Lightning In Sea (CELTIC ELEMENTALS Book 3) Read online

  “But now?”

  “I’ve changed me mind,” he said simply. “To hell with what’s right. I love ye.”

  Love? Her fork clattered to her plate and her jaw dropped.

  Mac’s gaze fell to her mouth and darkened. “Ye keep doing tha’ and I swear, Sloane, I’m gonna find something to put between those pretty lips.”

  She jerked back, her face flushing instantly. But she refused to let him distract her.

  “You said,” she bit out the word, “‘love.’ ”

  “Aye, I know I did.” He snatched a fry from her side of the plate and dipped it in the vinegar on his own before taking a bite, watching her as he chewed.

  “Mac,” she said weakly. “What happened to not pushing?”

  “I’m no’ pushing. I’m stating.” His eyes had turned a pure, blazing blue that took her breath away. “We’ve had too many misunderstandings between us. When it comes to this, I willna be anything but crystal clear. I fucking love ye. The sooner ye get used to the fact, the better.”

  She blinked at him, her head spinning. What a night. “Mac, I don’t know—”

  He lifted a hand. “I know,” he said quietly. “But I don’t mind waiting. For tha’. For other things, I think neither of us may be so patient.” He shot her a predatory grin before finishing his fry in one neat bite.

  Sloane pursed her lips, even as her heart skipped a couple of beats. When it steadied, she thought of something odd he’d said. “What did you mean, about protecting me?”

  Mac looked at her, then quickly away, his voice thick. “Only tha’ I promised your da, when ye were very young, to always protect ye, keep ye safe.”

  Sloane was startled, then shocked, so touched her eyes started stinging again. Her dad wasn’t the type to ask such personal favors, especially from a workingman like Mac. She closed her eyes, swaying in her seat.

  He glanced at her, looking concerned. “Ye want me to take ye home now?”

  She nodded. “It’s too much. It’s all been just a little too . . . Christ, Mac.”

  He understood. He didn’t say anything, not as he helped her stack the dishes and set them on the sideboard, or the whole way back to the flat, but he understood. Sloane needed time. He was trying to keep that in mind, but it was powerfully hard when he knew that for once in his lifetime, time was running short.

  It was a pleasant surprise at the door when she went to her toes and brushed her lips over his cheek.

  “Thanks for tonight, Mac. If nothing else, you reminded me that I do have more than one friend. As for the rest . . .” She shrugged, smiling ruefully before stepping over the threshold and quietly shutting the door in his face.

  He stared at it for a long time before spinning on his heel and walking back down to the beach. Looking out over the water, he folded his arms, thinking.

  It may well have been a misstep, telling Sloane in such bald terms how he felt, but he could feel the walls closing in around them. He had ever since he’d decided on this course of action.

  Eventually, the rest of them would find out. Eventually, he’d be forced to take action. He already knew what that action would have to be. There was no choice, really.

  He could only hope Sloane would understand when the time came.

  Far out to sea, a speck of white tossed over the dark waves just as he was turning to leave. It looked like nothing more than sea foam, but Mac knew better. He waited. His lips tightened as the speck grew, swiftly taking on a sleek, majestic form. Soon, the waves lapping the shore were splashing against fetlocks, then hooves dancing on the sand.

  It was a stallion, foam-white and huge. He whistled a shrill challenge and Mac chuckled. “Let’s remember who created who here, eh, Finbar?”

  Dark eyes regarded him as the beast pranced closer, tossing his graceful neck back and forth, the snow-white mane bright against the night.

  “I do hope all is well?”

  The horse huffed out a breath, almost a laugh. Inquiries already. Danu, Lugh was a sharp one. He should know, he’d trained the lad himself.

  “Aye, well, the king can wait.”

  Finbar tossed his head again before lowering it to butt Mac hard in the chest. He pushed at the horse’s muzzle, feeling suddenly bereft as he looked out at the sea. “I know, but I canna go home yet, ye silly beast.”

  And maybe never again.

  11

  It was very early the next morning when Mac turned the handle on the door to The Fiddler’s Head, but Keith was already manning the bar. When he saw Mac, he raised a grizzled brow. “Never thought I’d see the day when I had to kick ye outa this place.”

  Mac didn’t comment. A few minutes later, a mug of tea appeared on the bar. As he sipped, the bartender hovered. “You planning on seeing Sloane today?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

  Keith lifted a placating hand. “The constable was in looking for her a bit ago, said she hadn’t been answering her phone the past few days.”

  “Jack? Why the fuck was he looking for Sloane?”

  Keith swiped at his bar, giving Mac an incredulous look. “Didna ye hear? The girls had some trouble the other week, some rough character giving them a scare. Lucky young Gery was there, from what I hear.” Keith shook his head. “Bad business. Folks saying it was probably just some crazy fan of Sloane’s,” he said in a gruff whisper. “But Jack wanted her to look at these pictures the mainland sent over.”

  “Ye doona say.” Mac gritted his teeth, fighting back a sudden rush of fury at himself for being so antisocial with everyone this past week. Even supervising the work at Sloane’s house had consisted mostly of grunts and orders, not small talk. But why the hell had Sloane not mentioned any such encounter last night, not once in all the hours they’d been together? She’d shared so much with him, but not this.

  His jaw clenched. Obviously, the progress he thought they’d made was less than he might have hoped.

  Mac forced himself to relax. After all, there could be no concern that this incident was supernatural in nature. He hadn’t felt a glimmer of anything dark on the island since Sloane had returned, despite being on high alert. It had been quiet, as it usually was. The word had gone out in the Otherworld eons ago that visitors were not welcome on Manx. Oh, they got the occasional vampire or two coming round. As soon as he felt their presence, Mac would pay them a not-so-friendly visit and remind them of the consequences of any unauthorized hunting. Most moved on quickly enough after that. Once in a while, a satyr or one of the lower gods decided to brave his displeasure. Lugh himself had demanded an audience not so long ago, right before Sloane had returned. That had been after the incident with his bloody sister, the one where he’d set her straight about the consequences of using Sloane in any way.

  There’d been nothing in the weeks since.

  Since he expected it to be that way, Mac hadn’t thought much of it. Bav had been the biggest threat to Sloane’s safety, with her plans unraveled, the vampire Abhartach dead, all should be well.

  But now he wondered. Crazy fan or not, he intended to find out every detail of what had happened to Sloane last week. Which meant finding her.

  Now.

  “She’s not here, Mac.” It had taken a full ten minutes of knocking at the flat door before Jenny had appeared. It was only when he’d bellowed out a warning that if the damn door didn’t open, he was knocking it down, that he’d heard any movement inside.

  He was almost sorry for that now. Jenny was pale as milk, her freckles standing out starkly as she kept one hand curled around the doorframe. Islanders were born with the instinct to serve him, to see them as their sovereign. It had faded over the centuries, and he didn’t feel the need to press the point often, but it was still there, bred deep into blood and bone. He hadn’t intended to terrify Jenny, but right now, he couldn’t help it. The urge to get to Sloane was too strong.

  “Where the hell would she be this early?”

  “She goes running most days, comes pretty close to your pla
ce actually.” The trail was one he was familiar with. Depending on when she’d started, he should be able to intercept her easily enough.

  He turned to go, ignoring Jenny’s shaky, relieved sigh, when he snapped back around. “So this deal with the constable and all, ye were there?”

  Jenny blinked, looking uneasy. “Aye, I was. But I didn’t see much. Not like Gery and Sloane. I’ve never seen Gery like that, scared right down to the ground, he was.” Mac frowned at that. Gery wasn’t the most dependable lad yet, but Mac fully expected him to steady over time. He also wasn’t at all the sort to spook easy. “What did ye see?”

  The girl rubbed her bare arms, shivering in the unseasonably warm morning air. “I looked out the window and I saw the guy who was harassing Sloane. It was just for a second while he was walking off. Tall, he was, with blond hair. More white than blond actually.” She shivered again. “There was something not right about him.”

  Maddeningly, she didn’t elaborate, only chewed on her lower lip, looking pensive.

  “How’s tha’, Jenny?” Mac kept his voice to a reasonable volume only through great effort.

  She hesitated. “You’ll think I’m mad.”

  Mac huffed out a breath. “Haven’t I known ye since ye were a wee babe? I already know ye’re fecking mad, Guinevere Creer.” His more relaxed tone, forced as it was, seemed to work. Some of the unnatural tension faded from Jenny’s shoulders, her lips wobbled into a rueful smile. “So out with it all then,” he pressed. “What was so odd about the bloke?”

  “His eyes,” she said slowly, her own not meeting Mac’s. “For a second, I coulda sworn—”

  She hesitated again and Mac couldn’t hold back his impatience any longer. “Goddamn it, girl, coulda sworn what?”

  Her startled gaze jumped to his. “That they glowed.”

  12

  Fucking vampires. No way. It wasn’t possible.

  Mac cursed a blue streak all the way out to the trail, going so fast he banged his head into the ceiling once or twice when the Rover hit a pothole. It didn’t even faze him, though the roof of his truck gained a few good-sized dents.

  Vampires could not set foot on the isle without him knowing about it. It was bloody well impossible. He found the access road and tore down it, only stopping when the dust rose so high he worried he might not see Sloane in time to stop.

  Impatiently, he pulled over and got out. He looked up and down, but he didn’t see her. Too keyed up to sit and wait, he took off down the path, muttering to himself.

  He needed to make time to visit Avalon. Just to check in and see what was what. Since Lugh’s visit, he’d been ignoring the Otherworld, as he had for eons. He’d removed himself from court so completely, there were a few there who had probably forgotten what he looked like at this point.

  Which was fine by—

  A slender figure in black cut onto the trail ahead of him from out of nowhere, causing him to stumble and then curse in relief. Sloane.

  It was about time.

  Something must have caught her eye, because she turned her head, that long, honey-blond ponytail whipping over one shoulder. Her eyes widened at the sight of him. She pulled a pair of headphones from her ears.

  “Mac? Jesus, I didn’t even see you.” She gave him a sheepish, slightly awkward smile that curved that ripe mouth, which brought back last night in force. Gods, but he wanted, needed, to taste those lips again. “What are you doing out here?”

  Mac forced a smile in return. “Well, I—” All his rage had vanished at the sight of her in front of him, like it had never been. He didn’t want to lay into her the way he had with Jenny. Their fragile peace couldn’t take it. And he sure as hell couldn’t mention vampires to Sloane. He’d have to ease her around to the topic. Get her to tell him everything she remembered. Though sure as shite, he wasn’t letting her out of his sight until he understood what was going on. “—I was going to walk the trail, make sure the rains hadn’t washed anything out.”

  “Oh. It’s been looking pretty good to me so far.” They stood around in awkward silence for a minute, then to his surprise her smile deepened mischievously. “How about a race while you check the rest?”

  “A race.” He shuffled his feet. “I’m no’ exactly dressed for it.”

  “That’s the idea. I think I need all the advantage I can get.” A tinge of a blush heated her cheeks. “First one to touch the far wall at the top wins a prize.”

  He knew the place she meant. On top of this rise, a long-abandoned home littered the grass with stone, one half of a lonely wall all that remained upright. Mac looked her full in the face for the first time, his eyes narrowing as he watched her bounce on the balls of her feet. She was nervous. She also had that look on her face again, the one she’d sported last night in the street, when she’d practically dared him to kiss her. “A prize, it it? What sort?”

  She didn’t answer, only dipped her head with a mischievous glint in her eyes before taking off, a deer bounding weightlessly up the hill. Her fitted, bright blue tank bobbed ahead of him. Lean and smooth, her muscles played under the thin black yoga pants. Swearing, but curious, Mac started after her. This was probably a very bad idea.

  A scant half mile later, there was no ‘probably’ about it. The sight of her running in front of him was maddening, and getting worse by the second. They were near the peak now and her sweet curvy ass flexed every step in a way that made his breath come short. He was no longer thinking about the race. Mac had become convinced she was not wearing any undergarments. The thought was making him hard. Running and a hard cock did not go together.

  But when Sloane turned at the top of the hill to give him a triumphant grin, leaping for the wall, Mac suddenly remembered he wanted to win this thing.

  With a burst of preternatural speed, he caught her in midjump, spinning around so that his back touched the crumbling stone first.

  Laughing and breathless, she smacked his chest. “That wasn’t fair.”

  He let her slide to her feet, his eyes never leaving hers. “What’s my prize, Sloane?”

  She blushed, then looked over her shoulder instead of answering. “Isn’t it gorgeous up here?” The view was jaw-dropping, the hill falling away over the island behind them in velvety-green waves, the sea smacking the sheer cliffs that cut away in a near vertical fall for miles up the shore.

  “Indeed it is,” he said, not sparing a glance for the beauty he had seen a thousand times before. Focusing instead on the one in front of him. “Sloane?” His tone was a barely leashed warning.

  She turned back around, swallowing hard. “I was thinking . . . winner’s choice, of course. Whatever you like.”

  “Whatever I’d . . .” He gave her a hard look. “Ye are sure about this, are ye?” When she nodded, he couldn’t have stopped what happened next if he wanted to. And he damn well didn’t want to. With a short nod, he reached for her.

  She sensed his intensity a second too late, her eyes widening. “Mac?”

  He had her up against the wall in the time it took her to gasp his name. She didn’t get out anything more for the simple fact his mouth covered hers and silenced whatever else she had been thinking of saying.

  He wasn’t gentle, not like the other times. Sloane had no idea how much he’d been holding back, but Mac knew she was about to find out. He was riding the last shreds of his control. The sea below them started to churn as he ravaged her mouth. He didn’t coax, he demanded her response. And respond she did.

  Her mouth opened on a sigh and her hands came up to delve into his hair. She moaned when his tongue slipped into her mouth. Mac growled in response, his hands tightening on her hips.

  Pinning her against the rough rock, he kissed her until she was shaking. His hands moved roughly over her body, learning those curves he had memorized with his eyes step after step on their run. Deliberately, he yanked her hips to his, pulling her up against his hard arousal and watching her eyes—which had been closed, her lashes a dark gold fringe against her
flushed skin—snap open.

  There was only wonder in those silvery-green depths, no fear and no warning to stop—so he didn’t.

  He lifted her even more firmly against him, his hands slipping around to cup her ass, the material of her pants so thin it was very nearly like touching bare skin.

  Soon, he told himself. Soon. He swore he could feel the heat of her center through both his layers and hers. With one hand, he yanked up the snug tank top, cursing at the sports bra she wore beneath, so impatient he ripped half off her in one harsh tug. She gasped as his hand closed over her bare breast, the firm flesh molding to his touch, her nipple pebbling instantly against his palm.

  “Mac,” she whimpered against his lips, her voice ragged with want. “Please.” The word made him crazed, grinding the thick ridge of his cock hard between her legs until her pleas filled his ears. He brought his mouth to the tight bud of her nipple, laving it with his tongue as he tried to pull himself together. He needed to get her to the cabin, or he was going to end up taking her right here—

  When Sloane cried out, his thoughts went blank. He could only lift his head and stare in shock as the unmistakable tremors of release shook her body. She slumped against him, her breaths quick and shallow against the crook of his neck. For all that was—!

  Sloane had come for him, right here, fully clothed under the open sky. Stunned, Mac couldn’t move for the space of one long heartbeat. Then with one fierce tug, he pulled her away from the wall, guiding her back down the hill but along a different path.

  One that led straight to his home.

  13

  When she got the breath to ask him what he was doing, he wouldn’t answer her. Her thighs were still trembling from the hard, fast orgasm that had taken her breath away. Sloane could only stumble after him, his hold on her too strong to resist, in any way.