Page 8

CHAPTER 8

F ionola curled into the warm body next to her and sighed as she fought wakefulness. She hadn’t forgotten where she was, but Patrick’s large frame and protective arms made her feel safe throughout the long hours of the night when she woke disoriented and afraid.

Over the last thirty-six hours, the hooded figure had ignored their attempts to get his or her attention. Food appeared whenever they weren’t paying attention or while they were sleeping, frustrating Fi to no end. If only they could catch the person in the act, they might get answers.

Patrick had acclimated quickly, as if being in a cage didn’t bother him in the least. Yet there were times when his lips would thin and a white line of tension appeared around his mouth. Sweat would bead his brow, and he seemed to appreciate when she’d soothe him with a simple touch.

“Tell me this is all a dream,” she murmured as she snuggled into him. “Tell me we’re not trapped in a cage for Goddess knows how long until someone realizes we’re missing.”

“I wish I could, love.” His voice was raspy and strained, causing her to shift and study his expression. Fatigue lined his face, and worry tugged at his brow. In his eyes, she could see pain, but she didn’t know if it was physical or emotional, considering his history with incarceration.

“Are you all right, Patrick? Truly?”

“Aye.”

She sensed the lie, but if he didn’t want to discuss it, what was she to do? Rolling to a sitting position, she stretched her arms over her head and moved her neck from side to side. The gestures were more out of habit than any need for bodily relief. The bed was oddly comfortable for a prison cell, but she didn’t want to question it.

“Why haven’t they begun to drain our magic?” she asked in a hushed voice. “Isn’t that what was done to you and Tadhg when you were last here?”

Patrick shifted to lie flat on his back and stare up at the ceiling. He remained quiet for such an inordinate amount of time that she assumed he wouldn’t answer. There were instances over the last day and a half when he’d ignored her endless questions, and she figured this might be one of them.

With a heavy sigh, he turned his head and met her curious gaze. “Aye. It’s what they did. These cells were designed to drain witches a bit at a time. But Loman O'Connor grew bolder, and whoever was unfortunate enough to find themselves a guest of his was eventually bled dry of their magic. Sometimes their life force, too.”

Hatred, burning and fierce, blazed in his expressive eyes. Before yesterday, she’d have said Patrick kept his cards close to his chest. Yet little by little, since they’d found themselves the unwilling guests of a maniac, he opened up, allowing her to see below his crusty exterior to the soft center. Whenever their food arrived, he allowed her to have the choice bits and to eat her fill, before consuming what was left. He’d also constructed a screen for the toilet area from a sheet, and he was courteous when she needed privacy, turning his back and humming so she wasn’t embarrassed by the forced intimacy.

“Your stay here had to be horrendous for you,” she said softly.

“Aye. But it was worse for those who didn’t survive.”

He rolled to his feet and rubbed the back of his neck, before he hung his head for a long minute. Unable to ignore his internal pain, she stroked his back and rested her cheek against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry.”

“None of it was your fault, love. ’Tis sorry I am you were dragged into my mess this time around.”

“You’re not to blame for any of this, Patrick. You were trying to help me find Tadhg.”

He avoided her gaze as he rose and crossed to their breakfast tray. “If not me, who?”

“Whoever’s behind our abduction!” Fi leapt to her feet and wormed her way between him and the wall, forcing him to look at her. “You’re blameless. You have to know that.”

His expression was tortured, and she did the only thing she knew how to do. She wrapped her arms around his neck and tucked his face against her throat as she stroked his thick hair.

“You’re blameless,” she reiterated, dropping a light kiss on the shell of his ear.

His steely arms encircled her, and he held her so tightly to him that she worried for her ribs. But the feel of her sensitive breasts against his hard, muscle-defined chest felt too good for her to argue about his crushing embrace.

“Your heart is pure, Fionola Bohannon,” he said in a voice bordering tender. His lips brushed her throat, and she shivered at the electrical sensation the contact caused. Heat pooled low in her abdomen, and despite the fact they were prisoners, she experienced a rightness. As if being here, with him, was where she was supposed to be.

“I’m not pure of heart. Far from it,” she admitted. “I’ve a fierce temper, and I’ve been known to have horrid thoughts about others, though I’ve not voiced more than ten percent of them.”

His chuckle curled her toes and sent a tingle up her legs.

“Then you’re the perfect woman.” He drew back and stared down at her for the longest time. His voice was hoarse when he finally said, “So fucking beautiful, ya are.”

The urge to kiss him was stronger than any she’d had, but she simply stroked his stubbled cheek. “I’m not winning any contests, that’s for damned sure. But I appreciate you think I could, all the same.”

His thumb swept across her lower lip in a gentle caress. One that was so simple, yet seductive, Fi had a hard time not panting her sudden aching need. For levity, she bit the pad of his thumb.

“I’m after eating breakfast. It’s been too long between meals, I’m thinking.”

She wasn’t positive, but she thought she heard him mutter, “I’m after eating something much more tasty,” as she stepped away. Spinning back, she asked, “What did you say?”

He grinned but remained mute.

Fi wagged her finger at him. “Behave. It’s not the time nor place for such foolishness.”

All teasing left him, and he nodded sharply. “Aye.”

As Patrick watched Fionola consume her portion of their breakfast, he pondered her question from earlier. Why hadn’t their magic been syphoned? Who was behind this fiasco, and why were they holding back? For that matter, why hide their identity behind shadows and hoods? What did it gain them?

By now, Cian and Bridget would realize he was in trouble, as Noah no doubt did when Fi failed to show for work. It wouldn’t be long before they consulted with others in an attempt to locate them. Patrick only had to keep her safe until they were found.

He meandered toward the bars, angling to look down the hall. No windows were visible, and any light along the corridor appeared to be artificial in nature. The air was controlled and neither too hot nor too cold. The place was the same, as was the cell placement, but the lack of sound disturbed him, and it was vastly different from his incarceration before. He’d never say it aloud, though. If Fionola hadn’t registered their total isolation yet, he didn’t want to add to her worry.

“Do you think Tadhg’s here?”

He glanced over his shoulder to find her watching him. The fierce intensity on her lovely face was an indication of her unspoken worry. He wouldn’t lie if asked directly, though he preferred not to volunteer information if he could avoid it. She was clever and would figure the inconsistencies out for herself in due time.

“Aye. Among others.”

“The previous victims who went missing?”

He nodded and turned back toward the bars. In the distance, a shadow shifted, and Patrick leaned forward to see better. He’d failed to properly calculate the distance to the bars, and he hissed out a breath when his skin connected with the supercharged metal.

Fionola cried out and rushed to him, fingers outstretched to touch the burn. Whether to heal or explore the scorched skin, he didn’t know, but he ducked away to avoid contact.

Confusion reflected back from her lovely eyes as they danced across his burned skin. “There’s no mark,” she exclaimed. “Shouldn’t it be red at least?”

Not red? It throbbed like the dickens. How was it not marked? He touched his cheekbone and winced from the pain.

“Is your vision bad, then?” he asked.

“My vision is fine, thank you very much!”

Her salty response teased a smile from his lips. What did it say about him that he liked her sassiness? When pink colored Fionola’s cheeks, Patrick realized he’d stared too long. Heat crept up his neck, and he opened his mouth to apologize. Anything he might’ve said was cut off as the cloaked figure swept by the doorway.

As Fionola unthinkingly grabbed for the bars, Patrick wrapped an arm around her waist and swung her away. Pressing her to the wall, he gripped her wrists and frantically searched for burns, sighing his relief when she appeared to be unharmed.

“Jaysus! Never do that again, woman! You could’ve been electrocuted.”

Her wide-eyed stare held wariness and caused his stomach to tighten.

His anger probably seemed unjustified to her, but for him, the image of her blistered skin churned his guts and made him want to vomit. Hell, the idea of her hurt at all shriveled his bollocks, and that realization had him releasing her faster than if he’d held a sizzling pan without a potholder. He’d no need of caring and relationships other than what he already had with his children. Falling for Fionola Bohannon was a recipe for disaster.

She was already in love with another.