Blood In Fire (Celtic Elementals Book 2) (38 page)

Aine sighed and nodded. “Aye, my love. Ye are right.”

He grinned down at her his blue eyes bright. “’Bout fair time ye realized that I am always right.”

“I never said ‘always’ and I never will, ye arrogant-“

“I think the word yer looking for is ‘yer Majesty’.”

Aine laughed softly. “Sure about tha', are ye?”

“I am sure I can think of a way to shut tha' mouth of yers…”

“Mmm, do tell?”

As the sun god and his mistress walked off and vanished into a shaft of moonlight, something stirred within the shadows next to the keep. Something bloody and broken, but alive, with eyes that glowed blue in the darkness.

“His daughter?” Declan barely recognized the sound of his own voice. It was hoarse and raw. He was thirsty. So very thirsty. Not only for blood, but for
revenge
.

His smile was a gruesome thing, his split lips gapping wide, black spots showing where his teeth were cracked or missing. His eyes tracked the moon falling away in the eastern sky and then moved north as if he could see across the whole of the land to the sea and beyond, to the tiny island where he now knew his destiny awaited.

O'Neill's daughter.

The girl that had slipped through Abhartach’s fingers so long ago. His poor master had been thwarted and now would never know what could have been. But he, Declan, he could do this one thing for his fallen king. He could find the brat, find her and kill her. Bring O’Neill to his knees again.

This time forever.

Peel. The Isle of Man.

His whispered warning was carried away by the night.

“I am coming.”

The knock came at twilight.

The house was warm and golden against the indigo sky, laughter and the shouts of children, along with the banging of pots and pans, the slamming of cupboards and the clank of cutlery being set on wood suggested dinnertime. As did the smells wafted by the breeze to the visitors at the door; fresh bread, slow-cooked meat and roasted vegetables spiced with herbs.

The woman who opened the door had her head turned away, looking back over her shoulder with a smile as cozy as her home. Her greying red hair was twisted over that same shoulder in long, loose plait.

“Mind ye stir tha' gravy well, Colin or I’ll—“ Turning her head as she spoke, the woman caught sight of the couple at her door and whatever she had been going to say fell away.

The sparkle in her brown eyes faded and she sank against the door.

“’Twill be alright, Moiré.” Lugh’s voice was gentle.

“Donna
ye
say tha' to me, just
donna
.”

He sighed, aware nothing he could offer would ease this woman's mind about him. It had been Gael Fitzpatrick who had trusted him completely, not Moiré. Gael was long dead and for that Moiré would never forgive him.

"May we come in, Moiré?"

"'Tis no' in my power to keep ye out." She refused to look at Aine at all, but opened the door wide.

For a moment the boisterous talk and laughter continued, then as heads turned, silence began to fall. When it was absolute, Ronan stepped away from the kitchen. Lacey's hand trailed down his arm as if reluctant for him to move closer to the visitors. She didn't try and stop him though.

"Come and sit, my lord. Ye as well, my lady." Ronan's eyes frosted when they took in Aine, but he included her in his gesture of invitation.

Lugh moved to the laden table in two strides. Tall and powerful, his long blonde hair with its ever-present trio of braids at his left ear, a cloak of emerald green at his throat, he took in everyone around the table one by one with calculating blue eyes. The kitchen brightened with his presence. There was not so much a glow around the sun-god as there was something that made the dark retreat. He tore a hunk off one of the warm loaves of bread and ate it in quick, efficient bites, his gaze on Ronan, who visibly relaxed, though no one else did.

Ronan moved back to Lacey, his hand pulling the tiny woman into him as if craving her touch. "Things have no' changed so much between us tha' ye would ever be unwelcome here, my lord."

"Aye, but things have changed, though never my protection for those under this roof." At these words, Moiré flushed slightly.

Lugh set the bread down deliberately. "And there are all kinds of welcome," the Tuatha de Nanaan king's gaze made some around the table shiver, but no one spoke.

Finally, Moiré's low voice that broke the quiet.

"Aye, Long-hand, and there are all kinds of visits, but rarely happy ones from gods. Why are ye here?"

Lugh sighed. "Where's O'Neill?"

A throat cleared in the open doorway. "Here."

Aidan and Heather had just entered the house, pausing on the threshold when they had seen who was inside. They both looked wary, but Aidan spoke first.

"To what do we owe this pleasure, yer Majesty?"

Lugh opened his mouth, but Aine put her fingers over his lips, her eyes on Aidan.

"He'll take it better if we just get it over with, love. Let me. A long time ago, Aidan—very long ago now—Bav came to me about doing a spell on …on Isleen.”

Aidan swore, his eyes flashing as Lugh held up a hand.

“Hear her out, O’Neill.”

“It wasna a spell to harm her, I swear! Mac would have sensed tha' and Bav wanted to keep him well out of it. So, she asked for my help.”

“Why did she need ye? Isna her magic stronger than yers?”

Aine blinked at the insult, then shrugged. “Aye, tha’ it is, I suppose. Only Mac can best Bav in spell casting. But this spell was special, she needed someone who could play with time. Tha’ meant me or Lugh. Obviously, she wasna gonna bring Lugh into it, so she came to me.”

“Play with time? What do you mean by that?” This came from Heather, who had laid a hand on Aidan’s arm.

“Only Lugh and I can manipulate time, because it's tied to our essence. Sun and moon, ye see? Isleen was old when Bav came to me, Bav swore she was dying… She’d had a long life, Aidan. A good one, I believe.”

Heather’s voice chilled. “Not including losing her father, of course.”

Aine bowed her head. “Aye. Well, Bav wanted me to try a renewing spell, outside of time. To tether her soul on this plane, so that someday, she could be reborn. She could live again.

“Are you talking about reincarnation?”

Aine nodded. “Tha’s a fair comparison, yes. Ye canna control it, though, even if it goes right. Bav couldna know when or where it would happen and it took far, far longer than she expected.”

“But it did happen?” Aidan’s words cracked.

Aine turned to Lugh, her eyes pleading.  He pulled her close to him and sighed. “Tha’ is what we believe set Bav's plans in motion. I suppose she never gave up on ye, no’ really. She didna send ye tha' dream of Ronan fer Ronan’s sake. Hells, I donna even know if she ever truly saw his death, or if it was just a ruse to get ye back. The real reason she wanted ye in Ireland is tha' she found out Isleen had been born again.”

Aidan reeled away, turning his back to the room. Everyone else was frozen. He stood there, breathing hard, with both his hands on the wall. It was too fucking much. What was it all supposed to mean? Heather put a hand on his shoulder and he shuddered before covering her fingers with his own. After a moment’s hesitation, Lugh continued, his voice loud in the hushed room.

“She’s nae a child now, Aidan, nor even a babe. She's a woman grown.”

“Stop,” Aidan turned slowly, leaning back against the wall. Without the support he would have sank to the floor. Heather moved up against his side and slid her arm around him. He took a deep breath, her smell helping to sooth his throbbing head. “Ye said…”

Aine spoke this time. “Yes. I know, but tha’s the other thing, Aidan. She was born twenty-six
years
ago. In America. California, actually. For some reason, Bav only recently found out. She asked me a couple weeks ago to cast a spell to pull her back here, to Ireland. I dinna want to, believe me, but I owed her for…well, I couldna refuse. But it…ah, went wrong." She looked at Lugh and he nodded. Aine hurried on.

“I…I think someone was masking her presence from Bav up until then.”

“'Someone'? You mean
Manannán mac Lir
, donna ye?” Aidan closed his eyes.

“It appears Mac knew about the spell all along.” Lugh shook his head. “Nobody breathes on tha' damme island without his say so. Bav must have lost her mind to think she could conceal casting magic on any person in Manx without him knowing about it. Let alone yer daughter.”

“So, he’s still protecting her then?”

“I would say so. Mac’s nae one to forget anythin
g—
or to ever go back on his word, O’Neill. He’s probably the best guardian ye could have chosen for yer daughter.”

But I didn't choose him,
Aidan thought.
She did.

"What's…what's her name now?" The thought that he wouldn't know his own daughter's name…her face...

"Sloane. Sloane Nelson." Lugh caught his desperate need for information without being told. "She's a writer. A rather well-known one, truth be—"

"Wait….what?" For the first time, Lacey had spoken up. "The author of the Gods of Man books?
That
Sloane Nelson? Holy shit, she writes that sci-fi fantasy series about gods…! Does she know?"

Lugh shook his head. "Nae. No' consciously. But she has visited Manx her whole life, part of her must sense the connection. She's on her way there again right now. She's moving to the Isle, Aidan. To stay."

Aidan leaned into Heather, he looked bewildered. "Did he tell ye this, Mac Lir?"

Aine gave a nervous giggle and Lugh bumped his hip into hers, quieting her instantly. "No' in so many polite words. Mac donna have much to do with us anymore. He wasna keen to tell us a damme thing, except to let me know in vivid detail what would happen if we sent anyone to his island."

"He donna expect to keep me from her?" Even as Aidan spoke the words, his body going rigid with anger, he wondered—what the hell would he say to her?!

To this 'Sloane'?

Hey, love, 'tis ye long lost da. Ye know, the one who left ye eleven hundred years ago or so without a word. Tha' ye donna remember 'cause yer no' really yerself…

And by the by, I'm a bloody vampire.

Aye, that would go over a fucking treat.

"Nae, Aidan." It was Aine who spoke again. "Mac said naught about ye, he was talking about any of the others, any of
us
. The Tuatha de Naanan. He was very explicit tha' we leave her be."

Aidan was silent, but Heather said, her voice puzzled and slightly hesitant. "You're the king though, right?"

Lugh cocked his head at her, a smile playing over his lips for the first time that night. He had a knowing look in his eyes. "Aye, tha' I am."

"Well then," she cleared her throat. "Why can't you just make him tell you whatever you want?"

Lugh chuckled. "Mac is a special case, my dear. A very special one. I may be his king, but he was my foster-father, my guardian and my mentor. He hasna been to court in eons. He's a fair recluse these days. I daresay he
would
obey a direct order, but I'm no' foolish enough to try him in this. No' after Bav—" The king caught himself, falling abruptly silent.

Aidan felt Heather straighten beside him. "Bav
what,
exactly? What was she going to do with Isleen…Sloane…, I mean, Aidan's daughter?"

Aidan answered the question before Lugh could speak, his words empty and flat. "She was going to use Isleen to bend me to her will, of course. Just like before, when she used her to get me to allow Abhartach to turn me."

"She's fucking depraved." Heather's voice shook with fury. She buried her head on Aidan's chest. He stroked her hair, meeting Lugh's eyes over her head.

"I donna expect ye to believe me, but she's changed. Bav has. Nae," he lifted a hand when Aidan would have opened his mouth. "I willna argue the point, nor defend her to ye—except to say this. Tha' choice ye made, Aidan?

"Would ye have ever been able to make it if ye hadn't been forced to? Think on it, man, and think on the one person who could have changed tha' choice…and didna."

Lugh's eyes narrowed as Aidan sucked in a breath. The king nodded briskly. "Right then, we're off. Thank ye for yer hospitality, Moiré." The words were faintly sardonic, but his look was tender before sweeping the rest of the family and resting on Ronan.

"It seems I have very few serious enemies left, Fitzpatrick. Thanks to ye and this lot. I will leave the sword in yer hands. For as long as ye may have need of it." Ronan dipped his head. "I always preferred the spear, anyway."

With that, the Tuatha de Nanaan king pulled Aine with him as left the house, but the moon goddess looked back once on the threshold.

"I
am
sorry, Aidan."

He didn't respond, blood was rushing through his ears.
Sorry
, they were always fucking
sorry
. The door snicked shut behind the pair. No one in the room spoke a word.

"Aidan…" That was Moiré, reaching out her hand to him.

"I canna…I…give me a mo'."

He let go of Heather and walked away, passing through the kitchen and out of the sliding glass door at the back of the house.

Roses trembled in the night air as he leaned against the trellis, his head…his whole world spinning.

Isleen was alive?

In all the years, all the centuries that had passed since he had left his daughter in the care of the sea god, he had never imagined such a possibility. She was lost to him. He had never set foot on Manx. The only way to save her had been to let her go completely. Aidan had been been ruthless with himself about that.

Aidan knew he could take no chances, not after what had happened the last time he'd risked seeing her.

Even after he assumed her to be long dead, he couldn't go there. Wouldn't. He avoided even northern Ireland like the plague, hadn't gone farther than Dundalk in centuries. Time hadn't erased his loss, it had only deepened it.

Oh, his sweet laughing girl!

The worst of it was, he couldn't help the hard hope that rose in him…the joy that wanted to erupt. She was
alive!

But with that same rush of emotion came despair. It wasn't the same. It could never be. The past was beyond his reach.

He'd never get that girl back. She was Sloane now. Sloane.

Aidan let it roll over his tongue. Sloane Nelson. She didn't even carry his name. Not that she ever had. His shoulders slumped.