Page 17 of Heart of the Wren (Haunted Hearts: Season of the Witch #2)

LORCAN

DARA STOOD close to me, warmth radiating from his body in waves. The pulse in his hand quickened and his flesh grew hotter. “Close your eyes and listen.”

Through the wind came the faintest rumble of hooves.

No, not hooves, feet. Dozens and dozens, hundreds and hundreds, then thousands and thousands of feet, all thumping across wooden floors.

And then came the twang of harp strings.

A chorus of them. And now a drum. Two drums. Ten thousand drums, along with an orchestra of whistles and pipes.

Like the tuning of a radio, the murmur of voices rose and dropped, and became more distinct.

The voices laughed, sang, shouted, and moved all around us. I opened my eyes.

In the empty, ruined tower we remained but all around us came a symphony of voices, the voices of hundreds of years’ worth of people’s lives, all whirling around us in a dizzying hurricanes of sound.

Then came the wispy, smoke-like silhouettes of figures moving to and fro.

A flick of hair, the swish of a cape, a clash of tankards, a glint of bronze chest plates.

Where the empty shell of the tower had been, now stood walls and floors, floors which creaked from the weight of the people upon them.

Fires blazed in sconces, the scent of a lifetime of feasts filled my nostrils…

And in a heartbeat it all ended. And then there was only Dara’s pulse.

And then there was only Dara’s breath. And then there was only Dara’s lips as I lunged at him and we kissed.

He held my hip and my neck — just below my ear — and I grabbed him tightly. How soft his lips were!

“It's called the Stone Tape theory,” he said.

“The idea that buildings, and the stone used in them in particular, can record moments in time.

I used a spell to release them. It doesn't always work, and it can be a bit chaotic, but sometimes...” He waved his hand in the air. “Sometimes you get lucky.”

“This is the nicest, most amazing thing anyone… How are you so…?” I laughed, unable to grab the right words. “You’re so thoughtful.”

He tugged at his ear. “Witches have a rule. We believe what we give returns threefold.”

“So if you give me a tenner you’ll get thirty quid back? ”

“ Hah! Wouldn’t that be handy? No, our intentions, I mean. If we act with kindness, it comes back threefold. If we act with cruelty, or spite, or malice, well, you get the idea.”

“Like a kind of… cosmic dividend?” My head swirled, my heart raced from what I’d witnessed, and from the kiss. “Can you do this Stone Tape magic with the brooch?”

“I already tried. No luck.”

“Wait, does this mean if you didn’t believe in your threefold rule, you wouldn’t be so nice?”

“I’d be an absolute bollocks,” he said, laughing.

“No, no, I’m kidding. I like to think I’d still be a decent person.

Would someone who believes in a vengeful God who will send them to Hell act differently if they were atheist?

Spiritual belief is no guarantee of morality.

I like to think good people would still be good people, no matter what. ”

A snowflake landed on my cheek. Then another.

A blizzard came tumbling from the ashen sky.

Giggling like kids, we hurried to one of the smaller remaining towers of the bawn wall surrounding the main building.

Inside, the roof had half rotted away but it provided some shelter.

The walls had been tarnished with graffiti but none of it recent.

Dara held his hand out to catch some flakes as big as communion wafers. “This isn’t stopping anytime soon.”

It came down in flurries, obscuring the castle.

“We could make a run for the car,” I said. “But we’ll be covered climbing over the gate. It wouldn’t be safe, either. We might slip.”

“Better we wait it out here, then.” Dara dried his hand on his trouser leg, then slid the hand onto my waist. “And, of course, we’ll need to stay warm.” He wiggled his ginger eyebrows, making me laugh.

“Oh, of course.” I kissed him again. “It only makes sense.”

Ignoring the cold, we kissed passionately, hands exploring each other’s bodies.

He stripped off his jumper and shirt while I undid my belt.

My trousers dropped to my ankles. Before I could remove my underwear, Dara’s hands grabbed the waistband and he slowly tugged them down over my hairy legs, freeing my stiff dick.

It bobbed up to greet him and he immediately took it into his mouth, burying his nose in the thick black bush at the base.

I huffed and set my hand on his shaved head.

He stroked my balls, the coldness of his silver rings sending jolts through my body.

He grabbed my bum with both hands as he sucked.

After a few minutes, he came up for air.

“That’s some dick you’ve got.” He rubbed it on his own shorter, thicker mickey, with its pale skin and halo of ginger hair.

The sensation of our slick helmets sliding and rubbing together nearly finished me off there and then.

I grabbed his arse but stopped, uncertain how to ask my next question.

“It’s okay.” He knew what I was thinking and guided my finger. “I had an inkling about what might happen so I made sure I was ready.” He steadied himself against the stone wall.

I spat into my open hand and massaged my dick, making sure the head was good and wet.

I took a moment to admire the sight of Dara’s tree trunk legs and beefy, muscular arse, and then I pressed myself against his pink hole and gently pushed.

While he’d been complimentary about it, the truth is I’m not the biggest down there — distinctly average, in fact — but he gasped as I slid inside.

He thrust his hips, again and again. He moaned loudly, calling my name and begging me not to stop.

As if I had any intention of doing so. The snow pelted down and the wind howled outside but should a hurricane land on top of us, I wasn’t going to stop.

Having Dara’s soft flesh pressed against me felt like everything I was missing from his life.

The velvety sensation gripping my cock, the slaps of my thrusting, the groans of his pleasure—it was all so perfect, all I’d imagined and more.

The snow fell faster, the winds roared, the bodhráns beat, the harps played, and the singing of four hundred years past filled the air once more.

The sky turned night to day, to night again.

Torches long, long extinguished flared to life and streaked by.

For a brief moment, colourful tapestries flapped on the walls and paintings of serious-looking noblemen hung in elaborate frames, and then were gone.

The history of Ross Castle flashed all around us in a kaleidoscope of colour and noise, and then I shuddered, and swore, and finished. And all was quiet.

Dara rose, grinning from ear to ear. I wrapped my arms around him and we kissed eagerly, as if it were the first time, as if it might be the last. I grabbed his fat, pink dick, massaging the bright red head with my thumb, then tugged it until he shot his load over the ancient ground of the castle outbuilding.

Standing with our trousers around our ankles, our energy spent, we laughed and retrieved our clothes.

The chill of the day found us once again and we shivered.

The snow had finally started to ease and we decided to make a run for the car.

As we carefully scaled the front gate, I tried to focus on how I’d felt in the castle.

How I’d enjoyed the sex. How I’d relished the feel of Dara’s body against mine.

How I loved his company. And yet. The other thought remained.

The doubt. The suspicion. What if Dara really had used his magic to make this all happen?