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CHAPTER 14

T he grin on Noah Riley’s face was pure deviltry and required Fintan to wipe it off—with his fists. Jealousy and possessiveness clouded his mind until he couldn’t think straight, fueled by his inner Siren’s need to claim Taryn, to eliminate anyone who might pose a threat. His logical side understood he was being a ridiculous git, but ever since Taryn had been hanging around, the instinct-driven beast neared the surface and was dangerously close to taking control.

He had to hand it to Noah; the guy didn’t back down. But then, as the Aether’s long-lost brother with his own superpowers, the bastard was as hard to kill as Fintan. Noah took the punch like a seasoned boxing champ, proof the years as a pub owner had toughened him up.

Taryn’s distressed cry pierced Fintan’s fury haze a second before she launched herself at him and locked him in a chokehold.

“Fintan Sullivan! You stop this insanity right now! Do you hear me?” With her free hand, she bonked him on the head. “Ow! How hard is that thing you call a skull?”

Noah snorted, crossed his arms, and leaned back on the banister to enjoy the show.

Fintan wanted to plant the man another facer, but he had Taryn to contend with. “Calm yourself, woman. He’s used to a bit of rowdiness now and again. Any man who runs an Irish pub can hold his own in a fight, or he won’t be in business long.”

She bonked him a second time before sliding down his back. The feel of her breasts against him intrigued the beast inside, and Fintan grinned when she lingered a few seconds longer than necessary. A quick glance at Noah told him the man hadn’t missed a bleeding thing. Neither Taryn’s indignation turned interest, nor Fintan’s rage turned amusement.

“Is this foreplay for the two of you?” Noah asked dryly.

Fintan sensed the instant she processed the jest. Not only did she yank away from him, but her mind went into denial. And didn’t that make him sad? When they first met, she would’ve been the first to laugh and quip something cheeky. The Taryn of today was reserved and slower to laugh.

The blame lay with him and all the arseholes who’d ever hurt her. She wasn’t wrong to say he was the first in succession. Despite what she believed, he’d kept tabs on her over the years, and when needed, he chased away a loser or two. The others she wised up about and kicked to the curb. Thankfully, Josie and the Aether got to Morcant first. There was no prediction for how a scenario would end if Fintan had taken matters into his own hands. He’d likely be dead or drained, considering an Arcane Devourer fed on grief and negativity. Fintan had loads to spare, believing Taryn loved another.

To save her any embarrassment and the need to answer, Fintan hauled her into his arms and tucked her against his chest. “What are you doin’ here, man? I thought we were to meet at your pub on Saturday.”

“Wait!” Taryn drew back and stared up at him curiously, but immediately punched him in the chest as if she’d remembered she should put up a token fight. “You’re friends? You hang out?”

Her disappointment, filtering through their connection, was keen, and his Siren growled.

This time, he managed to keep his jealousy controlled… barely.

“If ya want to date the man, Taryn-Taryn, best keep those thoughts to yourself, yeah?” he said through their link. “This monster inside has claimed ya for its own, and it’s gettin’ harder to deny.”

She gaped at him, and he gently tapped her mouth shut, releasing a resigned sigh.

“Build your mental wall before havin’ such thoughts, aoibhneas mo croí,” he said. “You may not care for me anymore, but I still love you, yeah? Your thoughts are hard for me to hear.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to date him. I don’t know him,” she shot back, looking annoyed.

And that’s when it hit him—Noah’s magnetism was intrinsic, like Damian’s, inherited from their mother, the Enchantress. He didn’t wield his sex appeal as a weapon with any intention of stealing women from others, although he very well could. Taryn had no control over her attraction to him.

“My niece, Sabrina, sent me with the Aether’s blessing,” Noah said. “There’s something about your estate that doesn’t agree with their magic, but I’ve been here before with no lasting effects, so…” He shrugged.

Taryn glanced between them with a tight smile. “Fintan, if you point me toward Narissa’s room, I’ll pop in to see her before I go.”

“Across the landing and one floor up,” he replied.

“Thanks.” Her eyes weren’t as bright as when they were younger or when she visited with Brenna, indicating she was unhappy to a large degree. And he only had himself to blame. There were so many things he wanted to tell her, but the timing was shite with Noah watching.

In silence, they waited until she was out of sight.

“She’s the one you were referring to when you said you had your own fate to avoid?” Noah asked with an appreciative smile.

“Sure, and when did I tell ya that?”

“The day we met. And technically, you told Patrick O’Malley. I just happened to be present.” Noah faced him. “What’s going on, Fin? You look more vexed than normal.”

Stalling for time, he asked, “What did your family tell ya?”

“Not much. They’re reticent when it comes to spilling the future. Damian said you’d fill me in on anything you want me to know.” Noah’s dark eyes narrowed. “So spill.”

“She found an amulet from my ancestor, and it may be the key to lockin’ the others out of my head. But I traded it to save Narissa.”

“Narissa? Your cousin?”

“Aye.” Fintan nodded sharply. “Our feckin’ aunt was torturin’ her.”

“Jaysus!”

“Yeah.” It still made him sick to think of it. He hated how easily Odessa had manipulated them, and he vowed to be better prepared for her next trick. Doubtless, there would be one. The Succubus ruled her, and sentimentality had no place in its heart.

Somber, Noah slapped him on the back. “Let’s get a pint. I think there’s a helluva lot more to this story than you’re telling me, and I want to know how I can help.”

Ten minutes later, in an abnormal act for him, Fintan was spilling his guts. Normally, his emotions were best expressed in song, or preferably not at all, but Noah had an easy way about him. It could be the “listener” gene all bartenders possess, or it could be the result of over two centuries of a constantly changing world, but he relayed caring and concern with a simple look.

“Grovel,” Noah suggested. “Find a way to lock your fucking ancestors out and do what men have been doing to get back into their partner’s good graces from the beginning of time.”

Fintan laughed and raised his glass in a toast. “Feckin’ grand plan if I could boot the bastards from me head.”

“Have you considered asking the Aether to remove your magic?”

The question required serious thought, and Fintan gave it its due. Finally, he shook his head. “Sure, and it wouldn’t feel right without my abilities. Not that I love them, mind, but because there’s no one to pass them to. Brenna and Narissa would be vulnerable to Odessa now that she’s got the necklace, and if she figures out how it works.”

“Why can’t your Seer ability pass to one of them?”

“They’re female.”

Noah’s black brows shot up. “Wow! Sexist much, mate?”

“Fuck off! Ya know I didn’t mean it like that.” Fintan cast him a sour look. “It’s the feckin’ curse of the Sullivans. Only the male gets the sight, and seein’ as I’m the only one left, that’s me, yeah?”

Narrowing his eyes, Noah sipped his drink in quiet contemplation, and Fintan was happy for the companionable silence.

“Why?” Noah asked.

“Why what?”

“Why only the men in your family? Have your ancestors said?”

“No.” Fintan was ashamed he never thought to inquire.

Noah sat forward. “If you were to die, would it go away?”

“Aye, I believe so.”

“You once told me you inherited your power from Peter. Who did he inherit it from?”

Racking his brain, Fintan thought back. No clear answer came to him. Why hadn’t he asked? He rose and crossed to the bookshelf. Without needing to search, he went straight to the book he was looking for, tugging it down to open the Sullivans’ ceremony room. Noah was close on his heels.

Pillar candles rested atop sconces screwed into stone-constructed walls and flared to life. They created dancing shadows, lending to an eerie atmosphere, reminiscent of a dungeon. But Fintan didn’t mind. Nothing here would harm him or his, not even the ancestors. It was one of two safe rooms where he could hide from any pain they chose to inflict. Except for rustic shelves on the far wall, a floor-to-ceiling scrying mirror, an old sailor’s chest at the altar’s base, and a pentagram on the floor, the room was barren.

“Nice place ya got here,” Noah said dryly. “Where are the bodies buried?”

Other than a chuckle, Fintan didn’t respond. He went straight for the grimoire. Although his cousins had access to its spells, they rarely needed them. The Sullivans’ gifts lay elsewhere. The book, along with the Seer ability, was intended for the estate’s caretaker—him.

Showing deference to the ancient spellbook, he stroked his fingers along the wooden embellishment on the leather cover.

“It resembles driftwood,” Noah said with a quirk of his lips.

“True enough, but it’s from the Goddess’s tree of life, like your brother’s.”

“I’ve never seen the Dethridge grimoire. My father stole me away one night, supposedly to save me.”

Fintan glanced up, surprised to hear his friend confess to part of his past when he was reticent before. “Yeah, and you were keepin’ that one close to the vest, man.”

Noah laughed, releasing the melancholy attempting to take hold. How Fintan sensed the moodiness, he could only guess. Perhaps, like Damian, Noah had the ability to alter the atmosphere with his stronger emotions.

“Show me the family tree,” he ordered the thick tome.

The grimoire’s heart—a rich, dark amethyst over three hundred carats of the highest quality—lit from within, displaying its many facets, and the leatherbound cover flipped open. Parchment pages originally crafted from animal skin flipped with blinding speed, stopping midway to reveal a list of names.

“Not what I bleedin’ asked for, but grand, all the same,” he muttered.

Noah’s grin flashed, and he bent forward to read the list.

Peter’s name appeared above Fintan’s, but it was the penciled-in name after his that surprised him.

Micha.

No last name or indication of relationship.

“Who’s Micha?” Noah asked sharply, sensing Fintan’s unease.

“I don’t know, but I’m beginnin’ to suspect I have my long-lost brother skulkin’ around.” Striding to the mirror, he said, “Show me Micha Sullivan.”

Smoke obscured the glass, and the candles flickered in warning. The only instances Fintan encountered resistance while scrying were Aether-related.

“What the fuck?” He shook his head and glanced at Noah. “I’m not sure how the ley lines will react to you when I draw from them. I’m after creatin’ a powerful spell, so the decision is yours to stay or leave the room.”

“I’ll stay, and if it interrupts your spell, I’ll step out.”

“Aye.”

“By candle’s reflection, spells undone,

Reveal the place of Micha Sullivan.

No shield or ward shall cloud my sight,

Bring forth the truth, restoring the truth by right.”

The ground rumbled, and the mirror cracked.

Still, no Micha.

Fintan’s vicious curses were echoed by Noah, though his friend’s resulted more from shocked wonder.

“Have you ever encountered the likes of this before?” Fintan asked him.

“No,” Noah admitted grimly. “But I know who might’ve. Give me a minute to get Damian on the line.”

Once he was alone, Fintan strode to the grimoire. “Find a feckin’ spell to fix the bleedin’ mirror.”