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Mac’s chuckle was low and amused, as though he couldn’t believe she would just continue questioning him after what he had shared. “Aine O’Cillian has a desire to make anyone who enters her home feel like they belong.”

“What does that mean?”

I didn’t even have to turn around to know confusion etched her brow as I heard the skepticism in her voice.

“Aine’s homes are fully stocked for any visitor. You need only bring yourself. Every year, her staff prepares each home, refreshing the wardrobes with new clothes in assorted sizes and styles. Anything you might want or need will be there. And if it isn’t, there are strict instructions for the staff to provide it before they are dismissed.”

“Dismissed?” I asked.

Mac nodded. “The family has a habit of giving the staff time off when they are occupying a home. It gives them more privacy.”

“For what?” The snarky question came from the back seat.

“Consuming blood.” Mac’s answer was nonchalant.

Blood!The word screamed in my head, but I pushed it down. What he said only made sense. I felt my chest expand as I concentrated on feeling the air in my chest.

Mac glanced at me as he maneuvered the car along the road, the headlights cutting through the darkness. Our eyes met, and I couldn’t help but feel the intensity between us. I half expected him to reach across the console and take my hand. Instead, he smiled—a smile that sent my heart into overdrive. I knew that at some point, I would have to confront what was happening between us, but for now, I couldn’t deny the way my heart sped up every time I caught his eye. But I couldn’t deny the darkness that consumed him, either.

The tale Mac had been telling sounded like pure fantasy, but what gnawed at me was how he knew all of it. I understood he had been alive for centuries, yet the depth of his knowledge about my family—about the O’Cillians—was unsettling. And the idea that we were inextricably linked to them was almost too much to process. Was that the true curse that had shadowed my family for generations? I wanted to deny it, but something in my heart told me every word was true. Not only that, not once as he had been speaking had my finger burned, warning me that he was compelling us to believe a story.

I had no time to dwell on it as we turned onto a road nearly hidden off the highway. A chain-link fence surrounded the massive open field in front of us, lights lining the concrete runways. Mac didn’t even slow, the car cruising through the gate as he waved at security with the practiced ease of someone who had done this a thousand times. The tires crunched along the roadway as he drove onto the tarmac, stopping at a waiting jet, the stairs open and ready for someone of importance. Insectsdarted around the white flood lights illuminating the area around the short red carpet leading to the stairs.

“What are—” I didn’t get the question fully out before Mac was at my door, opening it and offering me his hand. I took it as I stood from my seat, my legs cramped from the long drive. He left me there to open the door for Lyra, his chivalry getting the best of him. I stared at the white jet decorated with waves on the side. The tail was completely blue.

Or was it? My finger burned, the ring’s magic stripping something away although I couldn’t figure out what. The tail shimmered, most likely from the heat of the power units, but as it did, I swear I saw white emerge on the tail, a design taking shape. As quickly as it started, the feeling in my finger subsided, and the tail remained blue.

“Holy shit.” Lyra’s exclamation echoed the turmoil in my mind.

“Rory, are you ready?” asked Mac, his voice low.

I gazed up at him, unsure of what I expected to see. What I found was a look of warmth that steadied me, a comforting gaze that assured me I could trust him. What was the ring trying to warn me of? I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I think so.”

A striking woman with porcelain skin walked toward us as though on a mission, her crisp black pantsuit almost disappearing into the night. The white shirt blended with her milk-white features. “Good evening, sir,” she said, focusing on Mac.

“Hello, Dani.” His voice rang with familiarity and warmth. “The bags are in the trunk.”

She took the keys from his outstretched hand. “Right away, sir.”

I glanced at him, puzzled by the ease with which he commanded the situation. He caught my eye, smiled, and placed his hand on my back, guiding me toward the plane. Warmthflowed through my body at his touch, and I couldn’t bring myself to pull away. A breeze cooled the surrounding air that crackled with an unseen energy.

A man emerged from the jet’s entrance as we neared the carpet, deep lines etched into his brow. His dirty-blond hair was neatly swept to the side, and in his hand, he clutched a pilot’s cap, his knuckles white against the dark fabric. “Just the person I needed to see,” the man called out, his voice carrying a note of urgency. The steps creaked as he hurried down them toward us.

“Yes, Jacob?” Mac responded with a touch of impatience in his tone, his hand dropping from my back.

“Well, sir, as I filed our flight plan, I noticed something… odd.” Jacob hesitated, glancing between us with uncertainty in his eyes.

“Jacob, just say it,” Mac urged, his tone sharpening.

“Sir, Conall’s plane is on the ground in Cork.”

“To be expected. Thank you for confirming.”

“But, sir—”

“Jacob,” Mac’s voice softened, “you have your orders.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll finish the preparations.” Jacob’s face remained a mask of confusion as he turned and hurried back into the plane.