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It seems that, ultimately, I can’t pick out one single moment when I fell in love with Keyanna MacKay.

Because I did. That much is glaringly obvious. When she walked out of this house, it felt like she took part of me with her. It’s inconvenient as hell, but it seems that’s not enough to keep me from being head over heels in love with the stubborn, beautiful redhead that might still be my mortal enemy, if the stories are to be believed.

Which, maybe they are. Maybe her very existence will spell my downfall. I can’t rule that out. But oddly enough…I don’t bloody care. I’d rather spend a short time with her than have evendecadeswithout her.

I shoot up in bed, realizing how much I need to tell her that. Howmuch I need her toknowthat I don’tcareif she means the end of me, of my line. Perhaps that’s even part of why I didn’t tell her everything—because it simply doesn’t matter to me. Whether she’s the boon forever sought or the end of it all…she’s all I want.

And suddenly, I can’t go another minute without letting her know.

There is another hour or so yet until sundown—plenty of time to stand outside her bedroom door and beg her to hear me out. And if that doesn’t work, I think, then I’ll just repeat it tomorrow, and the next day, and every day after until there are no more days left for me.

Resolved, I tug on my jacket as I’m shoving my feet into my boots, and I’ve barely got the laces tied on just one of them when there’s a soft knock at my door. My mouth parts in surprise because,Could it be her?I stumble toward the door like a lovesick fool, my jacket barely on straight and my laces trailing behind me. I wrench open the door with a pounding heart, elation ballooning for mere moments before it seeps right back out…because there’s no one there.

“Key?” I step outside the door, looking around but finding no one. “Key!”

I run to the edge of the house, thinking that maybe she changed her mind halfway through and turned back. I get to the very edge to round the corner, and several things happen all at once.

The sinking sun blazes a fiery light that is near-blinding for a second or more, and I raise my hand to shield my eyes from it. I notice immediately that Keyanna is nowhere to be seen, that it appears that she didn’t come at all, something that is obvious given who isactuallystanding there waiting for me.

Before I even have time to react, the sun is blotted out by something massive and solid, something coming down on my head at full speed, giving me no time to even ascertain with complete certaintywhat it is before I feel a shooting pain that blossoms in my skull but soon spreads outward, leaving blackness in its wake as darkness consumes me. My consciousness fades as I feel my body sink to the ground like a stone, and the last thing I remember is the sight of worn boots resting in my line of sight, that heavy something that might be some sort of club clunking to the ground beside them.

“I’m sorry, mate,” a familiar voice murmurs. “This will all be over soon.”

31

Keyanna

The door to my bedroom—or rather mydad’sbedroom—rattles on its hinges when I slam it behind me, and I’m grateful that Finlay’s truck was missing from the front yard, that they’ve apparently gone into town. I need to be by myself for a bit.

I swipe at my eyes, wondering how I could have any more tears to shed after the last twenty-four hours; it hurt me to leave Lachlan like that, and part of me might even understand why he kept these things from me. I know he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, and that despite his gruff demeanor, he’s always willing to add more if it means protecting someone he cares about. I see it in the way he doesn’t blame his mother for leaving him, in the way he still tries to reach his father, despite all the evidence pointing to him being lost.

Iknowdeep down that he didn’t mean to hurt me, but that doesn’t change the fact that he did.

I think I just feel stupid more than anything. Here I am, having just given him this grand speech about how it felt to know that he trusted me, and he was still holding on to secrets.Importantsecrets. I mean, you don’t justforgetto tell someone that their entire existencewas fuckingforetoldin some insane curse passed down through the generations. I mean, ithasto be me…doesn’t it?

I drop down to the floor, crossing my legs as I hold the journal in my lap. I rub my thumb over the leather cover, thinking about everything I learned moments before Lachlan had woken up and rocked my shit all over again. I didn’t even tell him what Sorcha wrote about the bridle. Not that I’m even sure what it means. Maybe that was selfish of me, putting my own feelings before his when he’s already suffered so much. I’d just been so angry, sohurt—I reacted without thinking.

And now here I am, sitting alone and sulking. Great.

God, what am I supposed to do? I don’t even know how to begin to process the fact that some magical being hundreds of years ago literallywrote me into existence.It makes my brain hurt just thinking about it. And supposedly I’m going to bring about theend? What does that even mean? I’ve done nothing but promise Lachlan that we would find answers, that we wouldfixthis—but what if I’m destined to do the exact opposite? What if by simply being near him, I only make thingsworse?

I couldn’t bear it.

It’s moments like these when I feel the loss of my dad the hardest; these are the moments when I would run to ask him for advice. I don’t even think I had a boyfriend long enough to introduce him to before he got sick. I spent most of my twenties taking care of him. What wouldDadthink of all this? I close my eyes, trying to picture his eyes, trying to hear his laugh. What would he tell me right now?

Och, lass. Don’t cry. What do we do when we take a tumble?

I picture his soft smile as he fusses over my skinned knee, a pinkbike only a few feet away, turned on its side. I can see him drying my tears, his fingers tucking under my chin to force my eyes up.

We get back up again.

Well, fuck. Definitely not helping with the crying.

A thought occurs to me then, and I crawl closer to the bed to sift through the scattered papers there, pulling out one in particular that had fallen in all the excitement of finding the journal. I settle back in to reread my dad’s words in the letter he left for Rhona, feeling a slight comfort at being so close to something he actually touched.

Mum,

I don’t know if you’ll ever find this. I’m not even sure if I want you to. If you read what’s inside this journal, you’ll know the truth of why I left, and I don’t know what’s preferable—you being disappointed in me for leaving, or knowing with certainty that I left because I’m a coward.