Page 11 of Of Shadows & Ash (Land of Shadows #1)

Chapter Ten

NIALL O’LEARY

“The art of bending reality to one’s desire through sheer force of will is a powerful tool, but there are limitations to this magic. One, it requires not only skill but deep belief in one’s intentions and desires. The weave will unravel without complete conviction. Two, attempts to willweave won’t work when ancient wards or spells protect. Three, the most formidable among us possess a natural immunity to willweaving. It proves their strength and standing within the fae hierarchy, rendering them impervious to the whims of willweavers.”

Book of Shadows ( Tír na Scáil Lost History), Forgotten Tomes Archive

S he gives this little smile. Too quick, too polished like she’s practised it in the mirror. “I’m not hiding anything. I’m here to write a story. That’s it.”

Liar.

I should be angry. Suspicious. But I’m curious. She fidgets, her fingertip tracing the knot in the table. A calculated move to avoid meeting my eyes. Every instinct screams that woman is dangerous. She hasn’t proven herself. Until she does, I’ll bait her and dig for the truth. My inner stallion? He’s far less refined. Feral instincts. And gods help me, they’re tempting.

My beast laughs. She’s pulling you under. The world is already fucked. Let the darkness descend. If she’s the end, at least it’ll be a damn good one.

The worst part? The bastard means it.

Everyone feels the temptation of that voice inside telling us to quit. That deceptively sly bastard that promises you there’s an easy way out. That’s the trick. Apathy isn’t loud or monstrous. It sneaks in with glamour and illusion. We fall for it. Surrender to the hate and darkness. Then pretend like we didn’t see it coming and act surprised when the flames rise. The Gnáthmharfóirí and the Sluagh are always waiting. Always ready to scoop up the tired, the broken, or the ones too tempted to fight back.

I won’t give up. If she’s a threat to the Veil, I’ve got to know. My stallion grumbles, but falls quiet. I arch a brow. “Story?”

Before Felicity can answer, Cyn leans in with a smirk. “Ghosts, treasure, or witches? That’s usually how these stories go, isn’t it, Flick?”

Felicity shoots her a glare, but Cyn grins wider.

Tomas raises an eyebrow. “Not every story is meant to entertain. Some have teeth.”

Cyn snorts. “Yeah, and some people still think the earth is flat. What’s your point?”

Felicity can’t hold back, the corners of her mouth lift.

“Why Flick?” Tomas asks.

“She never slows down. Always chasing the next story. And, well, you know how writer types are. Always flicking their pens like they’re scribbling down the meaning of life.” Cyn shrugs.

Felicity rolls her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

I lean back, watching her. Watching her , not her lips or the way her fingers twitch like she’s about to bolt. “So what’s this story about?”

“I’m writing about a local legend,” Felicity says, her gaze sharp as she sizes me up. “I work for a magazine.”

And you’re holding back. “There’s more to this legend, isn’t there?”

Felicity laughs. “Depends on how much you believe the stories going around.”

My gaze locks onto her lips, curled into that teasing half-smile that dares me to cross a line. “Try me.”

Her fingertip glides over the knot on the table. “Do you think there are things in this world that logic can’t explain?”

Something tells me she’s testing me. “Aye, I do.”

Felicity takes a slow sip of her ale. “It’s my job to remain sceptical. I look for evidence, follow the facts wherever they lead me. Science explains most things. I believe in what I can see. Real, tangible evidence, not some doctored photograph or vague rumor.”

I grin, leaning back in my chair as a cover to keep digging. “And what kind of evidence are you looking for?”

She shrugs, but there’s a glint in her eyes. “This town is supposedly haunted. I need to prove whether or not it’s true.”

“Haunted by what?” I ask, my tone teasing. I enjoy this— her —far too much.

“Púca.” Felicity deadpans.

Tomas stiffens beside me. A second passes before he coughs and pushes back his chair. “I think it’s time I walk Miss Beckett back to Pier House.”

- You’re going to see if she knows anything, right? - His mindspeak cuts through.

- Aye, - I reply, my gaze lingering on Felicity, who’s eyeing him with growing suspicion. - But listen, just because I stepped out earlier and lost that lad I thought was a Gnáthmharfóirí doesn’t mean he’s not still around. Keep your guard up. Caitlin should’ve told you what the town’s whispering. -

Tomas nods tightly, his thoughts brushing mine with a faint hum of irritation. - Caitlin was vague, but I’ll press her. Focus on your end. I’ll keep Cyn occupied. -

Cyn grins as she rises. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Flick.”

Felicity gives Cyn a pointed look before sipping her drink. “Be good.”

She snorts. “I’m always good .”

They head out, leaving the pub. He’ll scan every shadow between here and Pier House. It’s a shame for Cyn who’s about as subtle as a wolf politely knocking at the sheepfold door with her interest in fucking Tomas. Despite his habit of smiling like he’s daring someone to test him, his hands will stay to himself. He’ll ask the questions, get the answers, and leave no room for doubt, all while remaining completely faithful to his woman.

Felicity stiffens the moment it’s the two of us. I can’t decide if she’s pissed that Cyn left her alone with me or if she’s just realising what that means. It’s a subtle shift, but it’s there, like the cracks in the pub’s floorboards.

“She’ll be all right, love. He’s my best mate. I’ve known him all my life. Trust me, she’s in good hands.”

Felicity laughs. “It’s not her I’m worried about.”

“What is it then?”

Felicity sighs. “Cyn likes having fun, but that’s all it is. I’d feel bad for your mate if he’s looking for more. I bloody love her, but that’s her MO.”

Her fingers fidget with the seams of her fingerless gloves like she doesn’t trust herself to keep her hands still or off of me. The ceangal hums between us. Dark. Electric. Her scent, the soft catch in her breath, or the way her eyes darken when they meet mine is impossible to ignore. A pull that promises trouble, and gods help me, I want to see just how much.

“Why do you keep staring at me?” her voice wavers.

“Because you’re hard to look away from. It’s like the rest of the world doesn’t matter when you’re in the room,” I murmur, my eyes never leaving hers.

She bites her lip. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

Felicity glances away, but a small smile tugs at her lips. It doesn’t reach her eyes. That flicker of darkness beneath her surface? Tightens something in my chest. Fuck. It twists deeper with every second that I look at her. It demands I claim her enemies, turn them into mine, and carve her pain into every one of them until they’re nothing but screams and ash.

“Cyn lights up the room. Me? I’m…the background noise.” She shrugs a little defensively.

“Background noise?” I scoff, letting my gaze rake over her like I’m stripping her bare. “You’re the sound that drowns everything else out—the one that makes men lose their fucking minds. You don’t fade into the room. You take it, whether you mean to or not.”

I catch the sharp inhale, her pulse fluttering at the edge of her throat. My fingers brush the edge of her gloves, tracing the seams. Then they slip over her hand to graze her bare skin on the inside of her wrist. Her lips part. The walls she’s so carefully built begin to crack. I see it in her eyes, something she doesn’t want to admit, but she’s feeling the ceangal as bad as me.

“I should go. I’ve got an early morning meeting with the priest.” Her body betrays her when she doesn’t move her arm.

“Are you sure, love?” I ask, the question hanging like a dare.

Her lips press into a thin line. But I can see the pull, the way her body leans ever so slightly towards mine, her hand trembling just enough for me to notice.

Gods, I’ve done some evil shit in my life. Stepped on others. Killed. Destroyed lives without a second thought. Maybe not with Fallon’s cruelty, but my hands are drenched in more blood than she could ever dream. And I’d do it all again. For them. For Maelíosa. For Finn, Kieran, Vicious, and Kaida once. And gods help me, I’ll ruin myself to keep Felicity safe and protect them all.

So what will I do for her?

Everything.

This bond makes me weak in ways I never thought possible. It’s stripping me bare, tearing down every wall I’ve built. I crave her—her heat, her body, her mind. I want her shadows and secrets, her darkness. Every jagged, broken piece of her. I want to bury myself in it, lose myself in her, even though I know it will destroy me.

She can’t ever know how close I am to losing control, how fragile the leash I have on myself is. I hold it back through sheer fucking will, clench my fist against the pull of the ceangal . The magic pulses in my veins, daring me to give in, but I can’t. Not when we’ll all burn for it. I smother the hunger. Shove it so deep inside that it feels like carving out a piece of my soul.

“You should,” I murmur, my thumb brushing against the soft skin of her wrist. Her breath hitches, her lashes fluttering as the smallest tremor rolls through her.

She leans forward, letting her breath ghost across my skin. “But that doesn’t mean I will.”

I cling to self-control with every fucking thing I have. “This isn’t…it’s just the drinks messing with our heads.”

Her eyes narrow, but there’s no bite in her glare. “Is it?”

I let my finger glide higher, just enough to test the razor edge of my resistance. Her breathing goes shallow, her chest rising and falling in quick bursts. I should stop. Walk away. But gods, I can’t. The ceangal tugs harder, its whispers growing louder, more insistent. Claim her. Keep her. Protect her. The thoughts crash into me, searing through my mind like wildfire.

I lean in, my voice dropping to a rough whisper. “Say the word, love. Say you want me to let go, and I will.”

Her hesitation is a spark, and the fire roars to life between us. She doesn’t pull away. “Well, I guess you should walk me back. If there’s a púca causing trouble, I shouldn’t go alone, right?”

My mouth goes dry. “Aye, if there’s a púca.”

She lifts an eyebrow, something unreadable flashing through her gaze. “So you were paying attention.”

I shrug, forcing a casualness I don’t feel. “Maybe. I’m curious what you’ve heard.”

I don’t bother explaining that I know damn well what a púca is—I am one. Let her think I’m a clueless local, despite all the chatter.

“Let me pay our tab,” I say, pulling away before she can argue.

She watches me cross the room, her expression less guarded, like she’s wondering which of us took that step first. I settle the bill. When I stride toward her, something soft shimmers in her eyes, gone in an instant. Everything inside me screams to claim her, but I draw a deep breath and offer her my hand instead.

She hesitates, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Alright.”

“Aye, reckon that’s a good idea,” I say, hating how ragged my voice sounds. “Wouldn’t want a púca to run off with you.”

We leave Tí Joe Watty’s, the cold air slapping me out of the fog of warmth and firelight. It’s sharp, fresh, cutting through the lingering buzz in my veins. She falls silent. She’s all don’t-get-too-close vibes. For the love of the old gods, it’s frustrating. I’m usually the one who can read people, who dodges the bullshit and keeps control of the game. But with her? She’s dealing a different hand, tight-lipped and unreadable. And damn it, I can’t decide if I want to tear down her walls or keep letting her surprise me.

Movement draws my eye to the edge of the path. A sleek black cat—too big to be normal—slips into view, moonlight catching on the sharp white patch at its chest. A cait-shìth . Its glowing lavender eyes cut between us, like it’s deciding whether we’re worth its attention or maybe it’s pissed she’s walking with me. Its tail flicks before it melts back into the shadows, leaving a faint trail of magic in its wake. It lingers there, like a nosy chaperone, making sure I don’t get too close.

I break the silence. “So tell me more about this story you’re writing. Must be pretty compelling if they sent you all the way here.”

Felicity shrugs. “Not much to tell yet. We got a tip about a naughty fae causing trouble. My boss sent me to investigate a photograph.”

I tense at the mention of a photo. “A photograph?”

She reaches into her bag, pulling out a slightly crumpled picture. “See for yourself. It’s supposedly a púca, but half the time these are photoshopped or hoaxes.”

The image is clear enough for me. My vision is sharper than a human’s. It’s Tomas, all right, standing guard near the North Tower. My jaw tightens, rage bubbling up from the pit of my stomach. That bastard. He didn’t tell me.

I hand the photo back, forcing my face into something resembling indifference. “Doesn’t look like much to me.”

Inside, though? I’m cursing Tomas up and down. This is another reminder of where his loyalties lie—with my father, not with me. He’s not here because he cares. He’s here because he’s been ordered to babysit me. To train me, guide me, and make sure I don’t get myself killed in some spectacularly stupid way. And gods forbid I ever forget that his real purpose is to carry out my father’s bidding.

And yet, I keep telling myself he’s a friend. That I can trust him. That somewhere, buried under the dutiful facade, he gives a damn about more than orders. But gods help me, there are moments—like this one—when I wonder. Does he play both sides of the fence, hedging his bets to serve his own ends? Is his loyalty as he’d have me believe, or is it a convenient mask? The doubts gnaw at me.

It’s not like I haven’t known for years what Tomas really is. My father’s perfect soldier, his ever-loyal hound. And me? I’m the arrogant idiot who needs constant supervision, apparently. The thought makes me want to punch something—preferably him. But no, I can’t. Because then I’d be proving him right, wouldn’t I? That I’m too impulsive, too emotional, too damn reckless to be trusted.

My teeth grind, but I keep my expression neutral, like the photo doesn’t mean a damn thing. Even though it’s one more chain keeping me leashed to the shadow of my father’s throne.

“Right.” She stuffs it into her coat pocket.

“Your job sounds…interesting.”

She laughs softly. “‘ Everyday Supernatural ,’ is a magazine and blog. We make out pretty well with ad money—curiosity pays. Our readers will eat it up, whether it’s real or fake. They love the process, the mystery.”

I grunt in acknowledgment, not wanting to sound too clueless. But the Ironlands have changed, and I’m behind on all these inventions and networks she calls ‘the Internet.’

She glances sidelong at me. “So, are you on holiday?”

“You could say that.”

“Do you have family here?”

I hesitate. “Aye, my family’s always been rooted to this island, but it’s only me and Tomas.”

Felicity nods. “I’ve just got Cyn, really. My adoptive parents died my freshman year of college.”

Sympathy tugs at me in a way I’m not used to. My beast hates the sadness in her voice. “I’m sorry.”

She smiles. “I guess we’re both on our own here.”

I wonder if there’s a man in her life. The thought rips open a deep and ugly wound in my chest. “You don’t have a mate, do you?” I murmur, my voice laced with dark heat, every syllable dripping with the promise of what I’d do if she were mine . My fingers twitch with the need to touch her, to stake my claim in ways that no one could ever fucking doubt, but I need to keep it in check.

Sadness clouds her eyes. It hits me hard. I don’t like it. “I had a boyfriend if that’s what you mean. We’re not together anymore.”

We reach Pier House. A trace of magic clings to the space where it doesn’t belong, threaded with a power potent enough to stain reality long after it’s gone. Obsidian magic. Not just any—Niamh’s. I’d know it anywhere, etched into my bones from every summit at The Commons, seared into every veiled warning she’s ever made.

My jaw tightens, muscles locking down on the instinct to hunt, to chase, but then Felicity’s scent crashes into me, drowning out everything else. It’s all I can fucking breathe, her heat curling around me like a challenge, daring me to lose control. My beast snarls, restless, clawing at the edges of my restraint, demanding I stop pretending and take what’s already mine.

I step closer, towering over her. “You deserve better than the boy you’ve wasted your time on. You deserve someone who sees you. Who takes you. Who keeps you. And gods help us both, I don’t think I can walk away without proving it.”

Whatever she’s about to say dies in her throat. Instead, she takes a deliberate step back, turning away to face the ocean. The moonlight catches the curve of her jaw as she stares out at the waves, arms wrapped tightly around herself like she’s holding something in, something she doesn’t trust herself to let out.

Then, slowly, she tilts her head, her gaze dropping to my mouth before darting back to my eyes. “That’s…dangerous, what you just said. I should go,” she murmurs, but her feet stay planted. “Thanks for walking me back.”

I want to close the gap, let my beast have what it wants. But I hesitate, not sure I’m strong enough for the fallout. That hunger in my chest burns hot, reckless, tempting me toward something I know will wreck us both.

I force myself to step back. Barely. “You never told me your surname, love.”

“Forrest,” she says quietly, gaze flickering over me. “Felicity Forrest.”

“Goodnight, a stór ,” I manage, ignoring how my pulse thunders in my ears.

She turns toward the door but hesitates, glancing back at me like she’s caught between running and staying forever. “Goodnight.”

But she doesn’t go inside. Doesn’t even reach the door. Our eyes lock, and I can see the questions swirling behind those dark-grey irises—too many answers I’m not ready to give. My damn beast rages under my skin, fighting for dominance. It doesn’t care about my hesitation or my self-control. It wants her. And my shirt begins to tighten across my chest.

No. Not now. I fight it, but it’s a losing battle.

“Aye, fuck,” I say, my voice cracking as I try to hold back the inevitable.

My stallion snorts.

The shift rips through me, muscles twisting and lengthening. Pain shoots up my spine as I change. My legs elongate, my feet twist, and my hooves hit the ground before I can stop it. The sensation is always the same. It’s sharp, brutal, and a pain I know by heart.

She sees it. Her eyes widen. I hear the soft shuffle of her feet and her backing away from me.

No. I can’t let her leave.

“Stay with me,” I rasp, sounding weak. The body is slipping further away, swallowed by the beast inside me.

The shifting isn’t clean. It never is. My skin turns sleek and dark, like midnight. My hair grows thick and long, a wild mane that brushes the back of my neck. Her jaw drops. I grind my teeth to hold onto the last thread of control, but my stallion takes over, my heart racing as my senses sharpen. She’s right there , so close I can taste her air, her heat. I need her. We need her.

Felicity steps back, panic flashing across her face. My body thrums with need. My beast’s growl rumbles deep in my chest as I force myself to stay put.

It’s not enough. I need her on my back.

I need her to feel the power of us.