Lightning In Sea (CELTIC ELEMENTALS Book 3) Page 17

  Her lips twisted back over those tiny, perfect white teeth. But it didn’t stop. Her mouth kept opening wider and wider as her body seemed to shrink. No, it was starting to collapse in on itself, like a star turning into a black hole.

  With a disbelieving screech, Fand reached for Sloane, who had already stumbled back out of reach. The tips of the fairy queen’s fingers kept stretching though, the flesh peeling back to reveal the gleam of bone beneath. Before that skeletal hand burst into dust, Fand threw the shimmering cloak at Mac, her wide blue eyes triumphant before they collapsed in on themselves with a sickening pop.

  Sloane shrank back, her hand at her mouth, feeling like she was going to be sick. Even for someone like Fand, that had been a horrible way to go. Even worse than Declan.

  When she turned to see how Mac was doing, something silky brushed at her face. The damn cloak Fand had taunted Mac with, still fluttering its way to the floor. Impatiently, she swiped at it but the slippery material slid away from her, as if the fabric were made of water. She chased it across the room, feeling strangely triumphant when her fingers managed to snag it.

  When she lifted her head, she met a pair of wide green eyes staring down into hers.

  Startled, Sloane took a step back. Damn, where had he come from?

  He was a bit too big to miss, though admittedly she had been distracted by Fand pulling her wicked-witch-of-the-west act. Poor guy was staring at her with his mouth half open.

  Acting normal, Heather had told her, was the best way to deal with mortals seeing shit they shouldn’t.

  “I think you dropped this.” With a polite smile, she pushed the cloak into the strange man’s unprotesting hands. Then she brushed past him, hoping the damn door would open now that the fairy was dead. When it did, she closed her eyes briefly in relief.

  Sloane frowned at the room she found herself in. Where the hell was she anyway? Her head hurt something terrible. This place did look vaguely familiar, though, like the home of an acquaintance she’d visited once long ago, but she couldn’t place who it could be. Then she saw her cell phone on the table and picked it up. Thank Christ.

  Without a backward glance, Sloane walked out the front door.

  She didn’t see the big redheaded man in the bedroom sink to the floor, whispering her name in a broken voice, both his eyes and face utterly blank.

  30

  Two weeks later

  “Ye canna give up.”

  Mac drained his beer before slamming back on the bar. “I’ve tried everything. Everything, O’Neill. There’s nothing to be done. No’ in my current state. I gave up my magic for her, and my magic is all tha’ can give her back to me.” His laugh was dark and bitter as the stout he was drinking. “Fand would be thrilled at the irony.”

  Aidan studied the former god with narrowed eyes. Over the weeks since Fand had used the cloak on Sloane, Mac’s appearance had become downright alarming. He’d lost weight, his beard was unkempt, and his eyes were haunted.

  Every time Aidan saw Mac he couldn’t help but feel a secret and shameful relief. Sloane’s memories of everyone else had remained intact. Mac was the only piece that had been ruthlessly edited out.

  “I shoulda seen it was Fand all along. I shoulda known.” Mac’s voice was toneless. “Tha’ damme mist ye mentioned . . . It shoulda been so fucking clear.”

  “Ye had a fair lot on yer mind. And she was a damnably good actress.” Aidan shook his head, still finding it hard to believe the sweet, somewhat vague fairy queen had conspired to have his daughter tortured and nearly killed. Then again, he had experience with vengeful goddesses. He knew damn well what they were capable of.

  Mac laughed again. “Oh aye. And ye know the hell of it, O’Neill? What I had done to Fand hadn’t crossed my mind in centuries. Centuries.”

  Aidan could only shrug. They sat in silence for a long time before Mac picked up his beer again. “I doona what to do.”

  Aidan sighed. “There is something ye could try. I surprised ye have no’ thought of it yet.”

  “And what’s tha’?” Mac said, lifting his hand to wave the barkeep over.

  “Stop moping about and start being her friend again.”

  “Wha’?” Mac stared at him in shock, his hand falling to the bar. “It hurts too fucking much, ye son of a bitch. She doona remember me!”

  “Nae, she doona,” Aidan agreed. “So start fucking reminding her.” He got to his feet. “She’s no’ dead, Mac.”

  When Mac just stared up at him, gaping, Aidan turned from the bar, shaking his head. Then he hesitated. “She’s going out to Cashtal yn Ard tomorrow afternoon. Wants to put flowers on her grandmother’s grave.”

  Aidan bit back a sigh. The loss of the sun had been hitting him hard these last few weeks. He hated that the only time he got with his daughter was in the short summer nights, even as he reminded himself to be grateful that he had her at all. “It’s no’ as if she could explain such a thing to young Jenny. Be nice for her to have someone there tha’ did understand, doona ye think?”

  Mac said nothing. Aidan left the pub, wondering if he was doing the right thing. Wondering if Mac would even follow through.

  And whether or not it would do any good if he did.

  It had been cloudy and cold the last few weeks, matching his mood exactly, even though he and the island were no longer tied together. That bond had been broken when he lost his magic.

  Today was better, not exactly fine, but there was a break in the clouds above, a blue streak of sun and hope.

  Mac parked next to a new green Audi. He knew it was Sloane’s, he’d seen it parked in front of her farmhouse every time he’d swung by, trying to torture himself with a glimpse of her. Taking a deep breath, Mac scrubbed at his freshly trimmed beard and got out of the truck. It didn’t take him long to spot her. That heavy golden hair stood out like a shimmering flag on the hilltop. She was in front of the same cairn that was all that remained of the section where her grandmother and her family had been laid to rest.

  When she heard him trudging up behind her, she started, whirling around with a gasp.

  He held up a hand. “Sorry, love. Didna mean to startle ye. Ye paying yer respects to the dead then?” he continued before she could dart away. “Someone in particular?”

  She hesitated, then relaxed slowly, looking at the stone just in front of her.

  “Yes, my gra . . . great-great grandmother. There are no individual markers, of course, so I can’t be sure, but . . .”

  “This is the right spot, Sloane,” Mac said gently, deciding it was time to dispense with pretense. “This is where Eunys was buried.”

  Her eyes widened. She took a step back, looking alarmed.

  “Are you one of them?” she asked. “Like my father?” Then she shook her head, glancing up at the sun above with a frown. “No, you can’t be.”

  “No,” he said quietly. “I’m no’ like yer da, but I was . . . something similar. I’m only human now, though. Like ye.”

  Cocking her head, Sloane regarded him with those silvery-green eyes. He thought she was getting ready to pelt him with questions, but he should have known better. Sloane’s curiosity had apparently been dulled by the events of the last few weeks.

  She handed the extra bouquet to him with a smile. “Can you hold this a moment?”

  “Aye.” His throat tightened as their fingers brushed. That connection was still so alive for him, strong enough to make his heart beat faster and his soul ache. Gods, how I’ve missed her.

  But Aidan had been right. As painful as this was, it was far, far better than nothing.

  Sloane’s eyes widened briefly, then darted away as she pulled her hand back. He watched as she knelt down, clearing small stones and pulling a few bits of weed and thistle from around the cairn.

  Minutes later, apparently satisfied, she straightened again. Without being prompted Mac handed her the bouquet. She smiled as she reached out to take it. Then her smile faltered. Her eyes darted from the flowers to his fac
e and back again. A line appeared between her eyebrows.

  Mac caught his breath, but after a second, Sloane turned back to the cairn.

  “Thank you.”

  He nodded, his throat too tight to speak. She set the flowers down where the stone met thick grass.

  After a few moments, she lifted her head, then cocked it, her hair rippling. Getting to her feet, Sloane shaded her eyes, glancing toward the sea. A frown flitted over her face.

  “Sloane?”

  “I thought I saw a shadow for a second. Over there.” Her voice had taken on a wondering tone. “How can there be a shadow of nothing?” She glanced up at the cloudless sky as Mac’s breath cut off. Her wondering gaze came back down to rest on the exact place where his stone had once stood. But it was gone.

  All connection between him and the Otherworld had been broken, just as all connection between him and Sloane had been erased by Fand’s revenge.

  She blinked and walked closer, a frown working its way between her brows. “Something should be here. Something is missing.”

  Her lips trembling, she looked up at him and stepped into the place where the stone should be.

  Magic leaves a powerful hole when it goes.

  Fear shot into his veins at the same moment Sloane cried out. Her head fell back, her long, heavy hair rising around her as if whipped in a fierce storm, though the day remained as calm as ever.

  All along Mac’s body, hairs bristled. Ozone filled the air.

  He leapt for Sloane, but it was too late. Lightning unfurled from the sea like a long forked tongue. White-hot, it shot across the waves, seeming to flick lightly at the base of Sloane’s spine. The blow lifted her off her feet and halfway across the hill. She crashed back to earth in a crumpled heap.

  “Wake up. Wake up! God fucking dammit. Sloane, please.” He picked her up off the ground, remembering the last time he’d held her limp body in his arms. She’d been more than half dead then. It was why he’d rushed her to Avalon. But now that door was closed to him.

  Mac was ready to get to his knees and pray for his cursed sister’s mercy when Sloane stirred.

  Her eyes met his shocked ones, then softened.

  “Mac?” she whispered, reaching up to stroke his beard with shaking fingers. The love and recognition in that one word had him falling to the soft earth with her in his arms.

  Sloane blinked at the impact. “Is something wrong?”

  He gasped out loud, then laughed, his forehead falling down to touch hers. “Not anymore, machree.

  “Not anymore.”

  Epilogue

  Three weeks later

  Ronan looked up as Aidan entered the kitchen with Heather right behind him. The children immediately tittered, particularly the twins and Chloe, whose sparkling eyes met Aidan’s with something so fierce and bright, he blinked.

  “Now wha’ is all this?”

  With a quelling look at the children that did nothing except make the twins giggle harder, Ronan cleared his throat. “We have a surprise for you two. Ye recall how Lacey’s sister is coming out fer the wedding?”

  “Aye.” Lacey and Ronan had already had their handfasting, which was more than good enough for the two of them, but Lacey’s sister, who had no inkling of magic or gods or werewolves, ex-ones or not, needed something more formal. To appease her, the family had planned a small twilight wedding to be held this Saturday. “I may or may no’ recall ye asking me to stand up with ye.” Something that still made Aidan inordinately proud. Ronan had two brothers, after all, brothers he was very close to. Yet he’d chosen Aidan to be his best man.

  Ronan gave a solemn nod, but his lips twitched.

  “We really do want you there, but well . . . we’ve decided it’d be better to have a daytime wedding, mate.”

  Aidan felt like he’d been punched in the gut. Ronan, who for some odd reason seemed to be fighting back a smile, just sat there, his grey eyes dancing.

  Aidan frowned, realizing he was the brunt of some joke and not at all happy about it. “Well, unless you’re interested in having a pile of ash fer a best mate, I’m afraid tha’s a wee bit out of the—”

  Ronan stretched out one of those massive arms, his hand curled into a fist. For a second, Aidan thought he was going to be hit literally as well as figuratively.

  And he’d had just about enough.

  “What the fuck?” he snarled, ignoring Moiré’s tsk of disapproval.

  Then Ronan’s fingers opened. Heather gasped, but Aidan remained glaring into his friend’s amused face.

  “Oh, just look, ye bloody eejit.”

  With another curse, this one wisely muttered under his breath, Aidan glanced at Ronan’s palm and froze.

  “Tha’s no’—”

  “It is.” Lacey was grinning up at him, her hand on Ronan’s forearm. “The ghrian siúlóir. Ronan has been searching under Knockdoon for months and he finally found some. Isn’t it wonderful?”

  Aidan paused in the act of lifting the tiny vial from his friend’s outstretched palm, his eyes flickering to Ronan’s.

  His old friend shook his head ever so slightly, before saying, “So what do ye think? Is my best man going be there on Saturday or no’?”

  Aidan’s fingers tightened on the vial. “Just try and keep me away.”

  Not too long after that, Aidan grabbed a bottle of Jameson’s from the sideboard and pushed Ronan out the sliding glass door while their women were occupied making last-minute plans for the wedding.

  The two men walked silently down the stone path to Ronan’s cabin, stomping onto the porch but not going inside. Aidan took a long slow pull of the whiskey before passing it to his friend, who was looking up at the waxing moon with a wry smile on his lips. Aidan waited until Ronan took his drink before he spoke.

  “How?” he demanded. “We both know yer arse is mortal now. No’ way ye coulda gone into tha’ pit and survived.” Aillen might have been gone, and his Sluagh minions with him, but the other demons sure as hell weren’t. No telling who or what was using the demon king’s former residence at the moment, but it was a safe bet that foul pit hadn’t gone unoccupied for long. “And if ye tell me ye really did risk something so stupid fer me, I swear on Lugh’s bloody throne I’ll—”

  “It was Bav,” Ronan said shortly.

  Aidan choked on his whiskey.

  “Either Aine told her what I was trying to find”—or she’s still watching us all from that damn scrying pool, Aidan thought with less bitterness than usual as he wiped whiskey off his chin—“or she figured it out herself, but she showed up when I was staring down into the bowels of hell, calculating my odds.”

  “Fucking madman.” Aidan shook his head, even though Ronan’s sheer determination touched him more than he’d ever be able to express.

  “It’s yer own fault. I kept seeing yer pitiful mug tha’ day with Heather, and I . . .” Ronan shook his head, clearing his throat with another shot of whiskey. “Well, I thought ye should damme well get at least one day like tha’ with yer daughter, now tha’ ye had her again and—”

  That was it.

  Aidan set the bottle of whiskey on the porch railing and wrapped an arm around Ronan’s broad shoulders. It was a silent and very brief embrace. Ronan was the first to pull away, muttering something about having enough cracked ribs in his lifetime, thanks very much, but his voice was thick and Aidan’s own ears were roaring, so he may have misunderstood.

  “What happened to worrying about some of my sort getting ahold of this and seeing the world upended in blood and fire?” he said once he was able to speak, reaching for the whiskey again.

  “Well, seeing as how Heather finished Abhartach and Sloane got rid of that bastard Declan, I’m no’ too fussed about ye vampires at the moment.”

  Aidan grinned. “Aye, my women seem more than a match for the bastards. Present company excluded, of course.”

  “Keep telling yourself tha’.” Ronan chuckled.

  “So,” Aidan asked, when the bottle was nearly
gone and they had both slumped down the wall of the cabin, looking at the stars twirling in the sky. “How much of the stuff did ye and tha’ fucking goddess of death find?”

  Ronan was quiet for so long that Aidan finally glanced over. His friend was grinning hard enough it looked like his craggy face might crack.

  “Let’s just say, how long has it been since you’ve had a decent tan, mate?”

  The wedding was fucking perfect.

  Lacey wore blue, the traditional color of Irish brides, or at least it had been back when her husband was born. It suited the fiery little pixie who’d once held a sword to his throat, Aidan thought, suited her right down to the ground.

  Mac gave the bride away. They all said he’d earned the right by being the oldest male in the bunch. Not that Lacey needed anyone to give her to Ronan. Anyone could see the man already owned her, body and soul.

  Heather was her maid of honor, of course, and flanking her at Ronan’s side, Aidan took his place with his knees weak.

  “Buck up, buttercup.” His wife elbowed him surreptitiously in the ribs, her eyes bright. It was just what he needed to put some steel into his spine. He kept his eyes on Ronan throughout the ceremony, but his thoughts were a thousand years away.

  All the way back to the night he and a cursed werewolf had met in a glen, certain that one would kill the other. Ronan’s eyes met his over Lacey’s head and the big man grinned, looking so damn happy it was a trifle embarrassing.

  Of course, since Aidan was damn sure he’d had the same look on his face the night Ronan and Lacey had stood up for him and Heather, he wouldn’t give his friend grief about it.

  He smiled back and added a wink. Much, anyway.

  After the words were said, everyone scattered into the shade of the trees, enjoying the respite from the heat of the fine September day. Everyone, that is, except two vampires who stood in the middle of the field, Lugh’s sun beating down on their heads.