Page 13 of The Deep End of Death (Twilight Lake #4)
Instead, an unfamiliar voice drew their attention to the back of the galley.
“She burst them.” The stranger laughed, the sound high-pitched and manic. “Your little lady burst those Fae like an overfilled water skein.”
Rainn’s face changed, his lips pulling away from his teeth. “How do you know that?”
“I’m a Créacht Sídhe. I sensed the blood.” The stranger said, out of breath from his words. He had been tied to face the dark wall, away from the rest of the group.
Cormac let out a muffled protest. Shay sighed and marched over to the Mer, pulling a knife from his pockets.
Cormac pushed the ropes off his body and pulled the gag out of his mouth. His entire face was puce with anger, and his green eyes bulged. “That rag tasted foul .” A series of insults and curses followed, directed at the others.
Shay clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, ignoring Cormac as he skirted around the group toward the red-haired prisoner. Shay used his magic to scan for injuries, having only used the minimum amount of healing magic to save his energy before, but the stranger had healed well.
“The pirates took you?” Shay cocked his head to the side as he approached. On the other side of the galley, the other males argued as Cormac played the victim.
The stranger’s eyes sliced towards the bickering fae and back to Shay. “Aye. It’s a rather convoluted tale, to be sure.”
Shay chuffed a laugh. “I believe we’re in the same boat.”
“Rather literally.” The stranger tried to laugh before wincing and clasping his stomach. “I take it the ship is unmoored at this present time?”
“The crew is indisposed,” Shay said in a dry tone. “Would you like me to check the wound on your stomach? If you promise not to kill me.”
“I could kill you right here. I’m a Créacht Sídhe. I can control blood.” The stranger groaned, resting his head against the beam. “I’d say your attention is better focused on your Shíorghrá over there.”
“She’s asleep.” Shay’s shoulders stiffened defensively.
“Hmm.”
“If I untie you, you must promise not to harm us.” Shay narrowed his eyes.
“A binding promise?” The stranger laughed, clutching his stomach in pain. “Why the feck not?—I , Cillian Lane, Créacht Sídhe, Bréanainn of the Night Court, promise not to harm you and your group —unless you strike the first blow. I’d say that’s a fair promise.”
Shay studied the blood-covered man before he reached for his knife and cut the stranger's bindings. The redhead, Cillian, stretched his arms out, his skin bloodied and worn from the rope. Shay didn’t want to consider how long the Sídhe had been tied up.
Cillian shoved his wounded wrist under the tattered fabric of his shirt, flashing Shay a bright smile that made the Nymph uneasy. Shay wondered what he had done. What manner of criminal he had let loose.
Perhaps Cillian Lane was like him, a victim of the pirate's greed. He couldn’t be sure.
Shay Mac Eoin knew nothing of the land-fae surrounding the Dark Sea. Nymphs were reclusive and untrusting by nature despite their promiscuity.
Maeve stirred, and the leaden weight in his stomach grew heavier.
He had been trying to distract himself. Refusing to admit that he might be worried about the Undine.
He didn’t want the others to know. Rainn and Tormalugh were mated to her, and though they had been friends for years, he didn’t want to rock their current tenuous relationship by propositioning a mated woman.
He didn’t even know why he had come. He should have been home .
Shay pushed himself to stand with a sigh, approaching the group. Rainn and Tormalugh fussed over Maeve, and Cormac stood back, watching with his arms crossed over his chest.
Cormac Illfinn was his closest friend. The Nymph village’s proximity to Tarsainn meant they saw each other often growing up, for trade and even social occasions.
Cormac was smug, arrogant, and annoying, to be sure, but he was more loyal than the others put together.
It used to bother Shay that Rainn and Tormalugh were close until he realized that he and Cormac had a similar bond.
Something bothered the Mer. Shay sensed Cormac’s conflicting emotions, pride and lust at war with each other whenever he looked at Maeve—but something else lingered on Shay’s tongue as he approached.
Cormac Illfinn was hiding something, and his shame tasted like rotten fruit.
Shay joined him, and they looked down at Maeve without saying a word.
He had so many questions.
Did Maeve really kill all those pirates?
Maeve rolled over, spewing a mass of writhing black oil onto the dusty floor.
It was coated in Nuada’s magic. Her shirt fell open, ripped in the middle.
Perhaps the pirates had tried something after all, Shay thought.
And he was surprised by the disgust and indignant rage he felt at the idea of Maeve being touched by those filthy creatures.
Tor had been right. It wasn’t about purity or possession.
It was something else entirely.
He saw it on her chest. A scar or brand, he couldn’t be sure.
Feeling the skin on his own chest prickle, he rubbed his pectoral muscle, trying to get another look at the marking on her breast—before Rainn gathered Maeve into his arms and rocked her, hiding her body from sight.
Shay Mac Eoin thought of all of the snide comments Cormac had made over the last few days. And how insistent the Siren Queen had been when she told him of the danger.
Is Maeve my mate ? He wondered. Is the prophecy true?