Blood In Fire (Celtic Elementals Book 2) (8 page)

Heather couldn't have that.

She reached over, patting Lacey’s hand with a wickedly sardonic look. “Just tell her you’ve finally found that older man she always wanted for you. Problem solved. She'll welcome him with open arms.”

Lacey rolled sideways on the rug, laughing so hard she started to snort.

Kate constantly said Lacey needed an older man. It was like a mantra. She preached about it ad nauseam. Kate was convinced a mature, stable man would do wonders for her 'flighty' baby sister.

When Lacey manage to speak again, it was in half gasps.

"Fifteen hundred years older was probably not
exactly
what Kate had in mind, Heather!"

Heather shrugged. "Tell her she should have been careful what she wished for then. Damn though, Lace. Your man is
really
robbing the cradle."

Lacey threw a pillow at her.

“You can talk! Aidan is almost as old as Ronan, you know. Give or take a century or three.”

The look on Heather’s face sent Lacey into hysterics again.

Aidan and Ronan’s talk wasn’t quite so long and didn’t involve any hand holding or hugging.

By the time they got to the main house, Aidan was in considerable pain from the rising sun, even though the sky was only starting to grey. What with that, and being furious with himself for leading what was surely going to be a nasty matter right to Ronan’s front door, then the encounter with Bav on top of his worries about dealing with
Abhartach and his minions—and wondering just where in the hell Heather fit into this nasty little puzzle—he was in a rather pissy mood.

It didn’t help things when Ronan cut right to the chase, even as he set about making them both a cuppa. His big friend should have looked ridiculous bustling around
Moiré’s kitchen, and mayhap he did a bit, but for once, Aidan wasn’t in the mood to take the mickey out of him for it.

“Wee bit odd, ye running into Lacey’s best friend, donna ye think?”

“Bit more than odd, ye ask me. But I dinna just ‘run into’ her, Fitzpatrick. At least no' just since I’ve been in Ireland again. We met afore. Last week, in fact. When I left Istanbul so fast…it was her I skipped out on.”

“Aye, well.” Ronan didn’t so much as blink as he set the mugs on the scrubbed wooden table that was the focal point of the kitchen. He grabbed one ladder-back chair, turned it around backwards to the table and dropped into it with a frown.

Ronan coiled a large arm around the chair back as he considered the steam coming off his tea. “She was with ye when ye had the dream from Bav then. The dream about me. Did ye tell her about it?”

Aidan snorted and blew a stream over his own tea, watching the ruffling waves of fragrant hot liquid. “Gods, no, man. It weren’t… well, I only had met the chit a couple of nights before that.” The men’s eyes locked over their cups. “She donna know nothing about me, or ye or any of it. At least she dinna, not before tonight. I imagine Lacey is giving her an earful or two now.”

Ronan shrugged. “She has to hear it, Aidan. After Bav, after
Abhartach
. Hell, she’d have to hear it anyway, seeing as what she and Lacey are to each other. Ye canna expect any less.”

Rolling his shoulders was Aidan’s only response. He didn’t like that Heather was going to hear what he was from someone else. Gods knew why. It really didn’t matter.

It wasn’t as if the goddamn chit was anything to him, for fuck sakes.

“What is she to you, Aidan?” Ronan seemed to pluck his thoughts from thin air and Aidan’s lip curled. Who was the damme psychic here anyway? “It mayhap be none of me business, at least normally, but considering…”

“Aye, considering,” Aidan sighed. “She is nothing, mate. Just a diversion.”

Ronan’s eyebrows raised and he took a measured sip of tea without commenting.

Aidan rolled his eyes. “Oy, donna give me tha' look. Some of us enjoy a bang now and then. No strings attached. As I remember it were nae so long ago, ye’d been the same—”

“Actually, mate, no' counting the day before last, it’s been damme near a thousand years since I last saw ye,” Ronan said mildly.

“Time being relative to present company then,” Aidan snapped. “She is just a fuck, Ronan. Nae more, nae less.”

“Like tha', is it? Good to know.” Ronan leaned back with a curious expression on his dark face.

“What?” Aidan snapped again, certain he was being led into some kind of trap and too tired to think what it could be.

“Well, just trying to get a handle on what kind of woman this friend of Lacey’s is.” Ronan’s cool tone made Aidan set down his mug carefully, his crystal eyes narrowing like steel darts at the man across the table.

“What the
hell
are ye meaning by tha'? An unattached woman’s got just as much right to enjoy a good fucking as a man, ye damme relic. Donna be thinking ill of her for tha'.”

Ronan sent a slow, satisfied smile into his mug.

Aidan cursed, scrubbing his face with one hand. Baited and trapped. Neat as could be. Gods, Ronan was getting slick in his old age or Aidan was getting damme slow.

“It’s nae like tha'! Love has addled your brains. This is no' ye and Lacey here, Fitzpatrick! There’s nae attachment between me and Heather. Beyond a bit of mutual fun, is all.”

“I didna say there was and tha's as we both know it
should
be." He shrugged. “But ye donna want the lass held in a bad light. Tha’s something.”

“Oh, just because I am no' a complete arsehole—”

Ronan laughed outright. “Since when?”

Aidan sighed again.

Ronan had a point. It had been a very long time since he retained any semblance of
that
type of chivalrous behavior. Except when it suited his own ends, of course. He’d had a habit for awhile now of not only being cavalier with women, but maybe a bit cruel. Though, to be fair, that was not just with women, but pretty much the whole world.

Save for one small corner of it, the one that held the Fitzpatrick family.

Even them, he’d avoided for years and years.

Almost a millennium, in fact.

The reason for his avoidance chose that exact moment to enter the kitchen. Blurry-eyed and rubbing an unshaven chin, Daire Fitzpatrick, Ronan’s youngest brother, fell into a seat at the table across from Aidan.

“If yer gonna wake a man in the middle of the night, 'tis only good manners to make him a cuppa. Wet the tea, will ye?”

“It’s damme near dawn, no' the middle of the night, ye blubbering eejit.” Ronan grumbled but got to his feet to get the tea on again.

“Too near dawn to suit me.” Aidan eyed the blush creeping down the far hill outside the sliding glass doors, feeling the burn in his bones flare up again. And the longing. Had it only been twenty-four hours since he’d seen the sun again? It felt like a lifetime and more. “I better hie off to the library then.”

Belying his rumpled, sleepy appearance, Daire’s hand shot across the table and locked on Aidan’s forearm. “I donna expect yer forgiveness so easily, Aidan. But surely we can share the same room without yer back going up.”

“'Tis the dawn tha’s got my back up, Daire, no' ye.” Which was true enough, but there was a bad taste in the back of Aidan’s throat as he pulled out of Daire’s grip and slipped down the hall.

Being wrongly accused of the murder of Daire’s former fiancé had cost Aidan more than a thousand years of being separated from his only friend in the world. That had not been nearly as bitter as the realization that even Ronan’s family could so easily see him as a monster, capable of betraying their trust in a heartbeat.

Aidan smiled coldly to himself as he wrenched open the door to the library and eased into the quiet, familiar darkness. But really…what right did he have to expect any different?

He was a monster, after all.

People could hardly be blamed for expecting him to act like one.

Bav stumbled against a gleaming column of silvery marble as she materialized in Ti'rna No'g. One, long-fingered white hand clung shaking to the cold stone as she pushed herself upright.

How dare he!

Her breath plumed out in the black night as she tried to control her fury, and the pain that twisted her heart. The way Aidan had looked at her, bordering on
revulsion
. Why must he reject her so harshly?

And why must she always go back for more?

She knew why. She always had, from that first night, so very long ago.

How could she not?

After all, just look at him.

Uí Néill 

892 A.D.

Look at him.

That was all Bav could think as she watched the battle rage below.

She'd been hearing tales of the O'Neill lad for months now and finally her curiosity had gotten the better of her.

Far below, metal flashed and blood fell on a field of velvet green so bright it hurt the eyes. Nothing shone brighter than the man that stood dead center of the melee. Sunlight glinted on his golden curls. That was him. Áedán O'Neill. He'd lost his helm some time ago, but the lack had not made him any less fearless.

Another damme Viking raid. How she despised these Norsemen, creeping into her Eire on the tides, a black wave that seemed poised to crash over the whole of the north. But the battles, well…those at least offered some entertainment.

This Viking party had been spotted before dawn, pulling their longboats onto shore. A relay of runners, organized in part by Uí Néill king and his son, had alerted the keep. The would-be looters had walked straight into a trap that snapped shut with the rising of the sun. The king's son had led the charge and it was him that she watched.

Three men approached him now, though she thought it likely he was aware of only the two in front. They were big shaggy Norsemen, their hide cloaks thick with fur as they flanked him, but the real danger lurked behind. A lithe man in a helm of dull bronze edged nearer to the fair-haired youth. Bav's breath caught in her throat.

There was no need for her worry. At the last second the bright figure whirled, slicing the throat of the man behind him with a casual grace. Blood sprayed and instantly the two now at his back lunged. Spinning again, the sword's arc swept in one easy movement from throat to one of the attacker's arms, hewing if off cleanly at the wrist. Barely a pause before the stroke continued into the rush of the next man, burying itself halfway to the hilt in his heart.

Lifting his foot, the O'Neill lad planted it on the downed man's chest, yanking his sword free of the body. The last man was trying to stand, cradling his handless arm as he tottered to his feet. One step to the right, a flash of steel and that man as well joined his fellows on their way to Valhalla.

Stepping over the bodies, Áedán surveyed the valley. What Norsemen remained were already down or fleeing. It had been a rout. One of the few the Celts had seen that long summer. She saw the sword slice high into cold morning air that seemed to shimmer as a chorus of cheers rang from hillside to hillside. Áedán wiped the blood from his face, a fierce, hard look of satisfaction on his face as he lowered the sword.

Had she ever seen anything so beautiful?

She approached the keep late that night, dropping onto the battlement walls with nary a whisper. Choosing not to be seen when her fair-haired boy finally appeared, laughingly calling out at someone behind him in the hall.

"Oy, Conal! Give a man a mo' to lighten his load and I'll be seeing ye passed out under tha' table by morn."

He pissed copiously over the wall, rolling his head from side to side. Finally, he gave a last shake and tucked himself back in his
braes. He stretched again, a long, loose coil of muscle rippling under the light grey tunic, sighing as he rubbed his chest absently with one hand as if it pained him.

Was he hurt? She reached for him…

He froze. Bav's fingers hovered inches from his skin, even though he couldn't see her. No mortal should have been able to sense her at all. But
he
did, she was sure of it.

Oh, he was full of surprises, this one!

He turned on the balls of his feet, the wary movement of a hunter who senses he is about to become prey. Without hesitation she became corporeal, a smile ready on her lips.

He didn't stumble back, only straightened in wonder. His eyes traced her up, down and up again. Cocking his head, he gave her his own slow smile.

"Now where did such a vision as yerself come from? Surely the ale alone couldna be fine enough to conjure me one so lovely?"

"I dinna come from yer bottle, or yer fanciful mind. Donna ye know me?"

"Should I, lovely?"

"I wager ye have heard of me," Bav lowered her hood, letting the silk trail down to bare her riot of fiery curls. Áedán sucked in a breath.

"Aye. Tha' I have." His eyes narrowed, then cooled. He gave her a short bow before she could puzzle over that. "Bav. My lady."

"Well done today, lad."

He raised his head, regarding her so frankly it was disturbing, but she could not drop her gaze. What wonderful eyes he had, like cut glass. "I take it ye were watching our skirmish. Did we please ye then?"

"Ye pleased me, Áedán."

He raised an eyebrow. "Here I am, wondering truly, 'tis tha' a good thing, my lady?"

"Of course it is, ye daft boy." She laughed, a trifle uneasily at the expression on his face.

"I'm nae a boy, Bav." His voice was flat.

"Oh aye, I can see tha'." Her voice went sultry with appreciation as she looked up at him. "How old are ye then, Áedán?"

"Nearly one and twenty." Something creeped behind his eyes, something dark and secret. Again he made her curious. He had secrets.

She loved secrets. Then he rolled his neck again, pressing a hand to his chest.

"Does it pain ye?"

"What?" He seemed to be far away for a moment.

"Yer neck. Are ye hurt?"

"Nae, 'tis only a wee ache tha' comes and goes. Mayhap I wrenched something." But he winced again and she pursed her lips.

"Turn around, let me ease it for ye."

"Why?" His tone was suspicious. She tsked at him.

"For nae reason than 'tis my pleasure to help one of my own."

He grumbled, but turned his back. Bav looked at him, savoring the view.

He was well-made, very broad through big shoulders heavy with muscle, despite his overall leanness. His back made a pleasingly wide flared V under his tunic. Her fingers trailed up his spine, then over the bare flesh at the back of his neck. His curls felt like rumpled silk as she let her touch wander higher. She felt him shiver and smiled.

With a low word she sent her power into him, green light glowed from her fingertips. He sighed as the healing warmth sank into his skin, unconsciously pushing back against her. She was a tall woman, but he was a good hand taller. Bav went to her toes, her breath in his ear as she allowed her magic to sooth his pain away.

"Does it feel good, Áedán?"

He murmured something unintelligible in assent. She slipped her other hand under his tunic. Her hand stroking the warm taut line of muscle at his side, then the hard ridges of his abdomen. Closing her eyes, she moved her fingers lower, letting her power flow downward until she felt him gasp.

"It can feel even better. I promise." Her lips curved against his neck. She pressed into him, making sure he was aware of every curve of her body, her nipples hard against his back.

With a low curse, he pushed her hand from him and stepped away. "Seems ye have more than healing on yer mind, my lady." His head was bowed again.

Bav could see his clenched hands. Hear the tension in his voice. She knew he wanted her quite badly. That much was obvious. What she didn't know was why he was fighting his desire, but she planned on making his struggle a short one.

"Aye. Mayhap I do. And why not, Áedán? Donna ye deserve a fine reward…and I would love to give it to ye. Ask of me what ye will." Smooth and practiced, she stepped toward him again, her hand reaching for his arm.

He didn't pull away as her fingers curled around him, or resist as she tugged him closer. When she would have kissed him, though, he finally lifted his head. "And what if…I donna want
this
reward, milady? Can I name my own?"

For a split second, she froze.

Her eyes narrowed. Was he actually refusing her?

No.

Of course not. He was only trying to control terms.
How like a man
. She took a calming breath, her own desire running far more out of control than his.

"I know ye want what I am offering, Áedán. Ye think I canna feel it?" She laughed low and rubbed up against him. His hands gripped her upper arms, pushing her back again.

"A man's body is no' always his own, but his mind must ever be." He said the words as if repeating a lesson oft quoted to him. "Answer the question, my lady." The edge of command in his voice gave her pause.

There was bold, and then there was foolish. She
was
a goddess, after all. A goddess who could crush him like she had so many others.

Only she couldn't deny that power in him made her want him all the more.

"I give what I wish to give, and only tha', warrior." She was shaking a little as she looked up at him, in both rising fury and lust. "What is it tha' ye want?"

"I wish only to no' to become a sad story, my lady." He smiled secretively at her puzzled frown. "To live a life unentangled by gods. However enchanting."

Her jaw clenched. "Those who reach for the clouds, Áedán, canna but expect the attention of the gods."

"Why?" He seemed honestly intrigued. "Why is tha'? Is Tir'na No'g…or the Otherworld itself so dull ye look to us for amusement?"

She had no idea how to answer him. Explaining to a human what god's lives were like….the beauty, the fearsome endlessness…the absence of pain… The vast depths of emptiness, the eons of dull existence for the sake of existing….

Or how fascinating to the Tuatha de Naanan human lives were; how passionate and dirty and violent and short. Everything felt with such exquisite keenness…

No, it was impossible to explain such things to him. "Even gods need games to play." She said instead, her voice haughty.

"Aye," Áedán nodded, regarding her with that frank gaze. "I suspected as much. If ye meant it about tha' reward, my lady…I am ready now."

Relaxing, her face softening, Bav stepped closer. Her hips swayed confidently, her hand reached for his shoulder. Before she could touch him, Áedán seized her hand and pulled her close. His lips brushed her ear, his words quiet and final. "This is all I will
ever
ask of ye, my lady. Choose ye another game, with other pawns. I donna wish to play."

He pushed her away and turned, striding back into the keep without looking back. Bav stood on the battlements, the night whipping her hair as she let his rejection wash over her. Humilation, anger… the incessant bitter loneliness. It hurt. It hurt so much.

And the pain was beautiful.

Bav had long wondered which she was more addicted to; Aidan, or the pain he gave her. She wrapped her arms around herself and looked around the star gardens, blinking her eyes. Now was not the time to dwell on the past, not when the future could hold so much.

She had such plans, such
wonderful
plans. If things would just go right this time. Not like before…

Bav shuddered, then straightened.

She very much wanted
Abhartach to catch up with Aidan—just not yet. Not until she had things positioned properly. One more pawn had yet to arrive and then Abhartach could chase Aidan all he wanted.

Right into her arms.

With a smug smile, the goddess moved away from the translucent columns. Night was fading fast and so would
Ti'rna No'g fade with it, but she wanted a look in the scrying pool first. Pouring out the blood-tainted waters of the River Shannon that she carried always in one of the many skins and pouches belted to her waist, Bav hissed at what she saw when the water stilled.

Mac
.

Danu be cursed,
no!

Manannán mac Lir.
She did not need
that
one’s interference, not again. She shivered slightly. Of all Lugh’s demented and often times bloody court; made up of the wayward shoots of her own twisted and far-flung family, bits of the fae and the odd Fomorian bastard or two, Mac was the only one Bav would admit to herself that she feared.

Not even Lugh, whose anger could bring most of the Tuatha de Naanan to their knees, gave Bav other than the slightest pause. She was the goddess of death,
the bloody Morrighan
, after all and Lugh wouldn’t even have his throne if she hadn’t willed it. No, Lugh was a warrior first—god and king second. Bav knew nothing if not how to deal with
warriors.