Page 13

CHAPTER 12

T ragically, Taryn didn’t trust Fintan’s willingness to vex the entities controlling his brain. She built the mental wall like Creed had instructed before giving way to her doubts. With Fintan’s mission to deliver the necklace, he needed all his wits. Her skepticism regarding a relationship shouldn’t weigh on his mind.

Left with nothing to do but check on Narissa and head home, she went upstairs—and promptly got lost. Wandering aimlessly, she checked room after room, climbing the tower until she stumbled upon the one she least expected to find again.

Fintan’s.

She hadn’t realized she’d ventured into the north wing. But maybe her heart was leading her feet instead of listening to her head. Her rebellious limbs took control and crossed the threshold to his room. The first time she was here, she hadn’t given her surroundings much thought. She’d been too concerned for him. But how did she resist a peek into his space when it might give her insight into the man himself?

Decorated in rich navy blue with silver and black accents, it leaned toward gothic. The mammoth four-poster bed was made of the sturdiest wood, and without magical ability, the damned thing wasn’t moving an inch. Although his room was the size of two of hers combined, it was sparse, hinting that Fintan preferred a minimalist lifestyle.

A bureau of drawers on the far wall sparked her curiosity, and she eased open the middle one to peer inside. Graphic t-shirts were neatly folded and coordinated by color, clarifying he was a bit of a neat freak, like she’d always suspected. Lifting one, she inhaled. The combination of wild prairies and ocean breezes greeted her nose. Did he hike? Spend time at the beach? How did the material still retain his unique scent after washing?

She rubbed her cheek on the butter-soft material, half tempted to steal it. Deciding to forego the larcenous life, she returned the shirt to its home and closed the drawer. Abandoning the bureau, she crossed to an antique writing desk. A half-composed song lay on top, and Taryn played the notes in her mind. The tune was haunting and would hit platinum status if he decided to make a comeback and release it.

Peering into the drawers, she found more handwritten music, all neatly stacked. The words were pure poetry and spoke to her battered heart. Who had the man become in the twenty-plus years since they’d met? The grumpy recluse or the romantic musician? She sighed and shoved the drawer closed, pausing when a framed picture slid into view.

Like a woman dying of thirst, she drank in Fintan’s happy face. The wide grin, the sparkling eyes, the way he leaned into the person he was with. It took a few precious heartbeats to realize she was the one he held. That effervescent girl was someone she no longer recognized when she looked in the mirror.

“I love ya, Taryn-Taryn. I always have, and I’ll not be denyin’ it any longer.”

Fintan’s departing words rang inside her head, and she sat down heavily on the bed’s edge as she stared at the photo in her hands. Was this proof? Why wait a lifetime to say anything? And why speak up now when her ability to return his love was questionable? How was she supposed to trust he wouldn’t leave her at a train station again?

“We were just kids, aoibhneas mo croí ,” he said softly from the doorway.

Caught red-handed, she gasped and flung the frame toward the head of the bed. “What are you doing back so soon?”

He laughed. “Sure, and it only takes a minute to hand over an object to a person you never want to see or speak to again.” Fintan retrieved the picture and studied the joyful couple. With a sad expression, he said, “I’d have come back for you if I were able.”

“You had decades, and you never did.” Taryn felt exposed and brittle.

“Aye, but I never stopped tryin’.” He tossed the photo, circled the four-poster, and cupped her jaw. “I meant what I said.”

Knocking his hand away, she stood. “No. I’ve visited Brenna countless times, and every single one of those times, you scurried away.” She swallowed her rising anger. No good would come of her raging this late in the game. “I’m not buying what you’re selling, Fintan Sullivan. Go peddle it to someone else,” she said tiredly.

“That’s it then? You’ve— argh !” He paled and fell backward, clutching his head

“Fintan!” She dove for him with no idea what to do to save him, but willing to try anyway. When she reached his side, his eyes were opaque, and his jaw was slack.

“Shit! What do I do?” she cried as she cradled his face in her hands. The wave of energy almost knocked her on her ass, actually would have had she not been kneeling on the mattress.

He returned to himself with a string of curses. For a brief moment, his eyes were tortured as they stared up at her, and in the next instant, he was holding her in a bear hug as if he would never let go. She let the embrace continue until the tension left his body, then she wiggled to get free.

“I feel a bit suffocated here, Fintan.”

“Jaysus! Sorry.” Color stained his cheeks, and he looked everywhere but at her. “I didn’t mean… I… you… the vision.” He scrubbed his face with his palms. “Yeah, and I’ll shut me gob now.”

Leaving him in his shaky state would be heartless, and Taryn repositioned herself to kneel beside him, stroking his sweat-damp hair away from his temple. “What did you see?” she asked softly.

“More of the same. Things meant to torment and cause sleepless nights.” His voice was raw, and it was easy to guess he hated being exposed as he was. Vulnerability wasn’t the man’s strong suit.

“You were standing over my grave again?” It hurt her to ask, but knowledge was power, right?

“Aye.”

“So whatever happened today with the necklace didn’t change anything,” she concluded, falling back on her heels. Why she was calm was a mystery when her death couldn’t be more certain, yet she wasn’t afraid. Her fear had receded in light of the mystery surrounding the vision. Or maybe acceptance came with age. No one lived indefinitely, and to believe she was fated to have a long, happy life was arrogant.

His gaze locked with hers. “I’ll do my fuckin’ best to keep you safe, aoibhneas mo croí. ”

“Thank you for not promising to save me. I hate it when people do that. The Gods and Fates hold all the power over us, not men, despite their white-knight complexes.”

“Sure, and sometimes those feckin’ bastards can be reasoned with.” A wry smile crooked his lips. “Other times, they need to be shown the error of their ways.”

“The white knights or the Gods and Fates?” she asked with a faint smile.

“The whole bleedin’ lot of them.”

His warm smile, the admiration shining from his gorgeous eyes, and his blasted nearness all worked against her. Taryn wanted to give in to his magnetism, but down that path lay destruction. Hers !

“So everything went okay with Odessa?” she asked as she rose and walked to his writing desk. “Your fast return seems anticlimactic.”

Fintan followed her. “She only wanted the necklace.”

“Do you think it was wise to afford her that much power?” Taryn glanced up to see him watching her with something akin to adoration. Her heart rate doubled, hammering hard against her ribcage.

His lips twisted as if he possessed intimate knowledge of her uncomfortableness in his presence. Yes, she could leave, but the part of her that didn’t want to was in control of her legs.

“No, but she’ll need to unlock its abilities, and none of us know what it truly does, yeah?” Fintan shrugged, turning away to retrieve a guitar from beside the desk. He sprawled on the window seat, with his back to the attached bookcase, and crossed his ankles as he fiddled with the tuning pegs. Once satisfied, he closed his eyes and plucked out a tune.

She recognized it from the half-written song on the desk.

Opening his eyes, he met hers across the distance and began singing words he’d not written. By the end of the first line, she was sitting on the floor beside the bench. By the end of the second, her throat was constricted with all the heartbreak and regret she’d felt from their aborted relationship. And with the third verse, tears streamed uncontrolled down her cheeks.

He never broke eye contact, but his voice turned raspy, lending more emotion to the song. Doubtless, he was experiencing the same emotions as her. The truth was laid bare for her to see if she cared to.

“Is this the effect of your Siren,” she asked, her mouth dry. “This stirring?”

He set the guitar aside, then joined her on the floor. Kneeling in front of her, he simply stared, making no move to touch.

“What stirring, aoibhneas mo croí ? What is it ya feel?”

“The worst sort of regret and pain,” she confessed.

“Aye. Maybe you’ve accessed my feelings on the matter, yeah? I’ve had nothing but regret from the moment I left you that morning with the promise to return.”

Daring the one question tormenting her forever, she asked, “Do you think it would’ve been different if I’d gone with you instead of leaving you to deal with Peter’s death on your own? That we’d have stayed together?”

“No.”

His bluntness stole her breath, and she nodded slowly, willing her lungs to function.

“Not because of us, Taryn-Taryn. The ancestors wouldn’t allow it, but I wish you’d have come with me anyway.” A single tear trailed down his cheek, and Taryn caught it with her fingers. Fintan grasped her hand and kissed the moisture away. “I’ll never be able to apologize enough. Yours wasn’t the only heart broken that day, aoibhneas mo croí .”

He didn’t try to hide his pain, and she appreciated his honesty.

“So many wasted years, huh?” she murmured almost to herself. Dropping her hand, she rose. It helped, perhaps even healed her a little, to know he’d suffered. She wasn’t being petty, but learning he’d truly cared made their brief love affair a lot less like a careless fling. “I suppose I should thank you for the truth after all this time.”

“Will ya stay?”

Did he mean with him or at the estate? Strangely, she didn’t possess the courage to ask.

“Either,” he replied to her internal question, reminding her of their link.

Enveloping her hands in his, he looked up at her, compelling her to say yes. She wanted to, but she was also damned tired of making foolish mistakes when it came to men and her heart.

“It’s not a good idea, Fintan.”

His hopeful light died. He released her with a nod, focusing on the horizon outside the window. “Will ya check in with me daily until I can determine what the vision is about?”

“I can do that.”

“Grand.” Climbing to his feet, he raised his arm, palm up. “I’ll take ya to Narissa.”

“Oh! Right.” She’d long forgotten her intent to check on his cousin and Creed. Placing her hand in his, she squeezed tightly. “Thank you for giving me a choice, Fintan. For not trying to force me to stay in some misguided need to protect me.”

“Your destiny is your own, Taryn-Taryn. But if I can prevent the bleedin’ Fates from hurtin’ ya or help you figure out where the threat originates, I will.”

As they traversed the halls, she gave in to the desire to lace her arm through his and hug this small part of him close. They’d reached the top of the stairs when one of the hottest men she’d ever encountered stepped into view.

Black-haired and hot enough to melt steel, he was tall, with wide shoulders and a killer smile. The man possessed a laid-back but powerful vibe that immediately gained one’s notice. His midnight-colored gaze swept the length of her, and a lazy grin spread across his face when he saw them.

Her body went into gushy, schoolgirl mode, and heat swept through her, landing squarely in her cheeks. Pressing her hands to her face in a vain effort to cool them, she did the unthinkable and batted her eyelashes.

“Well, hello, love. Where’s this one been hidin’ you?”

Dear lord, he was sin in human form, designed to ruin lives.

Beside her, Fintan growled.

“I, uh… who… you…” Good Christ! She’d lost her wits and her ability to speak!

“Are ya feckin’ bamming me with this shite?” Fintan snarled inside her head.

She winced and turned to glare. “Seriously, dude? Can I help it if he’s a walking thirst trap for parched women?”

“Didn’t I warn ya I’d kill a man?” he demanded.

“Of all the caveman bullshit to come out of your mouth, Fintan Sullivan, this is the dumbest!”

“The sexual tension between the two of you couldn’t be sliced with the sharpest blade,” the stranger quipped. “I’m not after stealing your woman, Sullivan. It just comes naturally.”

Fintan charged.