Page 6

CHAPTER 6

M orning came too soon and much too bright. Where was the overcast day to hide the blinding sun when Patrick needed it to temper his hangover? The last thing he remembered was picking up a bottle after a stroll in the moonlight with Fionola. He’d dropped her at her doorstep with two of those five kisses and the promise of a half-nine visit before he’d hightailed it home. Stealing the whiskey from Lucky O’Malley’s storeroom was an eejit move, but he’d needed it to drown the temptation of returning to steal the other three kisses from her temptress lips.

With a groan, he rolled toward the nightstand and lifted his smartphone, promptly swearing. He’d forgotten to charge the fecking thing. If he gave it a magical boost, he risked destroying the components. After plugging it in, he staggered to the bathroom to splash frigid water on his puffy face, wincing when he met his bloodshot eyes in the mirror.

Jaysus! He looked a sight!

Then and there, he swore it was the last time he’d overindulge. Despite his troubles—and of those he had plenty—he was useless as tits on a bull after an all-nighter.

The moment the phone’s battery held enough life, the chiming began, alerting him to the fact he’d missed his window to meet Fionola. She’d have his arse for certain. As he wove his way back toward the nightstand, the bedroom door flew open.

He didn’t know who was more shocked, Fionola or himself.

Her eyes flared wide as she took in the entire package, pausing overly long to linger on his cock. Never in his life had he worried about nonsensical things like modesty, but he’d been caught in the raw, and his instinctual response was to cover the family jewels.

Slapping his hands over his junk, he scowled his ire. “What the feckin’ hell do you think you’re doing, bursting into a strange man’s room the way ya are?” he demanded.

“I grew worried when you failed to show up. And I knocked, but you didn’t answer.” She’d yet to tear her curious gaze away from his nakedness, and his body’s reaction, although natural, was embarrassing.

“Come in if you’re so intrigued by my cock or get out. But don’t stand there with the feckin’ door open for all of sundry to see, yeah? I’m proud of what I own, but not that much.”

She giggled. Flat out giggled like a schoolgirl peering into the boys’ locker room and getting an eyeful.

“Never doubt I’m intrigued, Patrick O’Malley, but I’ll be leaving you to dress, all the same.” She cast his body a regretful glance and sighed. “Maybe after a time, I can get a closer look.”

Fionola sailed out the door, closing it behind her. It did nothing to muffle her laughter from the other side. Funny thing about that laughter— it triggered his . And he flopped back on the mattress and let loose until tears were streaming from his eyes.

When he’d sobered, he brushed away the moisture alongside his temples and tried to recall when he’d last found true humor in anything. The answer was years . Well before Loman had imprisoned and murdered him. Farther back still, to right before he’d learned Rose was unhappy and spreading her thighs for anything with a third leg. It seemed he’d forgotten how to enjoy life. And wasn’t that tragic? It boiled down to two people altering his fate, crushing his spirit, and making him miserable.

But it had taken only one person to spark a fire in him again.

Fionola Bohannon.

And though he was older than her by at least twenty years and witches like them didn’t age in the way of standard mortals, Patrick felt at least five times that. But he could appreciate her natural beauty and unfailingly kind heart. Her saucy personality didn’t hurt either.

As he showered and dressed, he considered distancing himself from her. Being close to her was too dangerous, making him feel and desire more than he should. She wasn’t for him, and the truth of it was disheartening.

Fifteen minutes after she’d barged into his room, Patrick met Fionola downstairs in the inn’s kitchen, where Bridget was cleaning up the last of the breakfast dishes.

“Why not use your shiny new magic, me love?” he asked, giving her a peck on her flawless cheek. He desperately wanted to turn back time and ruffle her brilliant ginger hair like when she’d been a small girl, but grown-up Bridget might knock him into next week.

“Habit,” she said simply. “And it keeps me busy. You know I’m not one who loves to be idle, Da. It would send me round the bend.”

“Aye. But you should take your young man and enjoy a day or two away. Let your good-for-nothing brothers run things for a weekend, yeah?”

“Ach! And we do our fair share,” Cian protested laughingly as he rose from the table. “But it’s never as good as Bridget prefers, to be sure.”

“Because you’re a lazy scut, Cian O’Malley.” Bridget tossed a dish towel at his head. “But dry if you’ve a mind.”

Fionola sipped tea as his family teased each other. Her expression was one of sadness, with worry creeping in along the edges.

“We’ll find Tadhg,” Patrick assured her.

“What’s this?” Cian paused in conjuring a magical windstorm to dry dishes and returned to the table. “Who’s Tadhg?”

“My brother. He’s been missing for a week now.” Although her voice cracked, Fionola lifted her chin, and grim determination entered her soulful eyes. “Your father has agreed to help me find him.”

With a confused frown, Cian looked at him. “Da? When did you start investigating missing people? And why didn’t you ask me? I’ve connections through the Witches’ Council.”

“Because the boy’s running scared,” Patrick snapped. “And since when do I need you to do my work for me?”

Cian stepped back and expressed shock at the vehement response. Indeed, they all appeared surprised by his surliness, Fionola included, and Patrick felt like an arse for allowing his temper to get the better of him.

“Yeah, and it’s sorry I am for being a bear.” Going to the medicine cabinet, he opened the door. “Bridget, me love. Where’s the potion to make me right as rain?”

“I’m cooking a new batch, Da. It’s cooling on the range.”

After grabbing a mug from the drainboard, he spooned his granny’s elixir into it and shot it straight. The taste was appalling, but the magical mixture was fast-acting and would cure what ailed him within minutes.

When he glanced up, two pairs of wary eyes watched him, as if waiting for another explosion. The only one who looked at him with understanding was Fionola, but hers was the hardest gaze to meet.

Still, he could use Cian’s connections if it meant locating Tadhg faster.

“Your help would be greatly appreciated, son. If you’ll sit a spell, we’ll tell ya what we know.”

Patrick’s behavior toward his adult children was loving, if gruff, and Fi recognized he was a man used to caring for his needs last, without any assistance. Her heart ached for him. What must it be like to be your own refuge, with no true understanding of how to lean on another?

While she’d waited for him to dress, Fi conversed with Bridget and, in doing so, learned some of what Patrick had endured at Loman’s hands. Of how he’d died and his Guardian daughter brought him back from the Otherworld upon her escape. Fi’s brother had told her something similar.

Her chest had tightened to hear of Patrick’s trials, and her reaction to his pain was stronger than any she’d felt for another not related to her. A large part of her wanted to hold him and never let go, but the realistic side of her understood he’d strongly object to anyone smothering him with caring and good intentions.

As she listened to him discuss his options with Cian, she instinctively knew he was the one destined to find Tadhg. Her knight in shining armor, as it were. When he glanced up, their gazes locked, causing her belly to flutter like mad, as if a hundred butterflies were beating against the walls of her abdomen and attempting to escape. Did he feel it, too? This bizarre connection? This drawing? For an overlong moment, his focus lingered on her mouth, but a shutter of sorts fell over him, and he looked away, almost dismissively. Almost as if he were rejecting the possibility of more.

Why?

Did he not feel deserving? Did he not believe she was? Old insecurities struck, and Fi sipped her tea to calm her jittery nerves, forcing her attention back to the conversation between father and son. As she listened, she compared the men. Cian bore a striking resemblance to Patrick, and there was no doubt he possessed his father’s take-charge attitude. Yet only the elder O’Malley appeared resistant to anyone else’s assistance. This was made plain when he grumbled about the list of Council names his son produced as potential allies in the hunt for Tadhg.

“And you think the man’s in Dublin, then?” Bridget asked.

“Aye. Just days ago, he was spotted by no less than three others. My hope is he’s still there.” Patrick finished his drink and rose. “I’d best be going. Son, if you’re able to discover Tadhg’s whereabouts, text me the information, yeah?”

“Sure, and I will.”

“Thanks.” Shifting toward her, Patrick held out a hand. “If you’re going with me, Fionola Bohannon, you’d best hold on. My teleportation skills don’t work as they should these days.”

“Do you have a picture of where we’re going? I can use my magic to get us there.”

He scrolled through his phone, and once he found what he was looking for, he handed it to her. With a nod, she wrapped an arm around his trim waist and gazed up at him. If her heart beat a little faster than it should, she ignored it.

“Ready?”

This close to him, she could see the banked fire in his eyes, and a thrill shot through her as he focused on her mouth.

“Ready,” he said in his deep, reverberating voice. Or maybe it merely felt deep because his chest was pressed to hers. Either way, the sexy timbre was one her ears appreciated.

Closing her eyes, she recalled the picture he’d shown her, but as her cells began to warm, something went wrong. The image in her mind blanked, and Fi had the discombobulated sensation of tumbling through space. Her arms tightened around Patrick as she tried to recall the inn’s kitchen and anchor them. But it was no use.

The homey walls of Black Cat Inn were nowhere to be seen. In their place was gray stone, and the two of them currently stood in what appeared to be the glass-and-cinder-block cell she’d seen the other day.

“Jaysus!”