that strange hum that he sensed hovering around her surged, and it seemed that behind the sparkling blues in her gaze, something else looked out. No, that wasn’t right. Not something, but some
one.

Breathing heavy, he followed, waging a silent battle with himself over what he’d seen. Memories bombarded him. Meaghan, waking in the cavern, looking at him with those lust-filled eyes. He’d felt it even then, that flicker of recognition as the blue had taken on the color of amethyst, but he’d been too stunned by the soft heat of her mouth to dwell on it. And today, as they’d set out from the Ballagh house to here, he’d been entranced with the shifting shades as her eyes had gone from blue to gray to
lavender
.

In all his endless years, he’d known only one other woman who had eyes like that. Eyes the color of
fuath dubh
, the delicate, violet,
poisonous
flower that grew tenaciously among the hedgerows and scrub. With just one look, she’d been able to twist him to her own desires just as it seemed Meaghan could.

Her name was Elan—known to the people of their tribe as the White Fennore—and he’d foolishly thought himself in love with her right up to the moment when she’d betrayed him. . . .

Alarms jangled inside him, completely unraveling his composure. Suddenly the rounded staircase felt like a cage, trapping him. Fury, confusion, terror—the conflicting swamp of hated emotions kept him climbing, kept him calmly following when he wanted to bolt.

She’d said they had history.

He shook his head in silent denial, but deep inside, he feared its truth. They did have history. A long, bloodied, vengeful one.

Jamie exited the narrow stairs into a circular room nearly filled by a lone table and six chairs, abruptly halting Áedán’s agitated thoughts. A compact kitchen fanned out from the awkward space beneath the column of stairs that continued to rise up, presumably to the top of the spire. Three long narrow windows peered out at the stormy skies and the violent sea, dragging in the reluctant glow of the waning sunlight. A bench ran the circumference of the room, hammered to the wall and supported by thick legs. It looked uncomfortable and invited the casual guest to move on to somewhere else.

“Áedán?” Meaghan asked softly, moving to his side. He glanced down into her upturned face and saw eyes as blue as a summer sky. No tint of lavender, no hint of another behind them.

Had he imagined it?

Kyle came up behind him and gestured for Áedán and Meaghan to take a seat at the table. He touched Meaghan’s arm casually, spurring Áedán to put a proprietary hand at the curve of her spine as he led her to the far side of the table, where he could face the open stairwell. He held out the chair beside the one he chose for himself. Meaghan searched his face as she sat, and he forced a placid mask over his features, lowering his eyes so she could not see the stark panic that he feared lurked within them. Eamonn perched on the bench, away from the others. His strangely tame wolf flopped at his feet, watchful and fierce.

The wolf came from the world of Fennore, where ravenous beasts abounded, and it mystified Áedán that the animal obeyed Eamonn. He wondered if it had drawn blood before it submitted. Whatever had clawed Eamonn’s face had left a deep scour in his flesh. Eamonn gave him a dark and soulless stare, his eyes disturbingly vacant, as if the man behind them had moved on to better vistas.

“When did you get here?” Jamie asked, cutting through Áedán’s thoughts. He addressed Meaghan and Áedán bristled at the abrupt tone.

“This morning,” she answered with a nervous smile. “When did you get here?”

“Last year.”

“Last . . . But how?” Meaghan asked. “We were all together before. . . .”

“Beats the fuck out of me,” Jamie said.

The man called Kyle reached across the table and touched Meaghan’s wrist. “You’re Meaghan, isn’t that right?”

She nodded. “And this is Áedán.”

She gave him a quick smile and encouraging nod. He saw only Meaghan within her blue gaze, but the doubt had been seeded.

The three men in the room evaluated him with suspicion, and Áedán thrust his thoughts away from Meaghan and onto the events unfolding at the table. He needed to be alert and wary. Focusing on the men, he returned their hostile assessment without flinching. They did not know who he was. If they’d had even a clue, he would not be sitting at their kitchen table.

“I remember seeing you there,” Kyle went on, still speaking to Meaghan, referring to the realm of Fennore, where he, too, had been imprisoned. His fingers now rested on the fine bones of her hand. Áedán had to fight the urge to push him away. He didn’t like how Meaghan looked at him, and he certainly didn’t like the way Kyle gazed back at her.

Kyle said, “Were you hurt when you . . . came through?”

Áedán understood the man’s hesitation. There seemed no right way to describe the journey between the realm of Fennore and the real world.

“No, I wasn’t hurt,” Meaghan said. “Just confused.”

“It was the same for us.”

Still standing, Jamie leaned forward and braced his knuckles on the table in front of Áedán. “Why are
you
here?” he demanded rudely.

“Áedán was trapped there with me,” Meaghan answered for him. It was probably best. Áedán didn’t like Jamie’s aggressive tone and wouldn’t have responded with civility to his hostile query.

Kyle glanced at Áedán with curious eyes. “You were there? In the world of Fennore?”

Ironic that he would ask. For centuries, Áedán was one with the world of Fennore. The power, the drive, the vengeance.

“I was there,” he said calmly.

“Funny, I didn’t see you,” Jamie said, easing back so he could swing a chair around, his hard expression saying he found nothing funny about it at all. He straddled the chair with his arms resting across the back in a deceptively casual manner. He didn’t fool Áedán. The man was as tight as a trigger. “Everyone else in this room, I saw,” he went on. “But not you.”

He raised his brows in blatant challenge.

Áedán could feel Meaghan tensing beside him, knew she was outspoken enough to blurt the truth—that no one but she had been able to see him. He leaned closer to her, settling his arm around her and giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. The action distracted her as he’d hoped it would.

“There was a lot going on, as I recall,” he said in a bored tone. “What with the monsters and the bloodshed.”

Jamie’s eyes narrowed, but Áedán’s reference to the chaos, the incredible battle that had been waged, seemed to make him consider the possibility that he’d somehow missed seeing Áedán during that bloody encounter. He leaned back, but not for a moment did Áedán think the other man had let down his guard.