Cork, Ireland, July 1990

Pt.1

I lost my mother when I was still a wean, and that’s when the daddy issues began. My da was absolutely useless without Mum, and slowly he started to rely on me for the things he had formerly gotten from her.

I was eleven the first time he asked me to iron his shirt, thirteen when he had me making him lunch for work and bringing beers after.

Fourteen when he “taught me” about shagging.

I knew what was going on between us wasn’t normal, and a few times, I almost called the police. But there was nothing compared to the feeling of my father singing my praises to everyone he knew, giving me his whole paycheck to go out on weekends and telling me I was his “good girl.”

Of course, all that stopped when I fell pregnant by him at seventeen.

“Sorry?”

“You’re pregnant, Miss Cooke,” the nurse said, grinning ear to ear. “I can step outside if you’d like to use the telephone to call the baby’s father.”

I was carrying my biological sibling.

“No,” I said. “No, thank you. I’d… I’d like to report a crime.”

To the day, I’d never forget the look on the nurse's face as I told her what had happened. That bizarre, professional smile they get when they’re trying to be supportive, but they crack to reveal that, beneath all that white linen, they’re still human—still horrified.

I was already legally an adult, so I ended up staying with some friends while I recovered from my termination, though I withheld the feeling of watching my father taken away in chains fifteen minutes before my appointment.

It was in that flat, in the aftermath of my emotional devastation, that I discovered two things.

Number one, I had magic. Just a little at first, nothing more than shutting the lights on and off. And second—I discovered Eíren Connolly.

It was a Friday night, and the lads and I had gone to the Cork city centre to have a few drinks. They’d all made it clear they intended to go home with someone, but I was only about three months out from the “incident,” so drinks were the only thing I was interested in.

“Aye, you, Siobhan,” my pal Iain said over the footie.

I looked up from where I was studying my Guinness to see his own dripping down his beard.

What a catch.

“What are you doing wasting your youth on celibacy? You’re a right feek’ un.”

I fought back the shudder that crawled down my arms and nodded. “Life isn’t all sex, drugs, and rock and roll, like, Iain. Some of us have things to sort out in life. We can’t all be thick and carefree, like.”

“Oh, aye,” he laughed. “I’d pump ye.”

“I’ll have to pass on that offer, like. Thanks, though.” I tilted back my head and downed the rest of my beer, then held up the glass to signal to the bartender for another. “Add a shot of whiskey for me, yeah? Whatever’s cheap.”

Three shots and two more pints later, I excused myself to the bathroom to freshen up. Normally, that amount of alcohol wouldn’t be enough to make me woozy, but work had been slim. I’d had the choice that day of eating or of paying my tab at the pub, and it was a disturbingly easy choice.

I looked in the mirror as I ran the back of my mesh gloved hand over my forehead, my dark brown hair falling a bit from where it had been fashionably teased up. I had always known I was pretty, but it was hard to appreciate it sometimes, especially when it seemed like that was the only value I had to people, even my own dad.

The door cracked a couple inches, and I heard Iain shout, “Oi, Duckie! Your song’s playing.”

The intro of my favorite song echoed through the bar. “Shite… coming!” I quickly made sure my clothes were well situated again, and I rushed back out to start dancing.

“Oh, sorry, mate,” I said as I ran into a very tall, thin man with vibrant red hair.

He looked down at me, his eyes seeming to study me. He didn’t say a word but took a long, slow sip of his whiskey. Something about him unnerved me, and I turned away, heading back to where my friends were waiting.

And as luck would have it, I barely managed to work my way through the crowd and began to sway to the music when I froze in my tracks.

“What’s wrong, love?” Iain said, leaning a bit too close for comfort, but I didn’t even have the capacity to lean away.

Tommy Kincaid.

My dad’s best mate. He was here, and he’d noticed me. He’d already made more than a few threats in light of the arrest, delivered by word of mouth through anyone he could get to pass them along. And now he was standing between me and the only exit, making his way closer through the absolutely packed room.

“Fuck!” I murmured, turning in a circle, trying to find somewhere to hide. My eyes found the restroom again, and I made a beeline, knowing I could at least lock the door. Maybe, if I stayed in there long enough, he’d give up, for tonight, anyway. I didn’t think this would be the end of it by a long shot.

The man with the red hair was leaning against the wall beside the door, watching me again. Part of me worried he was here with Tommy, but he didn’t make any moves to stop me as I rushed past and into the bathroom, where I slammed the lock into place, and not a second too soon.

“Open up, ye cunt!” Tommy shouted, pounding on the rough wooden barrier.

I backed away, as if by putting distance between me and the door, I could make Tommy disappear. The bass from the music rattled the walls almost as much as Tommy’s fists, and the entire effect had me wishing for a window to escape through, but there was none. My hands shook, and I sat on the floor, trying to force them to stop. With everything I’d been through, I should have been stronger. I should have stood up to him or maybe found someone who could. I probably could have asked Iain for help, but I shuddered at the thought of what he might ask for in return.

“I said—” Tommy stopped hitting the door for a moment, then shouted, “No one fucking asked you. Fuck off! Open the fucking door and face me, Siobhan!”

I shook my head as if he could see me and know I was refusing, and, almost as if in response, he kicked the door, making one of the screws pop out of the deadbolt. I bit back a scream and forced myself to my feet. If he was going to come in here, swinging those fists, I wasn’t going to be cowering in a corner when he did.

But holy fuck, if I wasn’t terrified.

Another loud slam as his boot impacted the wood once more, and this time, the door flew open with a splintering at the latch. Despite my best intentions, I closed my eyes and covered my ears at the sudden sound, wishing, just for one more second, that I could have found a way outside.

And just like that, I did.

The cool night air ran over my hands, and I opened my eyes to find I’d somehow moved through the wall to the alley outside. I had no idea how I’d done it, but the now-familiar fatigue that followed told me this was somehow related to the magic I’d recently discovered. Between the lingering effects of the whiskey and beer, the fear of Tommy nearly making good on his threat to turn me into a bloody stain, and the exertion of using magic, even by accident, my legs were shaking, and I leaned against the wall.

“Siobhan?”

I turned, my heart rate spiking, but it was only Iain, coming around the side of the building for a smoke.

“I thought you were still inside,” he said, coming closer. “Bloody hell, you’ve had a lot to drink tonight, haven’t you?”

I nodded, knowing that saying I was weak because I had teleported using some kind of magic might land me in a padded cell. It was easier to just admit to being drunk.

“Yeah,” I said, running a hand through my hair. “I think maybe I should head home. Get some rest, like, you know?”

Iain nodded slowly before removing the still unlit cigarette from his mouth and tucking it back into the pack. “Aye, could…” he said. “But you’re here, I’m here. Why wait?”

I frowned, not understanding what he meant at first, until he was on me, his warm, wet mouth latching onto the side of my neck.

“Iain, no,” I said, pushing against him, trying to make him stop, to no avail. He was easily twice my size and mostly muscle.

“Come on, girl. You’ve been holding out on me for weeks, now. You and I both know why you’ve been drinking like a fish all night. Just trying to get up the courage,” he said right before he forced his tongue into my mouth and ripped my top to paw clumsily at my tits.

“Mmph…” I said, turning my head to rid my mouth of the stink of his breath. “No. Iain, I’m saying no, I’m—”

“You think we don’t all know what you did?” he hissed, the usual facade of a nice guy falling away, leaving behind a leering monster. “Fucking your own dad, eh? Girl willing to put out for family will put out for anyone.”

The hand not in my shirt tore at my skirt, pulling it up and shredding the fabric of my panties and forcing the meaty fingers with untrimmed nails roughly into my slit and inside of me.

Tears welled in my eyes, but they wouldn’t fall. After years of being forced by the man who should have protected me against everything bad in the world, the stoicism I’d learned well returned.

Just breathe, I reminded myself. Just breathe, and it will be over soon.

He buried his face in the crook of my neck once more, biting down on the fair flesh there. I felt his hand leave my chest, working to free his cock to make sure I was well and truly humiliated before he was through with me.

His fingers paused, then tensed inside of me, and I hoped maybe he’d finished in his pants, and I’d be spared the worst of it. But as saliva ran down my shoulder from his mouth, and he began to tremble, I realized something else was wrong.

With a sharp jerk, he pulled back, his mouth open in a silent scream as he clawed at the skin of his throat. The tendons strained against the skin, and I could see the pulse of his veins, as if the blood couldn’t pass beyond his neck.

His eyes met mine, wide and begging, and while a small part of me feared whatever was happening to him, I watched with grim satisfaction that the violation would not go unpunished. Perhaps it was even me, more of the magic I didn’t understand and had little control over.

At least, that was what I thought, until his hands froze on his bloodied neck exactly one half-second before his head jerked hard to the side, and he crumpled to the alley floor, his neck broken.

I stared at him coldly. I should have felt something, right? I should have been floored with fear and horror at watching someone, a friend, die in fear and pain. But a quiet voice in my head simply said, “He got what he deserved.”

I don’t know how long I would have stayed there, just gazing at Iain’s body, if not for the soft clicking of shoes walking slowly out of the shadows of the alley.

“Are you hurt?” asked a low, deep voice with an absolutely unplaceable accent.

My eyes finally looked away from the corpse and up at the tall, red-haired man from earlier, looking down at me with that same studious expression.

“Am I… hurt?” I asked. “I don’t… I don’t think so.”

The ginger man walked closer until the toes of his dress shoes poked into Iain’s body. He looked me up and down, turning his head ever so slightly to the side as his eyes narrowed further.

There was a long, tense pause between us before he spoke again. “Very well, then. Good evening.” And he turned to walk away, not a single answer to the questions I almost dared not ask.

Almost.

“Wait!” I said, reaching out and stepping over Iain. “Wait. How… How did you do that? That was you, wasn’t it? You did something… something magic. Didn’t you?”

I finally got a good look at him as he walked a little faster, and the moon lit him up like a spotlight. Couldn’t have been older than thirty, with a smattering of freckles and eyes so silver that the moon looked like it was glowing within them. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” he said as he paused at the crosswalk, still not meeting my eyes.

There was something about the way he stood, hands in his pockets, that should have been casual. But with his tall stature and something else about him, something unquantifiable in words, the simple posture was the equivalent of him radiating with power, like some kind of god made man. His hair rippled in the night breeze, the muscles of his forearms flexing beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his white button down.

“Yes, you are,” I said, the fact that he hadn’t left yet making me bold. “Tell me. Tell me what you did. Tell me how it works.” I could hear the desperation in my voice, and I tried to hide it but failed. I’d met someone else who could use magic, the only other person I’d ever met who could, and I wasn’t going to give up on finding out more. “That was magic. It was—”

The light changed, and his hand was on my wrist in a breath span. I’m not sure what I’d been expecting, but it wasn’t him touching me, and in my panic, I suddenly found not only myself, but this ethereal man-beast standing in my childhood bedroom that had been empty since my father’s arrest.

I watched his eyes as he looked around, confused but not scared or surprised, and slowly, at last, his piercing gaze looked for mine. “This is what you do?”

“I don’t… I don’t know,” I admitted. “Tonight was the first time it ever happened. I’ve done other stuff, but never… jumped.”

If the light hadn’t been low, I would have sworn he smirked at that. “Jumped. I see. And where are we?”

I swallowed hard, every single instance of not fighting back over the last three years coming back to me all at once. “This is—was—my room. Not anymore, like.”

“No?”

“No,” I said, my resolve hardening slightly. It occurred to me that his long, slender but strong fingers were still wrapped around my wrist, yet I didn’t feel trapped. Not like I had every other time I’d been in here, not alone. “I left. No one lives here now.”

“Indeed,” he replied, quickly withdrawing his hand. He paced the room, looking at various things, and I almost had a heart attack when he picked up a picture of Da and me.

I stepped forward and took it from his hand, then threw it in the bin beside my desk, which had a light layer of dust on it.

“Ex-boyfriend?” he asked softly, almost as if he already knew.

“No,” I said, turning away and going to sit on the bed before jumping back to my feet. Too many bad memories on that mattress. But I wasn’t about to let this maybe once in a lifetime chance to meet someone else like me pass me by. “Doesn’t matter anymore. Tell me about the magic.”

He stared at the photo in the bin for a few more seconds and then closed the space between us. “I’m staying at the Queen’s Cross Inn. Would you like to have the other bed? We can both share our secrets.”

Other bed? I couldn’t fathom why he would feel the need to specify that.

“Fine,” I said heading for the door, but then a thought struck me. “What room number?”

“Four-thirteen,” he said, offering his hand as though he could read my mind. “And I won't be offering you any drinks since you’re clearly… young.”

I glared at him.

“I can see over the bar. It’s good enough for Bobby,” I said, referring to the bartender at the pub we’d just come from. “Besides. I’m an adult. For nearly a year now.”

“Yes, well… We won’t be doing any of that, either. But I am curious about your abilities. Shall we?”

I grabbed his hand, smooth and cool, and closed my eyes, picturing the rooms at Queen’s Cross, the brass room number on the door, and what would be inside. I focused everything inside of me, willing myself to move, to “jump,” as I’d said before, and to bring the red-haired man with me.

And it fucking worked.

I felt the shift in the air and the rush of energy leaving me even before I opened my eyes to find us inside the room, the slightly musty smell that all hotel rooms seemed to have in these parts permeating my nose. I looked around to find several pristine white shirts hanging off the ironing board and three pairs of dress shoes which looked like they’d been abandoned in the middle of a shining.

“You’re not gonna ask me to join a religion, are you?”

This time he actually chuckled. “I’m afraid that’s not my brand of spirituality. Devout Catholic—or, I was…”

“Yeah, me too,” I said. “Not that god ever did much for me, like.”

The man loosened his tie, allowing it to hang around his neck and ran his hand through his hair, giving it a slight shuffle before sinking onto one of the beds and kicking off his shoes. “Shocking. Considering you’ve broken his laws about ‘family planning.’” He looked up at me, and my face burst into flame.

“Oh, you think you know something about me?” I said, the truth of his words hitting a bit too close to home. “Think you’ve got me figured out? You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

“No,” he replied with ardent surety. “But the love of my life was a beautiful man, so god doesn’t much care for me, either.”

“You’re gay?” I blurted out before I could stop myself, figuring that would explain why he didn’t seem interested in fucking me.

“Not exactly. I’m recently separated from my wife, actually.”

“Your wife, who’s a man?” I clarified.

“No,” he doubled down with a slow, patient tone. “My wife, who is a beautiful, incredible, forgiving woman with a harpy of a sister. I’d have never left her side if I wasn’t forced out.”

And just like that, I wanted to know more. Who would love someone that fervently, someone who he didn’t even consider the “love of his life?”

I nodded and moved to the bed opposite him, sitting down, suddenly very conscious of my torn clothing. I pulled the fabric as tight as I could around me, but there was only so much I could do to hide the damage done by my handsy, late former friend.

“And why were you forced out?” I asked. I couldn’t understand why anyone would send away someone so strong and protective… so powerful.

I heard a gentle sigh, and he stood, walking to one of the pristine shirts which were double my size, and tossed it to me before turning around. “Because I was seen as bad—evil. The girl, Beatrice,” he said her name like it burned his tongue, “had a vendetta against me. I was cursed with an extreme volume of magic, but I can only use it by drawing on the life forces of others. I was studying the applications of dark magic, and Beatrice decided to make it her mission to ruin my marriage because of it.”

“So, not all magic works that way?” I asked as I pulled on the shirt he’d offered, buttoning it over my ruined outfit. “It makes me tired every time. I feel like that wouldn’t be the case if I was using other people’s energy.”

He peeked back at me, then, upon seeing me decent, went to work on his own shirt, crossing his arms and pulling it off over his head. “Not going to give me the same privacy?” he smirked. “Imagine…”

I hadn’t even considered that I might have been being rude. I was still in shock about everything and desperate for answers. But now that he’d drawn my attention—

“I’m joking,” he said casually. “Look all you want, but I’m too smart to be persuaded to go any further at this cotillion.”

He was funny. It was almost impossible to imagine that someone so deadly was… hilarious.

But despite sex being the last thing on my mind an hour ago, with his suggestion that he wouldn’t want me, I suddenly couldn’t think of anything else.

“Why not?” I asked, momentarily distracted from my questions about magic.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he said softly, in his deep grumble. “I’m still in love with my wife. She is… everything. And as completely, beautifully damaged as you are, something that would have greatly tempted me at one time, I can’t afford to slip up for anything. You’re young—you’ll forget we even met.”

“Forget the first person I’ve ever met who can do magic? The person who saved me? Hardly.” I sputtered with mild hilarity. “I may not know your name, but I will never forget your face. Please… tell me what you know.”

“Fine. By drawing the energy for magic from anyone around you, one can avoid exhausting their own resource. Sort of like using a lighter to start a campfire rather than standing there and rubbing two pieces of wood together. They both work; one takes less time, energy, and practice.” He pulled the covers aside and slid into the bed, yawning and adjusting the pillows. “I don’t have a choice. If I don’t pull from others, I don’t do magic. I wasn’t born with it like most witches.” He relaxed and put his hands behind his head to support himself. “Now it’s my turn. Why are you so uncomfortable in your childhood bedroom?”

My mouth dropped open. I hadn’t expected a quid pro quo, but I suppose I should have. And since he didn’t seem to want me to share his bed, sharing my secrets seemed like the currency for getting the information I needed.

“I…” I’d said the words countless times over the last few months, but here, faced with a stranger who might be able to show me a different path forward, one where I wasn’t just the victim of my father’s misplaced lust, I struggled to say what had happened. “It was just… Bad shite happened there. Stuff I don’t want to remember, like.”

“Such as?”

I chewed my lip until I tasted blood, then licked it away and looked down at the floor. “Such as things a father should never make his daughter do.”

“I see.” He didn’t look horrified, nor did it look like he was hiding being horrified. Rather, his features once again creased into that studying look they had several times already. “I assume he’s dead now?”

“What? No. He’s in jail. Dead?” I swallowed. “Why would you assume he’s dead?”

“You let him live?” he asked in amusement.

I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hide the way my hands shook. “I didn’t really think it was an option. It’s not like it was a one-time thing, like. I wouldn’t have probably even turned him in if…” I trailed off, already feeling like I said too much, but something about this stranger’s matter-of-fact questions made me feel stupid, like I needed to defend my actions, or lack thereof.

“The pregnancy. Right. You’re a brave girl.”

“How did you know about that?” I asked. “Is that part of the magic? You can see stuff?”

“No,” he said slowly, almost as if I was stupid. “I listened. The man outside the bathroom… When you disappeared from inside, he went into quite the rage, spouting off about the ‘little whore who got knocked up and blamed her father.’”

My face burned, and I knew my cheeks must have been crimson. “What makes you think he wasn’t right? That I just made it up?”

“No one would make that up.”

I blinked and realized tears had begun to spill over. I had been pushing ahead and ignoring the pain of what I’d been through to the point that I honestly believed it hadn’t affected me, but in that moment, I realized just how deep those wounds ran.

“So, you already knew,” I said, anger creeping in beneath the hurt. “Why ask me? Why make me say it?”

“I wanted to hear your side,” he said. “Every story has two sides, both equally true.”

I nodded slowly. “Then what’s your ex-wife’s side of your story? Why did she say she wanted you out?”

“She didn’t. She would have never asked me to leave.”

“So, why don’t you go to her? Her sister can’t be there all the time. And if she wants you, why would either of you listen to the sister? You said it had to do with your magic being… different. But if your ex-wife isn’t on board, why are you here instead of home with her?”

His face fell, and for the first time he looked miserable. “My wife… ex-wife, I suppose, has been warring against dark magic her whole life. She was born with both dark and light. Her sister gave her undeniable proof that I was experimenting, and she was forced to take action against me as my… my coven master.”

“Coven master?”

“Indeed.”

“So, you were in a coven?”

“Married to the coven master… yes.”

“Do all people with magic have covens?” I asked. “I mean, do you have a new one? Can you do magic without a coven? I guess yes, because I don’t have a coven…”

“You need sleep. I’ll take you for breakfast in the morning. Sleep as late as you like.” He turned over, his back to me, and settled in his bed.

“Sleep?” I stared at him. “How can I sleep now? I need to know more. I still don’t even know your name. You know mine. You have to—Tommy wasn’t exactly quiet about it. It’s only fair.”

He was silent for a moment, not moving, and I almost thought he was asleep until—

“Yes. Siobhan Cooke. Presumably with a middle name—”

“Diane.”

“Okay, Siobhan Diane Cooke. Eíren Thomas Connolly.”

“You’re Irish?”

“I was once… yes. It was a fair few years ago…” He turned over, his eyes cloudy, like they were looking into the past. “But that man is dead. I am from nowhere now.”

“Well… Eíren Connolly from nowhere… Tommy never said my last name. You know too much about me for this to be coincidence.” I was grasping at straws, desperate, hoping that he was here for me, like some kind of knight in shining Italian leather shoes, to take me away from all of this and to share some of his power with me.

He sighed and rolled out from beneath the blankets, standing and walking to where he’d hung his trousers. I watched with curiosity as he rifled around in the pocket before pulling something out and walking to the edge of the bed, towering over where I lay.

“What is that?” I asked, swallowing hard.

And then he dropped my ID on the bed next to me. “When I came out to the alley, I was trying to return it to you.”

My face burned once more with embarrassment. Of course, he wouldn’t have been there for me. I was no one. It was pure chance that he happened to find someone else who could use magic, someone who, it turned out, needed him.

“Oh.” I turned it over in my hands, my eyes no longer able to meet his. “Thanks, then.”

He turned away. “I wanted to be sure you were able to retrieve it, since it won't be open tomorrow.”

“Why not?”

“Something tells me…” He climbed back into bed and turned onto his chest so he could still look at me. “They’ll shut it down when they find two dead bodies.”

Ice flooded my veins at what he was implying. “Two?”

“Well…” He yawned. “Your friend in the alley—” he yawned again—“and the cunt who was harassing you.”’

“You killed Tommy Kincaid?”

“Should I not have?”

Everything I’d ever been taught was screaming at me to tell him no, that he shouldn’t have. That killing was wrong. That he shouldn’t have hurt Iain, either. But—

“He’s a semi-professional boxer!”

“Your point? Surely you don’t think I need anything as base as a fistfight to kill a man. Not after what you’ve seen me do.”

He was right. And I wanted to be horrified at the idea of him killing not only one, but two people I’d known for years. But beneath what I’d been taught was what I felt. And I felt vindicated. I felt protected. I felt right.

I felt… powerful.

“He deserved it. They both did.”

“Glad we’re in agreement. Now, sleep.” He turned his back to me once more. “Children are meant to have seven to nine hours a night.”

“I already told you, I’m an adult.” I could hear the whine in my own voice, working counter to the words I said.

“Yes,” he grumbled. “Most of the adults I know go around declaring such.”

Cheeky prick.

I wanted to stop him from sleeping and make him keep talking to me, to answer more of my questions, to tell me more about this magic and what it meant. But I figured I would get more answers from a well-rested source than one who was cranky and sleep-deprived. I had no idea how I was ever supposed to sleep after everything, but Eíren had promised me breakfast, which meant I would have more chances to pick his brain when we woke.

The next morning came fast and, for the first time possibly ever, I woke up well rested. For a moment, I wondered if it was all a dream. But I heard the shower turn on and a gentle humming echoing off the tiles.

Eíren.

I was still wrapped in his shirt, and I pulled it tighter around myself as I stood and walked to the bathroom door, just listening to him. His voice was like pure music, even when he wasn’t humming, but when he was, it was like a magic of its own kind.

I turned and put my back to the door, sliding down it and closing my eyes, picturing the way he’d looked at me the night before, like he was studying me. I tucked my nose into the collar of the shirt I wore, catching just the slightest hint of his cologne and feeling my heart race a bit. It was somehow intimate in a way I’d never experienced with anyone, let alone someone I’d just met.

“Shit,” I heard him hiss. “Fucking hotel razor.”

I turned my head to ask him if he was alright, but whatever subconscious thoughts had crept in seemed to take control of the magic I was still learning to use, and, before I could speak, I found myself in the shower, being soaked by the warm water, looking up at him.

A drip of blood was descending his chin. He stared at me, freezing mid-shave, and I stared right back.

“You don’t look dressed for a shower.”

“I… I didn’t… I’m sorry.”

He reached a massive hand forward and brushed my hair out of my eyes. “You are far too young for me…” he breathed. “‘Adult’ or not… I’m seven hundred years old. You’re beautiful, but—”

The second he called me beautiful, I made up my mind. It was all or nothing. Throwing caution to the wind, I stepped forward as quickly as I could without slipping on the wet shower floor and threw my arms around his neck.

Of course, he caught me. I think I would have been more shocked if he hadn’t than I was at his murderous tendencies.

His hands closed around my waist and arse, and he pivoted to press me into the tile. In moments, his lips were an inch away from mine, and I could feel his breath on my skin. “For God’s holy sake,” he growled, his natural accent coming through. “Please give me a reason not to do this. I am only a man… I only have so much willpow—”

My lips went to his neck and bit down, drawing a groan from him that made a fucking nest in my brain. His hands flexed on my sides, and I leaned into him, pressing my body against his perfect naked one.

“Take me,” I demanded, my teeth dragging up along his neck to nip at his jaw.

“I don’t… I don’t think you want that.”

“You’re right,” I said, panting now with anticipation. “I don’t want it. I need it. Please.”

I could see a vein bulging in his head, and he closed his eyes as he took a slow breath.

Without warning, he ripped the curtain off the shower and stepped out, still carrying me with my legs around his waist, and walked out of the bathroom to the bed he’d been sleeping in, where he set me down.

I looked at him as he paused, hovering over me, and finally, I pressed my lips to his. I’d heard about fireworks and sparks when people kissed, but with Eíren, it was neither. It was a nuclear explosion in my body, destroying everything that was and leaving behind nothing but a wasteland marked by him.

As he kissed me, he began to strip me, so slowly and smoothly that I barely noticed beyond the decadent taste of his lips, which bore a hint of coffee flavor and the scent of soap.

There was something almost reverent about the way he bore each bit of my flesh to him. I’d never been with anyone by choice, and I’d never been treated like more than just a piece of meat. But this was my choice, and Eíren made me feel like a woman, like someone worth desiring.

As his fingers brushed my collarbone when he pulled his shirt off of me, I shivered, my entire body responding. If he never did anything else, if this was where it ended, it wouldn't matter. He’d made me his, completely and irrevocably and permanently.

Almost immediately, however, he turned away and wrapped his towel around him before running a hand through his hair.

“What…” I sat up, covering my chest with my hands, utterly confused. “Did… did I do something wrong?” The ecstasy from seconds before was replaced with cold dread that I’d somehow ruined this so quickly, that my lack of real experience had made what little value I had as a bedmate vanish.

He sighed and faced me once more. “You did nothing wrong. You’re perfect. I just… the guilt… Lysette…” He groaned and fell down on the bed next to me on his back, his towel falling away once again. He turned his head to look at me, and I nearly lost myself in his bright, molten silver eyes.

His wife. That must be her name. Lysette.

“She kicked you out,” I said quietly. “She made a choice. I can’t imagine how much that must have hurt. But… She’s not here. I am. And if you were mine, I’d never leave your side.”

I saw the corners of his mouth crease into a grim smile. “I’m sure she’s right. She always is. I just hate that her sister was the final straw. I should have gotten rid of her a long time ago.”

“Right for kicking you out for something you can’t help?” I countered, rolling onto my side so I was half-leaning over him. “You said your magic is all dark? Because it pulls energy from other people. And you were researching it, trying to understand. And she kicked you out. That doesn’t sound right to me. And it sounds like her sister is a right bitch.”

He scoffed, the half-grin still playing on his lips. “Lysette is perfect. I never appreciated her enough. There was this trip to Bali—”

“Sounds like she didn’t appreciate you, if she was willing to let you go. I’ve known you for hours, and I can tell what a catch you are. She’s obviously blind.”

“It’s not that simple,” he said, starting to sound irritated. “We were married for three hundred years—”

“Wait, what?” I sputtered, pulling back slightly. “You said you were seven hundred, but I thought you were joking. You’re really… immortal?”

“Sort of.”

Suddenly, everything about him made sense. The ease with which he existed, the way he “was” Irish but sounded almost American, even looking as young as he did. It was the kind of thing that should have been entirely unbelievable, but it just… made sense.

“Well,” I said, falling more and more for this living, breathing enigma before me, “if after three hundred years, she was willing to let you go, maybe you’re due for a change, yourself. Someone… fresh.”

“And who would that be? You?”

With every ounce of courage I had, I reached out and placed a hand on his cheek, leaning closer to his face.

“Yes. If you’ll have me.”

Eíren grabbed me by the hips and pulled me on top of him, the feeling of his raging desire sparking me once more.

“Angel, you don’t even know what you’re asking.”

“Yes,” I insisted. “I do. I’m asking you to make me yours. Show me about magic, about who I am and what I can do. Let me use my own abilities to help you in your research. Let me bring you pleasure and company, and let me show you love like your wife failed—”

His hand was on my throat faster than I could realize it was happening. “Never. Ever. Speak about her. Is that clear?”

I looked down at him, the feeling of his fingers constricting my airway somehow erotic in a way I’d never imagined. “About who? I only see you… and me.”

“Put on one of my shirts and take me to that house. Now.”

“What house?”

“The one where the rapist lived.”

I swallowed, not wanting to go back there again. Last night had been enough.

“Why?” I asked, unable to keep the fear from my voice.

His fingers squeezed tighter, and his eyes narrowed. “I said now.”

With a shudder, I obeyed as he got dressed. I don’t know why, but I wanted nothing more than to please this man who made me feel more alive than I ever had, who lived and breathed pure, unadulterated strength and power like I’d never had.

We were back in my old room once more. This time, he walked through the door, and I followed, worried what he might find.

“Presumably, you know where that man keeps his important documents.”

I scoffed, wrapping myself in my own arms, trying to guard against the onslaught of memories. “Where he kept them? I’ve been taking care of those things since I was ten.“

“Good,” Eíren said, wiping a layer of dust off a picture frame on the wall, the picture within of me and my father. I could have sworn he growled before spitting on it and tearing it from the wall to launch it across the room. “I don’t like scumbags who don’t treat women well. What of value has he left behind?”

“Value?” I laughed once and shook my head. “A fridge full of pints and half a carton of smokes.”

He hummed to himself and did a three sixty where he stood. “You really are Irish trash, aren’t you?”

My heart sank as he said it. Someone this poised, this intelligent and powerful, seeing me for what I really was, made me feel small, insignificant.

“You misunderstand,” he continued, tilting my chin to look at him. “I came from nothing. A bastard child of a Scottish peasant woman in Eire. My whole family died of the black death, and I was a stable boy…” His eyes once again looked far away. “We are the same, you and I.”

I nodded, watching yet another layer peel back from him to reveal more of what lay beneath. And with each new revelation, I knew I would stop at nothing to learn everything about him.

I stepped closer, pressing my body against his. “Then show me how to be something new, like you. I might not have much, but I know your shoes cost more than my last five paychecks, like. You may have come from nothing, but you’re not nothing now. Take me with you, Eíren.”

His eyes sharpened once again, and I could see his pulse in his throat. “Tell me there is insurance on this place.”

“Paid up through the end of the year,” I confirmed.

“Good girl,” he said, gripping the back of my neck and placing his lips against my head. Then he stepped back from me and opened his hand, revealing a ball of fire there. “If there is anything you wish to save, now would be the time to do it.”

I shook my head. “I took everything I needed when I moved out.”

Without another word, he flung one, then a second fireball at the ceiling, and then my bed, creating little fires everywhere as he walked through the shithole that was my ruined life. Then he turned to me and dismissed the flame before grabbing me tight around my waist. “Let’s go.”

I nodded, and a second later, we were back in his hotel room. “You did that… for me?”

“I did nothing. I set those fires from your hatred and magic. I was simply a conduit. Imagine being able to do that for other women like you. Translating their anger into vengeance against their transgressors.”

“Show me how,” I said without hesitation. “I’m in. I’m all in… with you.”

“Not yet,” he said, sitting on the bed once more and pulling me into his lap, his grip tight on my thighs which he placed on either side of him. “I want you to do something for me. A favor to be collected at some point of my choosing. Something to prove how badly you want this.”

Anything. I would give him anything he asked. “Yes.”

“Very good. It would seem that I need to buy a house.”

My hands froze on the smooth planes of his chest. “How can I help with that?”

“You don’t,” he replied. “But if I’m going to start a coven, I will need a house.”

“A coven?” I asked.

“You’ve inspired me. But I don’t want to talk about that right now. I want you to think about the fact that that house is burning down as we speak.”

I did as he said, and my own fire raged within me. Everything I was had gone up in flames, and now, with Eíren’s help, I would be reborn from the ashes, like a phoenix.

Kill Devil Hills, NC, October 1990

Pt. 2

I looked up at the building before me with a shiver. It was as clean and powerful looking as the man who’d commissioned it, with magic helping to make the process, which normally would have taken close to a year, completed in just three months.

I gripped the letter in my hand, with the writing that couldn’t have belonged to anyone other than him. The sharp, straight lines and angular loops that all added up to the message that had sent me across the ocean.

It’s ready. Come now.

It had aligned perfectly with my eighteenth birthday, which had come with the final insurance check from the house burning down. I’d lived off those checks since he’d left me behind with only a letter beside my pillow in his hotel room saying he had work to do, but he’d send for me when he was done. So, I used what money I had left to buy a flight the day after my birthday, and it had brought me here.

My newly platinum hair swayed in the coastal breeze. I’d seen him looking at a photo of Lysette in his wallet before he left, and when I saw how close my natural color was to hers, I knew I needed to change mine. I wanted him to know I was her opposite in every way—someone who wouldn’t judge him for the darkness that exists in all of us, and who could embrace it like he did.

With a shaky hand, I reached up to knock, and, after a few deep breaths, I finally got up the courage. Ten seconds went by… then twenty… then a minute, and I was about to walk away, when the door swung open to reveal, not Eíren, but someone just as handsome in an entirely different way.

“Hello?” he greeted.

Tall, though less so than Eíren, with dark brown hair, bright hazel eyes, and flawless olive skin. He could have been a model for any major fashion magazine.

“Oh,” I said, forcing myself to not appear as nervous as I felt. “Sorry. I was looking for—I mean… is this… Eíren sent for me.”

He raised an eyebrow, then looked me up and down with the hint of a smirk, like he was amused by something. I had no idea what, but it felt like I was missing a joke, which irritated me just a bit.

“Entre vous, Mademoiselle,” he said in flawless French, motioning for me to walk past him and inside.

I stepped through the door into the most incredible home I’d ever been in. It looked like something out of a movie, the kind of house a billionaire villain would live in. Everything oozed luxury like I’d never seen, with leather and marble and colored lighting everywhere.

Then I heard it. The click of oxford shoes on stone, almost the same sound as the night he rescued me.

I turned to see a concrete open well staircase, where Eíren was descending, a furrow in his brow as he glanced me over. At first, he looked slightly confused, then amused, then almost devious, if a man like that was capable of such a thing.

“Well, well, well. Don’t you two look a pair? Julien always has had a thing for blondes.”

The sound of his voice sent flutters through my chest with its melodic tone, a favorite song I’d forgotten but heard again for the first time in months. I knew I should look at the other man, Julien, and introduce myself, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of Eíren.

“Blonde,” Julien said, saving me the trouble and moving next to me. “Singular.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, Jules. Have you forgotten who drug you home from that den of debauchery in London fifty years ago?”

It was long before I was even born, but still, the idea of Eíren in a place like that, with his choice of women, any of whom would have thrown themselves at him with his charm and charisma, sent a pang of jealousy through me. I felt my lips settle into a slight frown, and only then, did Eíren finally look my way.

“And you,” he said, gently taking my chin in his fingertips. “What happened to your lovely hair?”

The feeling of him touching me settled deep in my chest, like a sigh of relief. “You spent three hundred years looking at brown hair, like. Thought I could provide something… fresh.” I repeated the word I’d used months ago in hopes he’d remember the topic at hand.

I noticed him tense, and suddenly, I worried I’d be leaving the house and Eíren just as fast as I’d arrived. But his shoulders subtly dropped, and he breathed deeply, relaxing into an easy grin.

“I don’t believe you two have been properly introduced,” he cooed in that voice like slate. “Siobhan, this is Julien Chevalier. He’s Lysette’s brother.”

I could have fainted from embarrassment. Her brother. And if he was here, the logical assumption was that she was, too. That they’d reunited, and I was here under entirely the wrong premise. A fool and an idiot.

“Right,” I said, trying not to show the level of humiliation I felt at thinking I might be able to give this seven hundred-year-old god something—anything—of value. “It’s, er, nice to meet you, like, Julien.”

“Likewise, Siobhan,” he said, taking my hand like some kind of fairy-tale prince and kissing the back of it, giving me a clear view of his wedding ring. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

He had?

“Well, Jules,” Eíren said, checking his timepiece, “if you don’t have any other plans tonight, why don’t we introduce Miss Cooke to our idea of fun?” He tilted his head behind me, and I turned to find a well-stocked bar full of top shelf liquor.

“I’m sure my sister and wife will be expecting me home at some point, but I could enjoy the night for a while first,” he said.

Home. His sister was at home, and not here. The tiniest shred of hope re-entered my mind, and I grinned.

“Jameson all around, then?” I asked.

Eíren chuckled softly and looked at Julien, who did the same.

“Cheap date, then,” Eíren said. “I like it.”

Then he slid his hand down my back, resting it just above my arse, and led me over to the bar before moving behind it. Every touch from him electrified me, reminded me why I was so eager to know more.

“Avez-vous du vin?” Julien asked, and I suddenly realized—

“You’re a Frenchy?”

“Je suis coupable des faits qui m'ont été reprochés.”

“Well, I have no idea what the blooming fuck that means, but I’ll take it as a yes.”

“Straight from the courts of Henry the Third.”

How old were witches meant to live to, exactly? Would I live that long?

At that moment, Eíren slid a bottle of what looked like very expensive wine to Julien, and Julien caught it without ever taking his eyes off me. It embarrassed me, the kind of reprobates I’d once believed to be suave and attractive. These men, they were… different.

“One for the lady.”

I looked over at Eíren as he slid a glass of red my way and barely caught it, realizing how dexterous the Frenchy really was. The bar was much slicker than it looked.

“As if,” I smirked, sliding it back. “Can’t stand the stuff.”

Julien’s eyes grew wide, and he slammed his fist into his chest, as if mimicking catching an arrow that had impaled him.

“Ah… my. Siobhan, you wound me.”

Eíren laughed. “You really aren’t like her, then. Try this instead.” He poured something from a dark bottle and put it in front of me, then turned around and began prodding some buttons on a stereo system. “If I remember correctly,” he growled. “This is your song.”

The slow intro of the song started, and my face broke into a huge smile. “Aye, it is, like!” I reached for the glass and took the shot in a single swallow, then began to cough and choke on the bittersweet, smoky liquid that looked like motor oil—nothing like the smooth, spicy whiskey I was used to. “What the fuck is this shite?” I gasped, fighting the urge to throw it up.

“Steady on,” he laughed. “Try this instead.”

It wasn’t long before we were properly liquored up, and Eíren had taken Julien and me out back to a wide open yard with targets set up all over the place.

“Watch this,” Eíren said after taking another swig from the bottle of Macallan he was nursing. “I don’t think I’ve even shown this to Jules.”

I did, indeed, watch in utter amazement as he waved his hand once, twice, three times, gathering various objects from around the yard. He smashed them together and raised his palm to levitate what was now essentially a slowly rotating ball of wood and metal. He then lifted his other hand and made a motion like dropping two fingers and the “ball,” as big as a hay bale, caught fire.

“Feckin’ hell,” I laughed, delighted in the extreme by every single thing this man did, but doubly so when it was truly remarkable, like this. “You could level my hometown with that, let alone my little shack.”

“But the question is, my angel, what can you do?”

I saw Julien put down his second bottle of Rothschild red and look at me as well, expectation in both their eyes.

With a wave of anxiety that I would fuck this up, but with just enough liquor and a need to prove myself driving, I stood and walked over to one of the targets, then faced Eíren.

“Throw it,” I said.

“Are you fucking suicidal?” Julien said, laughing drunkenly.

“Maybe,” I said with a shrug. “Only one way to find out.”

That was when I noticed Eíren studying me again, like he was measuring up my worth versus the liability if I failed. Then, with the most casual shrug while reaching for his cigarette case, flicked the same two fingers as before in my direction.

It flew almost faster than I could react, having expected at least the hint of a warning. I had been practicing my teleportation, but it still wasn’t perfect.

And I’d just put my life on the line where it was concerned.

I didn’t even get the chance to find out if I would have succeeded, though, because with less than a foot to my face, with the heat searing my skin, it froze.

Everything froze.

I fell backward onto my hands and scrambled away from the flames, which, themselves, weren’t even flickering anymore. It was just a ball of burning light.

“Suicidal, it is, then.”

I looked up and saw Julien walking around the ball of fire, casually cool except for the slight stagger in his drunken movements. He looked back and forth between me and the thing that could have killed me, then raised an eyebrow at me in question.

“No,” I argued, climbing back to my feet. “I… I just was too slow, like. I can… jump.”

Julien paused, then burst out laughing so hard he bent over, hands on his knees.

“Most people with working legs can jump,” he said, once he got himself somewhat back together.

I rolled my eyes, annoyed at him making fun of me, then sneered. “Not like that. Like this.”

I focused my thoughts on the space behind Julien, then clenched my eyes shut. I felt the familiar fatigue, and when I opened my eyes, I was looking at the back of his head. I watched him stumble a little in surprise, then look around to find me, a look of awe on his face.

“You can teleport,” he said. “Eíren said you had something unique, but he didn’t say what.”

That flutter was back again. “He said it was unique?”

Julien tilted his head with a sly grin. “As unique as his magic. And mine.”

I glanced around and saw Eíren completely still, his cigarette not even to his lips. “Time?” I asked.

He nodded. “It’s something, isn’t it?” I felt his hand snake around my waist and pull me just to the side. “You know, you really are very pretty. He was right about that, too.”

Then he raised a finger, spinning it in a small circle, and a rush of sound hit my ears as time resumed. The ball hit the target, exploding on impact, and I startled a little at the sudden din.

“That—” Eíren chuckled—“is no fair, Monsieur.” He stood and lit the cigarette he’d withdrawn. “First off, Siobhan wanted to prove herself—to her own detriment, I’d suppose. And second—” He then brushed Julien’s hand away from me and replaced it with his own—“It’s very rude to steal another man’s date. Do you not remember what happened at that bar in ‘47? Tell me, are you missing having all your own teeth?”

Date. His date. I felt myself leaning into his touch as Julien said, “Apologies, mon frere. I didn’t realize you’d claimed her. I’ll keep my hands to myself. I don’t particularly wish to relive the experience of having new teeth implanted again. Not my favorite memory.”

The banter was happening so fast, so casually. Like they’d been doing this for decades.

Centuries, even.

Eíren checked his watch once more and gave Julien a look I didn’t understand. “It’s about that time.”

Julien gave me a long, knowing stare, then nodded his head in an almost deferential manner. “Probably right. Bea hates when I’m home after she goes to sleep. Less time to scold me for being out late.”

“And yet, you still bother with her at all. I gave up years ago, and—”

“Bea?” I echoed, looking between them. “Beatrice? Lysette’s sister? She’s your wife? But… doesn’t that make her… your sister?” I was hardly one to judge with my own history, but it seemed like a strange dynamic.

“Colloquial endearments,” Eíren filled in. “None of us are actually related.”

“Oh,” I said, still feeling a bit less sure about Julien, whose banshee of a wife was the reason Eíren had lost his coven. “Well, from what you and Eíren have said, she sounds just lovely, like. My condolences.”

For the first time, Julien looked mildly uncomfortable. “He and I agree to disagree on my wife. She’s… willful and a bit hotheaded. But…” He drifted off, like he had more to say but didn’t know what it might be. “Anyway. Au revior, les amoureux. Enjoy the night and the new house. It’s truly a marvel.” Then, as if to show off one more time, he winked at me and vanished, likely having stopped time to leave with a flourish. An Irish goodbye worthy of my own people.

Once he was gone, Eíren raised a hand and brushed a stray piece of hair behind my ear. Suddenly I was sober. Sober and completely aware of how long I’d been wanting this again. To get him alone.

“So… what now?” I asked, trying to keep the rampant hope from my voice so he wouldn’t see me as desperate and lose interest.

“Are you tired?” he asked. “The flight from there is exhaust—”

“I slept on the plane,” I said a little too quickly. “I’m not tired.”

“Good. Follow me.”

He led me back into the mansion, his fingertips touching me at all times. We ended up on the top floor, down a long hallway and inside a room that would make the Cork Public Library look like a joke. For the first time, he left my side and went to a large wooden desk, gesturing for me to sit across from him before drawing out a stack of papers and an ink pen.

“What’s this?” I asked, sitting where he’d indicated and trying to read it from his hands.

“A contract. It states that you and everything you own will henceforth belong to the House of the Black Rose, my coven.”

I smiled slightly at the name, with its intensity and how official it sounded, while trying to hide my worry. “I… don’t have much—”

“In return,” he continued, interrupting me, “you will have everything you could ever possibly ask for, possession-wise. I’m worth millions and millions of dollars, and that’s only counting American.” That fact alone was something that would be worthy of the air he carried himself with, but he stated it like a fact, not a boast. Like collateral rather than a bribe. “You will always live here, for as long as you choose—or unless you betray me, and I choose to dismiss you—and will be under my direct tutelage while we work to develop and diversify those powers.”

I hadn’t had much growing up or even in the last few years, after I started running the house. But I knew one thing, and that was if it was too good to be true, it likely was. “What’s the catch?”

Now he looked up from the paper and stared into my eyes with those vividly silver ones of his. “That’s it. There isn’t one.”

I blinked a few times. This had to be a dream of some kind. Eíren was offering me everything I could have hoped for and was asking for the literal nothing I had to offer him in return.

“Actually…” he said slowly. “There is one thing. The matter of the favor you owe me.”

“Favor?” I asked, at a loss for what he might want me to do.

He pushed his chair back from his desk and stood, walking across the room to where a toolbox sat, alongside a canvas that must have been a giant piece of art facing the wall. He placed a hand on it almost like he was bracing himself. “I want you to hang this. In that hall we just walked through.”

I gave a small, nervous laugh. “That’s it? You just want me to hang some art for you? In exchange, I assume, for saving my life and dignity and burning down my scumbag da’s house?”

“That’s it.”

I shrugged. “Sounds simple enough,” I said. “I’ll probably need a ladder, but—”

My words were cut off as he turned the painting around so I could see it. I’d only ever seen a picture of her once, and only for a moment, but there was no mistaking the face in the portrait. Dark espresso-colored hair, olive green eyes, and skin a shade darker than her brother’s. Slim and petite with an aura of quiet power that I hated for the dual reasons of jealousy that she had a confidence I had long aspired to but never managed, but that she had something else I longed for—Eíren.

Lysette, whom I’d never met and hoped I never would, was looking right back at me.

“You want your ex wife’s picture hanging in your main hallway?” I asked, trying to disguise the disdain and hurt I felt at the request. I’d truly come to think he wanted me, but if he still loved her this much…

“I do.”

“Why?” I asked, knowing it was probably stupid to do so, but wanting answers anyway.

“Will you do it or not?” He stared at me, a crease of irritation on his brow, waiting to see what I’d say. Waiting to make a choice about me.

The second his face shifted, however, my mind was made up.

“Of course, I will,” I said desperately. Anything to make him smile at me again, to show me that same affection.

“I’ll get you a ladder.”

Twenty minutes later, which turned out to be plenty of time to memorize every inch of that perfect, holier than thou face, I was back at his desk signing his contract.

“You read every page?” he said with an almost paternal tone.

“No,” I admitted, setting down the pen. “But I want this, no matter what it entails. I’m in.”

He nodded. “Very well. There’s just… one more thing. Come with me.”

He swept from the room like the ethereal being he was, and I rushed to follow. He strode with purpose down the hallway, past the portrait I refused to look at, and into the door at the end of the hall. Inside was a massive bedroom with a huge picture window which allowed the full moon to shine through onto the king-sized bed.

“Sit,” he commanded, pointing at his bed.

I complied immediately, butterflies raging inside of me at the very notion of being on his bed—at the prospect of being in it. I watched in aroused amazement as he went first to a dresser, removing his watch and—I noted—his ring, then proceeded to remove his shirt exactly the way I’d seen him do that night at the inn.

Moonlight lit him up like he was glowing from within, and the smattering of freckles on his shoulders was like a constellation. The subtle flex of his muscles as he slowly walked toward me made my mouth water, and I licked my lips in anticipation of what was to come.

“Eíren,” I whispered as he stopped, his legs just between my own where I sat. It wasn’t a prelude to anything else I needed to say. No, this was a benediction, like a prayer to the forces that made this world and the perfect man who had finally brought me into it, breathed life into me for the first time.

He reached forward and began to unbutton my blouse to just below my bra line, pulling it free over my head and dropping it on his floor, once again studying me. “Is this alright?”

I nodded, swallowing hard. “Yes. I’ve wanted this since the moment you walked toward me in that alley.”

“No…” he replied calmly in a tone that was like wood scraping on rock. “I don’t believe you have.” Then he pulled my arm out toward him and pressed his thumb into the center of my forearm. It was only then that I noticed he had a new tattoo—a gorgeous black rose with two leaves and too many thorns for me to count. “This will hurt.”

I barely had time to process what he was saying before a searing pain radiated through where his thumb rested and into my entire being, like I was being burned from the inside out, centering on that one patch of skin. I gasped and cried out, but the sensation faded so quickly that I almost felt stupid for being so overt about it.

But the agony had been real, and I panted breathlessly as I looked down and saw that I now had a tattoo that nearly matched his own, the only difference being in the number of leaves and thorns. I had no leaves and only a handful of thorns.

“What…?” I asked.

He breathed in broken pants, looking at his work. “Quite… the exclusive club we’re in… you and I. Only two of their kind.”

“Do you mean the tattoos, or us?”

The meaning was lost to the moment, though, as he climbed onto the bed, using his strong hands to lay me back. Then his lips went to my neck, kissing me softly, differently but with no less hunger than I’d felt from him the last time.

“Tell me you want this. You want me. You want this life. Forever.”

“Forever. Until the day I die.”

“Fucking Gods,” he groaned, letting his weight sink into me. “I needed you so fucking badly. I’ve been so fucking lonely.” He grasped my face between his palms and gazed at me the way you’d expect an expert painter to study their work, gently touching each part of me, holding me close to his chest.

My jaw dropped slightly as I sighed, then I ran my fingers down his chest. “You will never be lonely as long as you have me. And you will always have me.”

He whimpered against my skin, and I finally saw the man I practically worshipped unfold like the first few flowers in springtime.

Like a rose.

His hands now moved down my body and gripped me as he pressed into me, like he was aching for it. I reached for his hair in a comforting, sensual way, and it felt like Julien had returned because time stood still for this moment.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, placing kisses along my ribs as he deftly undid the clasp on my brassiere. “You taste like magic.”

I moaned aloud, arching up into his touch and tugging slightly at his silken hair. “Take me. Make me yours.”

“You were mine the second I saw you.”

No truer words were ever spoken.

With an unthinkably powerful grip, he had my trousers off in two pulls as he began kissing up my leg. At my thigh, he lingered, his lips and mouth consuming the flesh he found there. I’d been with a fair few men, but not a single one of them had ever treated me like this, like I was something desirable beyond a fast, hard fuck.

“By the saints, I’m aching for you. My fucking angel.” Then his lips, which had been whispering his strange prayer into my skin, shifted to the black satin panties he’d yet to remove.

I marvelled as he buried his face into them, breathing in, groaning, thrusting into the bed beneath him, as though his body was possessed by his lust.

“These are mine now,” he growled, ripping the fabric from me, truly leaving me bare before him. “You are mine now.”

With a shaking breath, I said, “Then take what’s yours.”

Finally, he exhaled and stood to remove his trousers, swiftly revealing to me exactly what I had gotten out of the bargain. The impressive length I’d seen once before, fully hard and waiting for me.

For me.

The entire image of him before me was beautiful. His hair hung into his eyes, that hair that matched the little curls beneath his fist as he moved it in long strokes. “Touch yourself… for me.”

I moved my hand to my chest, trailing my fingers over my tightened nipples and whimpering at the sensitive flesh. I toyed with them for a moment before letting my hand drift lower, over my abdomen and down between my legs to where I was already dripping for him.

I slid my fingers through the skin, swollen and waiting for his arrival, to find I could feel my pulse at my apex. I had never wanted anyone this badly, and all the waiting made it even more electrifying.

“I will have you over and over and over until I’m satiated, Siobhan Diane Cooke, so I hope you meant it when you said you weren’t tired.”

I had never felt less tired in my life. Every nerve in my body was a live wire, all tuned into his current. I shook my head and toyed with the swollen bud beneath my fingers, showing him, in no uncertain terms, that I was ready for whatever he had in store for me.

“Very well.”

We collided like boulders, him into me and my head into the pillows as he did exactly what he had promised. His fingers started by working between my legs, pressing and plying at my opening. My fingers went to grip his back, and I felt them sink into the skin there. He winced audibly and bit down on my shoulder in quick return, bringing to the surface a pain that burned like pleasure. I was drowning in him, in Eíren Fucking Connolly.

Then I felt him enter me, slowly at first, but as my body adjusted to accommodate him, he picked up speed until he was pounding into me like a starving man, and I was a feast. My legs came up around his waist, pulling him in deeper, needing to feel all of him.

Sweat began to form on his brow, and as he pulled back, I could see his lips firmly fixed into a snarl. Faster. Harder. More. He was in some kind of competition with his inner demons, and I had the incredible fucking luck of being here for it.

“Mine,” he growled again. “Mine.”

“Yours,” I confirmed. “So very… fucking… yours.”

“Come for me now.”

I didn’t need the command. I was already at the precipice of coming entirely undone for him, and at his words, I let go. My climax hit a crescendo I never knew existed, and I screamed out the only word that mattered anymore.

“Eíren!”

“Yes. Say my name. Say only my name.”

I obeyed. I would always obey him. I repeated his name like a chant, like a spell, one binding me to him, mind, body, and soul. I screamed it, I whispered it, and I moaned it, each time putting every part of me into letting him know I was his.

As I came down, I watched his muscles flex as he chased his own ending, eyes closed, lost in a world that I would never have access, to no matter what I signed away. I tried not to think about what was in that world.

Or who.

“Siobhan,” he breathed, bringing me back to this moment. Back to us.

His movement quickened, becoming sharper and less rhythmic. His fingers wrapped around the back of my head, flexing against my scalp and pulling me deeper beneath him. I could feel his own heartbeat along with my own where we were joined, and I knew I had only seconds left before he was done.

Then, with a slight shudder, he held his breath for just a second before releasing it with a guttural moan in my ear. He pumped into me slower, more deliberately, as he continued to groan and sigh, emptying everything he had in me, giving me exactly what I asked for.

Making me his.

With a final moan, he rolled sideways, and we found ourselves laying the way we had before he took me to burn down my father’s house.

“Fuck,” he sighed. “That was good.”

“I think that’s a bit of an understatement, like,” I laughed breathlessly, turning to put my arm over him, curling up by his side.

To my slight surprise, he allowed it. “Siobhan… Siobhan… What am I going to do with you?”

I pressed my lips to his shoulder, then shrugged. “Anything and everything, I hope.”

He chuckled, and I could feel a weight lifted off him. He was lighter, quieter, more serene. And yet—

“I’m a mess,” he murmured as he closed his eyes. “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“Maybe not.” I let out a soft sigh and smiled. “But for the first time, it’s my own fucking choice.”

He hummed, and I could tell all the bravado of keeping me awake all night had waned. He was even more beautiful at peace like this, if that was even possible. No worry creasing his brow, no examining look showing just how little he trusted people. Looks I’d seen on my own face in the mirror.

“I don’t suppose…” He yawned. “You’d want to go to a New Year’s Eve party in Miami, would you? Julien wants to go, so I bought tickets for him and me, but… I’d bet my life he and Beatrice are broken up again by then, and he’ll be moping at home, trying to prove he’s a good little boy.”

“If you’re going, I’ll be there,” I swore.

“Perfect,” he replied. “Now sleep.”

As if I even needed telling.

I turned over, and his arm wrapped around me, keeping me close, his beautiful tattoo reminding me of how bonded we truly were now. Gently, I lifted my arm to glance at my own and realized, just as sleep threatened to overtake me, that there was now one leaf.