Page 5

Chapter Five

FELICITY FORREST

“Some truths are whispered directly to our souls, felt deeply and known without question.”

Queen Beatrice Blackthorn Shadowhart, Shadowborn Witch, Queen of the Obsidian Court (deceased)

T he sun casts Niall in a glow that’s messing with my hormones. Seriously, the way the light plays on his hair, turning those waves into liquid embers? It’s illegal. It absolutely should be against some celestial law. And yeah, he’s breathtaking—like, annoyingly so—but the crow’s feet around his eyes, the kind that crinkles when he smiles? That’s what sends me. It’s like a tiny billboard saying, this man has seen some shit, but he’s still standing.

I’m deep in my Niall-centric spiral when Cyn jabs into my side hard enough to make me grunt.

“Pay attention,” she hisses, dragging me out of my shameless ogling.

The priest has been talking, but nope, I didn’t catch a word. I was way too busy mentally composing bad poetry about Niall’s hair.

Dammit. “Thank you for your time, Father. You’ve been very helpful.” My voice is a little breathless. His eyes are on me, devouring me, as he walks towards me, like he’s coming to collect what’s his.

“Aye, hope it’s been a help for your story,” he says with a warm smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with a parishioner about our summer bake sale. We’re trying to perfect the recipe for our rhubarb crumble—it’s a closely guarded secret, ye know. You ladies have a good day, now.” He gives a small, friendly nod.

As the priest moves away, I glance towards the ancient stone church, its Celtic cross gleaming in the sunlight, and there’s a flash of black fur against the weathered grey of the building. My breath hitches. Half-hidden in the shadows, sits the cat. The same one with that infuriatingly intelligent, lavender gaze. It doesn’t move or break eye contact. It’s watching me with an intensity that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Ash? The thought flickers through my mind before I can shove it away. It can’t be. I don’t have a cat.

-You don’t have a cat. I have a pet,- a snarky feline voice speaks inside my mind, -and I’m starting to think you need a leash.-

Oh gods. -Shut up. You’re not real. I’m losing my mind.-

-I’m getting tired of your denial.- He licks his paw, staring at me knowingly.

I blink.

Cyn’s elbow strikes again. Honestly, if elbowing me was an Olympic sport, she’d have a gold medal by now.

“Yeowch, Cyn,” I hiss, rubbing my side. “What’s with the assault?”

Her grin is all teeth. “Making sure our little bet hasn’t slipped your mind.”

My eyes narrow. “Oh, it’s on my radar, alright. And so is your defeat.”

She snickers, completely unbothered. “We’ll see, princess. We’ll see.”

Niall walks toward us. His scent—musk and something wilder , something other —floods my senses. The memory of his heat, the taste of him…a dream, maybe? But the feel of him, the raw power…He shifted. He kissed me, tried to erase it. Didn’t work. And now, the púca. Him. Or was it?

“Isn’t it a fine morning, a stór ?”

I frown. I don’t know what it means. It’s probably something insulting, knowing my luck. Internal me is peeved and wondering what the hell he’s doing here. External me manages, “Grand.” My eyes narrow. I’m one breath away from saying something mortifying, like I’m compelled to tell the truth or can’t lie or at least not easily, like my handy guidebook talks about the fae. I hate this . I hate him . And I hate that my brain apparently short-circuits whenever he’s within a ten-foot radius. “And what does a stór mean anyway?”

He moves in, his breath ghosting my ear. “Some things are best experienced, not explained.”

Oh, for fucks sake! The string linking me to him that I hoped I imagined in the pub last night tugs again, like a phantom limb aching for a connection I don’t understand and don’t want. The universe thinks it’s funny, doesn’t it? Throwing this… specimen …in my path. The staring, the possessive air—it’s all so predictable. He thinks he’s got me pegged, a wide-eyed doe ripe for the taking. He’s wrong. So very wrong.

“Morning, Tomas. Sleep well?” Cyn purrs.

Tomas, bless him. He looks mentally prepared to swim the English Channel to escape. “Aye, fine morning.”

“Walk with me, love.” Niall smiles wickedly, his hand reaching out to grasp mine. He brushes against my skin making my blood heat.

He exchanges a look with Tomas, some silent bro code in action.

Walking it is then . He didn’t ask, exactly, but whatever. It’s not like my legs are cooperating with any other plan anyway. Damn this… thing between us. It’s like my inner compass has decided he’s magnetic north. My inner eye-roll is epic. “You know, most people ask before they decide what we’re doing.”

Niall raises an eyebrow. His smile has a slow, predatory curve. I take his hand anyway. Masochist, I think, but the word is more of a purr than a reprimand. It makes me think of that damn cat, but I don’t know why. The heat radiating off him isn’t just intense. It’s filthy . It makes promises of pain and pleasure, of domination and surrender. It makes me want to crawl closer, even knowing I’m going to burn. And yeah, maybe I’ll end up a pile of ashes. But some things are worth dying for. And I have a feeling that with him, the experience will be… ruinous .

* * *

NIALL O’LEARY

Now that’s a look. The glare she gives Cyn could wither an entire field of wildflowers. It screams, I’m going to murder you. Cyn either doesn’t notice or is pretending she doesn’t. Honestly, it’s hard to tell. Some people are immune to the laws of social survival. The wheels turn like Felicity is debating whether walking with me is a good idea. It’s not, it’s a very bad idea. I’m full of them, but I can’t decide if she’s nervous because of me or because her friend seems hell-bent on throwing her to the wolves. Probably both. I catch the faintest twitch of her lips. Irritation rolls off her, and it’s all I can do not to grin.

Then her scent hits me. Warm. Wild. It wraps itself around my senses and yanks me off balance. My beast stirs. Ours , he growls. I have to fight the need to agree. She shouldn’t have this pull on me. No one should, but I’m stupidly drawn to her. The bond is suffocating. I shouldn’t even be looking at her. This thing between us can’t go anywhere good. One wrong step or moment of weakness could destroy us both. Or worse.

Cyn brought up some wager before we headed over. Of course, I heard it. Fae hearing is rarely a blessing. A bet. On me. My jaw tightens. I have to push down the flare of heat in my chest. The beast in me doesn’t take kindly to being treated like a game. Neither do I. Felicity makes me want to play along anyway.

Even so, when her eyes meet mine, it doesn’t matter. My breath catches. She stands defiant, ready for anything. Human? Barely. Mindspeak? Impossible—I’ve said so myself. But she wields it anyway, oblivious to the boundaries she shatters. Prophecy, duty, my sister, Madden, the end of worlds, survival—gone. Just her .

Because she’s devastating . A ghost of a smile touches her lips as she tilts her head. She’s a theorem I’m obsessed with cracking, a viper coiled in velvet, a flame dancing on the edge of my control. A slow burn. Every second near her is exquisite torture, a study in restraint. I want to see how far I can push her before she pushes back. Then I’m going to dissect her, piece by delicious piece.

My gaze is a brand on her skin. Felicity fidgets, the flush staining her chest and neck a delicious crimson. She knows I see. The thought vibrates between us, a tangible tension. This isn’t innocent flirtation. It’s the bond. I should walk away. Always walk away. The logic is impeccable, the execution…impossible. The ceangal pulls me irresistibly toward her flame. And my need wars with a past I’m not ready to face. Not now. Maybe in a few centuries, a thousand years…whatever. Because losing someone leaves a hole. A gaping, agonizing hole. No amount of magic, no whispered incantations, can ever fill it. Never. But gods…she’s playing with fire. And I…I’m fascinated by the flames.

-Keep Cyn busy.- I command Tomas with mindspeak.

His mental groan is practically audible. -Fine, but you owe me. Big.-

“Have you been down to the beach, Cynthia?” Tomas asks.

“Not yet. Why don’t you show me?” she says, hooking a hand through his arm.

Tomas peers down at Cyn. There’s a flicker in his eyes, a shadow that vanishes as quickly as it appears before he smooths his features into an impassive mask. “Do you mind if I borrow your friend?”

Cyn nods her encouragement.

Felicity purses her lips. “Of course not. Have fun, you two.”

Her gaze avoids mine, clinging to Cyn and Tomas as if they’re lifelines. A futile display of pretence. Her body tells a different story. The subtle tremor in her hand, the almost imperceptible quickening of her breath…that’s an unintentional tell.

“And you? How was your night?” I ask.

“Fine,” she says, meeting my eyes, but the colour rising to her cheeks tells a different story. Her gaze darts away, like a cornered animal. It’s not a reaction you expect from idle conversation. No, this is the look of someone wrestling with a memory they shouldn’t have, a memory I stole.

Regret gnaws at me. She deserves a love that consumes her but doesn’t hold her back. A life packed with adventure, the chance to face any damn challenge she chooses. Even a little danger…if she’s that kind of reckless. Gods, not me. Not what last night almost became.

I can’t tell if she’s grasped at some sliver of the truth or if it’s the guilt crawling under my skin, whispering that I’ve already let her get too close.

My gaze lands on the ocean. “Fine. Shall we walk a bit?”

She nods, her steps falling into rhythm with mine. We walk in silence, careful not to touch. The silence stretches between us, not empty but alive. Each glance pulls me closer to her.

She doesn’t realise the power she wields. She doesn’t know that every quiet moment like this only deepens my need to stay near her and learn the mysteries behind her guarded eyes.

I glance at her, watching how the sunlight catches the lines of her face. There’s a tension in her shoulders, an edge to her movements, but she’s softening, little by little. The silence should calm me, but my beast stirs beneath my skin. Restless. Ravenous. It’s a battle to hold him back, to keep from doing something careless.

As we walk, a flash of black catches my eye. The cait-shìth again. That intelligent lavender gaze locks on me. Watching me. What's its game? I scan the shadows, searching for answers. It’s following us.

She breaks the quiet, a glint in her eye. “Tell me something interesting. Something about your family. The messy parts.”

“Two younger sisters. One’s a pain in the arse, but what are you going to do? And my da…” I trail off, watching her reaction closely. Obsidian Court. Shadows. Does she know?

She toys with a loose thread on her fingerless leather gloves, twisting it between her fingers like it might unravel something more. Then, as if catching herself, she shoves her hands into her pockets, locking away the fidgeting before it betrays her. “What about your mum?”

Sharing about my sisters and father is a carefully crafted illusion. My mother…a name I keep locked away, a secret I won't share for Darcy’s sake. A shadow that whispers of his deal with the deep ones. A future with me? A strategic alliance, a game of power. Just like her. Distance. It’s the only way to maintain my autonomy. The salt stings my eyes, even here.

“She died giving birth to my youngest sister,” I say, my gaze drifting away. A closed door. No body. No ceremony. Whispers. Betrayal. And Darcy’s eyes, so green, like polished jade. A shade I’ve only seen in… My thoughts trail off. A chill settles deep in my bones.

“I’m sorry, Niall,” she says, her voice less guarded. She shifts slightly, the rigidness in her posture easing.

Her compassion cuts through me. It’s gentler than I deserve. “Don’t be. It was a long time ago.”

She tilts her head, her brow furrowing. “It must have been hard growing up in a house with sisters.”

A laugh slips out. “Aye, they can be a handful.” I let the corner of my mouth lift. It’s easier to talk about them. “Sometimes, though, you make sacrifices for family. And after a while, you realise it wasn’t as much of a sacrifice as you thought.”

Her eyes soften. “It’s sweet. You must love them very much.”

“Aye,” I say, meeting her gaze. It’s like she’s trying to look right through me, and for a second, I wonder what she’s hoping to find. Sadness flickers across her face. It’s gone so fast that it feels like I imagined it. Then comes the smile, polished enough to pass as genuine. It’s not. It’s armour. She doesn’t even know she’s wearing it, but I do.

Maybe she’s thinking about her parents again. She told me she lost them. It hits me harder than it should. Thank the old gods, I still have my twin and Darcy. The rest? A crown, a father, a court that feels more like a cage than a home? She’s got no one, but some days, I envy that.

But she doesn’t need anyone else. Not when I’m standing right here.

The thought should sit wrong. It doesn’t. My beast stirs. She wouldn’t have to keep patching herself together if I tore the armour off and did it for her. But what the hell do I have to offer? Violence? Obsession? A one-way ticket to everything I walked away from?

I’ve spent the last century and a half drinking too much dubh fíon , making reckless choices, and proving exactly why some bastards shouldn’t be left alone with their own thoughts. And now I’m supposed to pull back? For her? When I could drag her down, claim her, ruin her—even if she’s poison?

I should leave her alone. I fucking should.

But the ceangal isn’t a whisper; it’s a demand. It sinks into my marrow. Bond her. Mark her. Make her mine. Protect her. Worship her. Break her open and crawl inside her bones.

And gods help me, I would.

But fate has other plans. She could trigger the prophecy. Us? Together? Too dangerous. And yet, I fail to care about the consequences…

Which makes her the most exquisite sin I’ll ever taste. Or smell.

I’ve only encountered this scent once before.

I was younger then, hiding behind my father’s robes in the halls of the Obsidian Court. A witch came to see the king, shadows moving with them like they had minds of their own. Yet the queen…carried the same trace of something that didn’t belong. Honey-sweet, dark as ruin. A warning and a promise all at once. That moment burned itself into me like my first brush with hellfire.

Felicity shouldn’t have it.

But I saw the horns curling from the darkness on her head, indigo as the night sky, there and gone like a mirage. And she carries something that shouldn’t be in the Ironlands.

If she’s tied to the Obsidian Court, what the hell is she doing walking around unguarded—oblivious?

Except she’s not just exposed. She doesn’t know. And I know it because her body betrays her. Her scent shifts. Suppressed, but not deception. Confusion.

And that? That makes no sense.

The real question isn’t why no one has noticed her. Her glamour is exquisite. It’s why she hasn’t noticed herself.

My gaze flicks to her hands, clenched tight at her sides like she’s bracing for a blow. Something I said hit deep. Not my mother, but something else.

What are you afraid of, love? Me? Or is the truth clawing its way to the surface?

She searches my eyes like she thinks I have answers. I don’t. “But it’s just you and Tomas. Your family didn’t come with you. You must miss them.”

Right. I’m supposed to be on holiday, like her. Not out here playing undercover Veil-keeper and hunting down a ceangal like the world’s least relaxed tourist. “Aye, but not when I’m with you, a stór .”

Felicity bites back a smile, drawing my attention to her mouth. “So what do you do, Niall?”

She asked me something like this last night. Now I’m trying to remember the lie I fed her. Or was it a half-truth?

Land management—close enough. Realms. Land. Semantics.

Maybe she’s testing me. Seeing if I’ll trip over my own words.

Witchy little writer, isn’t she?

For a heartbeat, her whole appearance shifts. Midnight-black hair streaked with silver falls around her face, her eyes glow like amethyst fire, and her ears taper into sharp, perfect points.

I blink, and it’s gone. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I mean, what do you do when you’re not on holiday? Where do you work?”

“Aye, I work for my father.”

Not much of a story, right? But with the fae, words are chains. We don’t lie. Not outright. But the truth? That’s the real game.

A lie burns like hellfire—sears your throat raw until you can’t speak. Your sigils go dark, branding you a traitor for all to see. Screw up badly enough? The old gods take their pound of flesh.

They don’t forgive. And the punishment doesn’t follow rules. It might be pain. It could be ruin. It’s always personal.

So we learn to play dirty. Twist the truth. Omit a detail. Bend the rules until they snap. That’s what makes fae bargains deadly. What we say is truth.

What we don’t say? That’s the blade slipping between your ribs.

And then there’s the Obsidian Court.

They don’t bother with clever twists or sly smiles. They take the truth and drive it straight through your skull. Honesty isn’t a game to them. It’s a weapon. And anyone who plays it differently? Weak.

Me? I live somewhere between cruelty and cleverness. I’ve got enough Wraithwind Court wit to enjoy a game of misdirection. But outright cruelty? Not my style.

And with Felicity? I better watch my mouth.

“Doing what?” she asks.

I pause. Because what the hell am I supposed to say?

Oh, just hanging out. Being the crowned prince of the Wraithwind Court, ruler of a fae kingdom in Tír na Scáil. No big deal.

Yeah. That’d go over well.

So I go with a half-truth.

“Well, like I said last night, land management. But we also…” I search for the right lie. “We’re also into breeding.”

Her brows lift. “Breeding?”

“Horses,” I say quickly. Like that was the plan all along. It wasn’t.

Her face lights up, and I immediately regret my choice.

“I spent every summer in a stable until I went to university. I absolutely love to ride. Although I haven’t had much time for it lately. It must be wonderful working with animals. Are you in the thoroughbred breeding industry?”

If only she knew the half of it.

Fae prince. Shapeshifting stallion. A walking bag of mist and magic.

That’s who I am.

That’s who you’re hitching your wagon to if you stick with me.

I clear my throat, fighting to keep my poker face intact.

“Aye, my family has been at it for generations.”

And by “at it,” I mean ruling over chaos, deceiving mortals, and occasionally turning into a horse. But sure. Thoroughbreds. Let’s go with that.

The gravel road crunches underfoot as we walk, her hand brushing against mine.

It’s brief. Almost nothing. A stray flicker of contact.

But to me? It’s a brand pressed to my skin, searing hot and impossible to ignore.

I shouldn’t even be here. But her touch makes the world tilt sideways, and suddenly, everything else—the prophecy, the duty, the laws of magic—feels so damn distant.

And then there’s her lips. Cherry-glossed sin, wrecking my focus, flooding my mind with all the ways I could ruin us both.

The cottage looms ahead. We reach the gate, but I don’t notice the ground anymore. Just her . The wind catches strands of her hair, framing her face like some goddess sent to tempt me. Or end me. Probably both.

I stop walking. She stops, too, turning to face me. We’re close. Too close for someone with my level of self-control. Which is to say, none. Her lips are right there. Daring me.

She stands on her toes, tilting her face up, and I swear she knows exactly what she’s doing.

And me? I’m helpless. Doomed. I cup her face, leaning down to meet her halfway.

Her lips are softer than I remember, but there’s a new sharpness to her—teeth grazing my lower lip in a quick nip, a vicious tease that sends fire curling through my veins.

I growl. Low. Hungry. A warning—or maybe a promise. The world narrows to this kiss, this moment. As if nothing else exists. My title, the prophecy, the impossibility of us crumbles under the force of this raw, desperate need.

And then she pulls back. Her lips are swollen, and her breath is uneven. The air between us is charged. Buzzing. Reality slams into me like a hammer to the ribs. What the hell am I doing? She’s not just some curiosity—not a puzzle to figure out. She’s a light in the dark. A spark that could save me or burn me alive. I step back, running a hand through my hair as my stallion bucks inside me, furious at my hesitation.

That kiss wasn’t enough. It’ll never be enough. If I’m not careful, this will end in disaster for both of us.

She looks at me, confusion flickering across her face, her lips still glistening. “What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong? Everything. But I don’t say that. Instead, I flash a wicked grin, because gods help me, I can’t stop.

I dip my head and kiss her again.

* * *

Pssst…I went a little feral for the next five chapters in protest of all the ‘purity’ nonsense and pearl clutching. If filthy, hot sex isn’t your thing, you can skip it, but you’re missing a key plot point and some of the best bits in my opinion.

SKIP AHEAD TO CHAPTER ELEVEN