Page 7

CHAPTER 7

“ W here are we?” she asked. Fi’s voice was little better than a croaking toad, and to her own ears, it sounded as if it belonged to someone else.

A savage curse erupted from Patrick, and he ran for the opening, only to be met with three-inch metal bars clanking into place. She rushed to join him, unsure what she intended to do other than find a way out and back home.

“No!” As she reached for the bars, he flung out an arm and blocked her path.

“Are you mad? We have to get out of here! We have to?—”

“Touch those bars, and you’ll fry the skin off your feckin’ arms, woman!”

He was as surly as a lion with a sore tooth, and Fi didn’t blame him one bit. Between Tadhg’s and Bridget’s retellings, she’d been able to piece together most of Patrick’s backstory. They’d explained to her how when he'd been held captive by Loman, he’d plunged his arms through the bars in an attempt to choke the fecker, only to suffer severe burns. But he hadn’t let go, and his arms resembled crisp bacon strips when it was all over. The story seemed fantastical, but how else did Patrick know the bars were supercharged?

Infusing steel in her tone, she said, “Sure, and you still haven’t answered me, Patrick O’Malley. Where the feck are we? ”

For the briefest instant, his mouth curled, as if he found her humorous, but his faint smile was replaced by a grimace. Looking everywhere but at her, he shook his head.

“Patrick, please.”

She hated the tremor in her voice, but her emotional state was inching toward panic. If another child disappeared on Mam and Da, they’d not recover.

“’Tis but a dream, it is,” he murmured, seeming confused.

Fi touched her hand to his ice-cold cheek. “Does this not feel real to you, then?”

Under her palm, his skin heated and the confusion left him. After jerking away, he stared at her in dismay. As if waking from his supposed dream, he studied the cell with new eyes. With each passing second, his expression darkened.

“How?” he muttered. “The fucker’s supposed to be dead.”

“What ‘fucker’ are you referring to?”

Before he could respond, a hooded figure passed across the opening with their face averted.

Fi charged forward only to be halted by Patrick’s arm around her waist.

“Don’t!” he snapped. “Remember what I told ya, girl. The bars are electrified.”

“At forty-three, I’m hardly a girl.”

Yeah, she was surly, but nothing annoyed her more than being treated as an empty-headed twat. Not to mention the solid feel of his embrace was electrifying all on its own. And wasn’t that scattering her wits to the wind? Or it would if there was any air blowing about. Come to think of it, why wasn’t there any air? Why were her lungs unbearably tight?

She gulped in a breath.

Then another.

And another.

“Don’t panic on me, love. We’ve enough trouble on our hands, yeah?” Patrick’s soothing tone was compelling in nature and had the desired effect of calming her. “Are ya all right, now? Enough to be removing your nails from my puir, abused arm?”

With a gasp, she released him and shifted around. His mouth kicked up on the left, and his eyes dropped to her lips, then farther down to where their chests met. When he raised his gaze to hers, it glowed with an unholy light.

“You wouldn’t be knowing this, love, but I’ve not been with a woman in some time. If you continue to press your glorious tits against me, I’m likely to embarrass us both with a cockstand.”

“Be that as it may, it’s difficult to move with your arm locked around my waist.” Fi was proud of her level tone. Inside, her heart raced like a runaway train, and she feared he’d hear the thudding at any moment.

His arm tightened a fraction, and he once again looked at her mouth. Stark hunger shone in his face, but he nodded and released her.

She didn’t immediately step away.

Instead, she lifted the hands she’d rested against his chest, running them along his collarbone and up his neck to entwine her fingers in his thick hair. She marveled at the silky texture. In her experience, gray hair tended to be courser, more wiry. His wasn’t, and her growing obsession with touching it was problematic.

“What are ya doin’?”

He didn’t seem displeased, merely curious, and Fi shook her head in bemusement.

What was she doing? They were trapped in a cage by an unknown abductor, but her body didn’t get the memo. All she wanted was to explore his body. To feel his mouth on hers. To bask in the warmth emanating from him. The press of his budding erection against her abdomen woke her to the inappropriateness of her actions.

“I’m begging your pardon, Patrick.”

“There’s no need for that. I’d be the devil’s own liar if I said I didn’t enjoy it.” Although his voice was gruff, his lips quirked and humor lit his emerald eyes.

They were lighter in color, and the effect was startling.

“Why are you happier here, like this, when you weren’t at your home?”

All light left him, and he moved away.

“Patrick?”

“Can you believe I forgot where I was for a moment? You took me from hell to heaven, but I should’ve remembered that I live in a hell of my own making.”

“How’s that, then?”

He merely shrugged off her question and turned his broad back. “You should get comfortable, love. It’s going to be a long while before anyone knows we’re missing.”

“Da’s gone missing,” Bridget informed the remaining three of her four siblings as they gathered with their mates around the table. “Cian and I were there when he began to teleport, but the room went black. Like someone turned off the lights.”

Cian, the oldest of her three brothers, rose and shut the double doors leading to the pub from their private meeting room. The low light caught the strands of his dark-blond hair, causing a gleam, not dissimilar to an angel’s halo, though he could be a demon spawn when riled. When he returned to his seat, his normally bright eyes were dark with concern.

“What’s this, then? And how do ya know he’s missing?” Carrick’s black brows clashed together in the center of his forehead. As the most serious of the O’Malleys, he always took things to heart, and the worry on his face said he’d do whatever it took to make the situation better.

Cian shrugged and answered matter-of-factly. “When I teleported directly after them, they were nowhere to be found.”

“Them?”

“He’s with a woman named Fionola Bohannon.”

With a heartfelt sigh, Ronan rubbed the back of his neck and stared at them in confusion. “Who’s she?”

“The sister of a man gone missing. Her brother’s name is Tadhg Bohannon, and he was one of Loman’s victims on the island,” Bridget explained. “And before ya ask, she’s as lovely as the day is long. She’s not involved in this other than to be a victim herself. I’m sure of it.”

Cian nodded. “Sure, and I agree.”

“Is it possible Patrick and Fionola changed their minds and went somewhere else?” Eoin’s mate, Brenna, was a shy creature and tended to stay silent unless spoken to, but in the last year, she’d grown comfortable around the O’Malleys and come out of her shell a little at a time.

“Aye, anything is possible. But he’s been gone over twenty-four hours now, and tonight is Aeden’s birthday celebration. Da promised to be here for it.” Bridget heaved an impatient sigh and pushed her wayward auburn hair away from her forehead. Although her father’s focus had been turned inward since his return from the Otherworld, the man wasn’t selfish. And he certainly wouldn’t miss his grandson’s birthday if he could help it.

“He’s been absentminded of late,” Dubheasa added, stating what Bridget had just been thinking. “Could it be he’s just gone off and forgotten?”

Feeling helpless, which wasn’t at all like herself, Bridget simply stared at her family. What could she say? Yes, it was possible he’d lost track of time again, but how did she explain this disappearance felt different, more urgent in nature?

“Aye,” she finally replied.

“But you don’t believe so?” asked Piper Thorne. Her amber eyes were thoughtful as she studied Bridget, and she saw what the others didn’t: Bridget’s anxiety. But then, she’d always been perceptive. Likely, it came with the name Thorne. The Thorne family needed to continually be alert to danger. Theirs was a magic everyone envied and would do their best to destroy if possible. The surname brought enemies slinking out of the shadows.

A little over a year ago, the American had wandered into their pub while on vacation. With one flirty conversation, Cian had fallen head-over-heels for the dark-haired beauty, and Bridget had enjoyed watching their dance, as clumsy as it was.

“No, I don’t.” She sank into her chair and lifted her pint glass for a sip, needing the rich taste of Gran’s brew to moisten her dry mouth. “The others were too young to remember”—with a nod, she indicated Eoin and Dubheasa—“but Da’s not the same as he was. When he’s not taking the piss, he’s angry or dismissive.”

“Sure, and I’ve noticed,” Carrick said with a sage nod.

As the serious one of their family, he was a watcher. Similar in looks to Dubheasa, with his black hair and green eyes, he possessed a calmer temperament and tended to consider a problem from all angles before jumping in head first, as Cian and Dubheasa were wont to do.

Only Eoin, Dubheasa’s twin, remained quiet on the subject, as if he didn’t care about Patrick’s safety one way or the other. And perhaps he didn’t. Their da had disappeared when the twins were young, and Eoin had never formed a connection to him. Hell, he didn’t know the man. How was he supposed to feel love for a total stranger?

Granted, Da had practically been forced from his home by their mother and held prisoner for years by Loman O’Connor, that horrid gobshite. The youngest members of their clan, Dubheasa and Eoin had felt abandoned, though. As a moody artist, her brother internalized his feelings until he could display them on a canvas or through sculpting.

The double doors burst open, startling them all.

A tall black-haired man with midnight-colored eyes stepped through the entryway, and Bridget had the fleeting thought he, although more rugged and a helluva lot less pristine in nature, resembled the Aether with his seductive, dark looks.

“This is a private meeting,” she snapped. “You’ll be taking yourself back out the way you came and shutting those doors behind you, ya will.”

His brows practically hit his hairline. “And you must be related to Patrick O’Malley. He’s an arrogant fecker, too.”

All her brothers stood. Menace was in every line of their bodies, and the fight had entered their narrowed eyes.

Bridget laughed.

Their visitor wasn’t wrong. The O’Malleys were arrogant when the occasion warranted.

“What is it you’re after, then?” she asked in a less combative tone.

“I’m looking for Fi. Uh, Fionola Bohannon. She’s my… she…” He ran a hand through his already tussled hair and sighed. “Fi works for me, and she didn’t show for her shift tonight.”

“Aye. I’m not surprised. She was with my Da, and they’ve not returned from Dublin.” Bridget gestured for him to join them. “Close the doors.”

Once he was seated with his back to a wall, the man sent each of them an assessing glance, summing them up in an instant. She was curious what opinion he’d formed, but she wouldn’t ask.

“Are ya planning on introducing yourself anytime soon?” Eoin asked.

“I’m Noah Riley. I own The Jaded Nomad down Wexford way.”

“I’ve visited your place,” Cian replied as he leaned back and hooked an arm over the top of his chair. “Seems a long way to come in search of a missing server.”

Noah’s mouth tightened. “Fi’s more than that.”

“Does she know it?” her brother asked with a disbelieving laugh. “She was mighty friendly with our Da.”

“She knows.”

But his expression said he wasn’t as sure as he pretended.