Page 9 of Of Shadows & Ash (Land of Shadows #1)

Chapter Eight

NIALL O’LEARY

“You might as well try to outswim the tide as ignore the call of the ceangal. It’ll nae do you a feckin’ bit of good.”

Ariel O’Sullivan, Healer, Wraithwind Court

Moments Before While Trying Not To Look Like A Murderous Stalker (And Failing Miserably)…

T he drunk staggers too close to her table, his stumble setting my teeth on edge. Before I even register it, my draíocht rises as cold as winter’s bite. It curls around the room like a warning. The bastard freezes mid-step, swaying as his reddened eyes shift to me. The message I shoot to him is clear: Get too close to her, and you’ll bleed for it.

Her gaze slides toward mine, catching the sharp edge of my glare meant for the drunk. For a moment, her lips part, and the softest flush blooms across her cheeks before she quickly focuses back on the priest, as though pretending she hadn’t seen the hunger in my eyes or the way it made her react.

But I can smell it. That sweet, sinful scent of her arousal wraps around me, subtle but impossible to miss. And I know that decadent essence is hers like I know my lungs process air. It stirs the feral part of me. She’s fire and temptation rolled into one dangerous package. And me? I’m already fucking lost.

The drunk stumbles, misplacing his foot and dragging my attention away from her. I lean forward. His glazed eyes widen like he’s just realised he’s stepped straight into the wolf’s den, and I’m the wolf. He throws his hands up in a sloppy, half-arsed apology but manages to smack the bottom of a woman’s purse. It swings, thudding against the table and drawing a glare from her partner.

He retreats like a guilty kid caught stealing sweets, swaying so hard he nearly topples before crashing into his seat at a table of equally wrecked lads. They erupt in laughter, one of them slapping his back like he’s just won a prize for being the clumsiest bastard in the room.

But I’m already done with him. My gaze snaps back to her . She’s radiant, and—gods help me—I’m ready to tear apart this pub, brick by brick, for reasons I can’t explain.

My feet are already moving, instinct overriding thought. Tomas is right behind me, muttering something I don’t catch as we grab a table closer to hers—the previous occupants scurrying to vacate after one look from me. The placement isn’t accidental. It puts us squarely between her and the large table full of rowdy drunks.

Tomas drops onto a gouged wooden chair, then casually leans back with his whiskey. “If looks could kill, mate. You might as well carve mine into her chair and piss on it while you’re at it.”

I don’t answer. Not because he’s wrong. This reckless, possessive pull makes my pulse hammer. But, I’ve already made my choice. I’m not leaving until I know exactly why she’s here and what those shadows around her mean.

I try to look relaxed, but inside? I’m fucking wrecked. Every instinct I’ve got is clawing to the surface, like a beast scenting blood for the first time. My hands itch to move, to touch, to do something . My fists clench so tight my knuckles ache.

She doesn’t see it—how my gaze snags on the curve of her neck, the way her pulse flutters just beneath the skin. Or how her voice sends a jolt of something savage straight through me, leaving me aching for more. I force my expression to stay blank, my posture loose, but—fuck me—I’m one wrong move away from snapping.

The shadows cling to her, curling around her as though she belongs to them or them to her. I can’t decide which is worse. It’s the way they react to her, like they’re part of her, or worse, feeding off her.

Shadows don’t move like that. Not without a reason.

I can feel the draíocht in the room shifting, bending toward her like she’s some kind of magnet. Those shadows are familiar in a way that sets my teeth on edge. They move just like the ones from the Void in-between or the Obsidian Court. Hungry. Waiting.

But the Void doesn’t let anyone go. Ever.

And yet she’s here, walking free. Why? How?

Her gaze cuts to mine. The bond buzzes like a live wire snapping between us. Its pull is so intense it leaves every nerve in my body vibrating, humming with awareness. The connection burns, demanding more, driving toward something I don’t fully understand. But those shadows…they twist around her. Dark. Possessive. They don’t belong to the ceangal . They’re something else entirely. Something far more dangerous.

And they shouldn’t exist outside the Veil, but they’re here in the Ironlands, writhing and pulsing with hunger. A predatory tension that crawls along my skin, daring me to come closer. What if they’re not just attached to her but tied to something worse?

The thought gnaws at me. If the shadows are hers, what does that mean? Is she a threat? A victim? Both? The answer hides in the dark space between her soul and mine, and I have to know.

Tomas follows my conflicted gaze straight to her. “What’s the plan? Because if it involves staring contests, I think you’re winning.”

“I’m assessing the situation,” I refute, my focus remaining locked on her.

Tomas grunts, his scarred face twisting between a smile and a sneer. “Aye, looks more like you’re ready to drag her behind the pub, shove her against the wall, and sink your teeth into her neck. Always were a greedy bastard when something caught your eye.”

My stallion snickers, but I don’t need the jabbing right now, not from either of them. She looks like trouble. The fun kind.

“Shut it,” I mutter, a bit too loudly. Tomas raises an eyebrow. “Not you,” I add quickly, “arguing with my beast.”

Tomas chuckles. “Your beast is drawn to her, but maybe the lass is a mite more distraction than we need while staking out the priest.”

My stallion chimes in. Distraction? Oh, we’re well past that, mate.

I shake my head. My goal is simple. Keep my sister out of the Madden’s claws. But I can’t ignore this fucking pull towards her .

Caitlin slides over with her tray littered with dirty glasses. “Refill?”

“Whiskey, neat,” I say, hoping alcohol will cut through the tightness in my chest.

Tomas barely spares her a glance. “Same here.”

Caitlin moves off again, her steps confident, like someone who knows every inch of this place.

“There’s something off about the magic here,” I say, my voice low.

Tomas leans forward, his scarred face unreadable. “Walk me through your thoughts.”

My gaze skims over the jaunty green twinkle lights still strung above the gouged-up bar even though St. Patrick’s Day is long gone. The usual hum of conversation flows through the pub, mingling with the clink of glass on wood, but magic slithers beneath it, shimmering with potential.

Bright, buzzy, and headier than any overpriced cocktail they serve the tourists. I inhale, taking a whiff of it. Green. Nature-based. And something a touch… airy . A lineage I can trace back to the druids in Ireland. My attention zeroes in on the table where she sits with her friend, the magic flickering around them in gentle waves.

But that’s not the only thing I taste in the air. I breathe in deeper, my skin tingling as I pick through the sensory overload. Beneath that fresh, crisp forest energy is a darker shade of magic, the truly dangerous shit that can backfire. Hard. And judging by the prickle running down my spine, someone here is more than comfortable wielding it.

“The shimmer I saw around the priest earlier is gone.” My fingers drum on the sticky tabletop. “Magic like that doesn’t vanish without cause. If it’s cloaked by glamour, it’s not your run-of-the-mill variety.”

“Agreed.” Tomas assesses the four people and glances around the pub. “There’s old, dark power that doesn’t belong in a place like this.”

I close my eyes, letting the pub noise dissolve into the background. My focus narrows. The priest. Tension coils tight, like a string about to snap. I open my eyes and frown, staring at the priest as if I can peel back the layers of him with sheer stubbornness.

The silence in my head is wrong. Normally, the beast is quick to snarl, growl, or hiss out a warning. But now? Nothing. It could mean the priest might be one of the good ones. Gods preserve us. “The priest doesn’t feel like the source.”

“Aye,” Tomas draws out. “He’s not the origin.” He gestures toward the table with a tilt of his head. “Her? She’s a different story?”

I nod, eyes narrowing. “The power feels thick, deliberate. Wielded by someone old. And strong. It doesn’t feel cold or malicious. More like a glamour.”

“Even the best glamours crack eventually,” Tomas murmurs. “Lose their edge. Like a mask under too much strain.”

“But the magic?” I glance at him, jaw tightening. “It’s still here. Dark. Suffocating. The kind that doesn’t belong in a place like this.”

Tomas’s expression hardens. “You think it’s human?”

“No. That’s not human magic. And whatever it is, it’s not supposed to be here.”

Tomas exhales, his hand hovering near the blade at his side. “So, what the hell is she hiding?”

“That’s exactly what we’re going to find out.”

Tomas narrows his eyes, one corner of his mouth twitching. “Your beast picking up anything useful or just rattling on about her hips?”

A little of both. “No, it’s different.”

His gaze drifts back to the woman. “You’re drawn to her, not by duty, but something deeper. The ceangal , perhaps?”

My jaw tightens.

It doesn’t matter what I want. Warmth spreads to my gut, primal and maddening. The heat carries her emotions, her confusion, her goddamn presence . I hate it on principle. The bond doesn’t ask. It demands. It’s binding, consuming, and as subtle as a fist to the gut. And my stallion? He’s smug as hell about it.

It yanks me closer every time I try to breathe past it. And to make sure I get the message loud and clear? The draíocht slams into me with a single truth. She isn’t just another mortal. She’s mine now.

Mine. Whether I like it or not.

Which means no one else can have her. Not Madden, not anyone. I can’t let a beast like him sink his claws into her, twist her into something dark and broken. But claiming her? It doesn’t exactly save my sister, now does it? Fuuuuuck. Every choice pulls tighter, the noose closing in, and I’m the one who put my head through the loop.

I squeeze my empty glass, forcing myself to stay rooted in place because the alternative? Storming over there, dragging her out of this pub, and letting every bastard here know exactly who she belongs to? That’s not an option. But I can already feel her heartbeat thrumming through my veins, tangled with mine like it’s always been there.

“I’m here to keep my sister out of the Crimson Court’s claws, nothing more,” I snap, pretending the woman means nothing. Pretending because the alternative—letting this bond take root—is a curse I can’t afford. I need to know if she’s tied to the reason the Veil is fraying. Beyond that, I need to stick to the plan—find someone else to whet Madden’s appetite so he doesn’t kill me while we figure out how to transfer the Gloaming mark. That’s why I came here. Even if every bone in my body is screaming to mark the dark-haired witch as mine . “I have a plan.”

Tomas jerks his head to the side with a sharp, dismissive movement.

Caitlin sets our drinks down, but her eyes stick to Tomas like a cat watching a bird. She doesn’t bother with subtlety, letting her gaze linger before sauntering off to serve someone else. Tomas, of course, either doesn’t notice or pretends not to because he’s bonded and the universe would crack in half before he acknowledged being ogled.

I nod. “I think she likes you.”

Tomas grunts. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve got a woman. You should be more worried about going home empty-handed. Your da won’t give a shite about excuses when you show up without a woman.”

I snort. “I’ll pick someone. She doesn’t have to like me. She just needs a pulse.”

Tomas shoots me a look that says he’s questioning my intelligence and life choices again. Then smirks. “You think so little of yourself, Niall. Some women like a man with a face like he’s chewing on a nettle. Sure, she’ll be willing, but staying that way? That’s where you’ll cock it up.”

I groan but let it slide, keeping my plan to myself. Tomas might be too close to my father for comfort, and I’m not about to risk laying it all out for someone who might decide to side with him instead of me. “It’s a low bar. Even a goat is willing if you wave enough grain in front of it. It’s hard to know where obligation ends and where I begin anymore.”

“Look, Niall,” he growls, his lip curling enough to make it clear he thinks I’m a self-indulgent idiot. “I know you’ve got orders to follow, but don’t lose the man under the crown. The court has already got enough soulless bastards.”

Before I can answer, I catch the word púca from the priest’s table. Are they talking about us? I listen in on the witchy lass with midnight-black hair shot through with silver, and hips that could make a sensible fae stupid. My beast stiffens, but even with my hearing, the conversation is muffled.

The priest rises with one of the women, leading her to the door. She steps into the night without looking back, but he doesn’t follow—someone catches his arm. He stops, speaking with two men, and the air in front of them shivers like liquid glass, their voices swallowed by a glamour. My jaw tightens, instincts sharpening. The question isn’t if they’re hiding something. It’s which one of them is pulling the strings.

Tomas nudges me. “What’s the plan?”

“We stick around,” I mutter. “Find out why she’s here.”

Caitlin appears at my side, as quiet as a shadow. I’ve known her for years, but knowing Caitlin is like dodging a blade. Her sharp eyes and even sharper tongue never miss a thing. According to her aunt, she wants off this rock and isn’t exactly thrilled with the so-called honour of the generational task of serving us. Not that I blame her, but that doesn’t mean I trust her.

Especially not with the way she sidles too close, cataloguing my every move like she’s preparing for some future trial. One where the winning argument involves a blackthorn stake through my chest, followed by a quick, precise decapitation—executed, of course, with perfect posture and a twisted little grin.

Caitlin smiles. “Can I get you two more whiskey?”

“Aye,” Tomas says, gesturing toward the table by the hearth. “You don’t happen to know those two women?”

Her expression shifts, lips tightening with enough miffed energy to suggest she’d much rather he ask about her. “That one over there…” She nods to the woman who has my beast ready to go, even if I’m not. “…is here to investigate you .”

With that ominous declaration, Caitlin marches off to serve a guy waving her down.

I stare at the woman. Shadows still coil around her, threading through her dark hair and skimming her form with a possessive touch. Her stormy grey eyes burn with defiance, seemingly blind to the danger curling at her edges. I know nothing about her, and looks can be deceiving. Maybe I’m hoping she’s not a bigger complication.

My heart lurches. I gaze through the window, half-expecting to spot a Sluagh or Gnáthmharfóirí slinking through the night. Darkness and nothing more. I don’t know if she has anything to do with the Veil. Maybe she’s another mortal passing through. I don’t need this distraction from my course, no matter how much I want her. But none of this seems to sway my beast. She’s looking at you , he all but sings in my head. Go to her.

I glance up. Sure enough, she’s staring right at me.

I grab the battered tumbler in front of Tomas and down the last of his whiskey in one gulp. It burns as I down it, and for a moment, I imagine it can burn this pull right out of me. But no, it’s still there. Her. Staring right through me like she already knows I’m fucking trouble. Which I am. For her, for me, for everyone.

I push back my chair, standing slowly. This is a bad idea. The kind that ends in flames and broken bones.

And yet…

My feet are already moving.