Page 6

CHAPTER 5

F ive days had passed, and the bleedin’ necklace was burning a hole in Fintan’s pants pocket. He’d ignored the order to give it to the Aether, knowing his ancestors were using Taryn as a mouthpiece. But he couldn’t ignore them for long. Odd, though, how in the time since he’d been carrying it on his person, they’d yet to summon him. He’d assumed they’d be as ruthless as usual, causing him untold pain whenever he dared to question their edict.

Still, caution urged him not to wear it as instructed by Uncle Peter. Too many things felt off about the entire incident, and until he had a handle on what the amulet could do, he wasn’t taking any chances.

First, the urgency bothered him.

Why the sudden push to ignore his destiny?

Second, was the secrecy.

Why, when presented with the opportunity to tell him about the history, didn’t his uncle take it?

As Fintan strummed his guitar and gazed out over the peaceful gardens of the Sullivan estate, he considered all the possibilities of the jewelry. As hard as he’d tried, he failed to dig up fuck all on Bloodstone or the bleedin’ necklace. No one in his immediate circle had heard of it. He feared contacting Taryn was his only option.

His frustration was great in every way that counted.

Awareness rippled through him as the house alerted him to a visitor’s presence. But had the magical notification not happened, he’d have known who was on the other side of the twelve-foot hawthorn-wood door. Pressing his forehead to the hard surface, he fought the desire to run or bash his brains in until forgetfulness came. Instead, he swung the door wide as Taryn reached for the knocker.

“Oh! Uh, hi,” she stammered.

Her confusion was understandable. Fintan never answered the door if he knew she was visiting. In the past, he would inform Brenna or Eoin of her approach and disappear into the bowels of the estate, never to be seen again until she departed.

He stepped aside to allow her entry and looked his fill as she gestured to his guitar.

“You still play?” she asked in that breathy way that shot straight to his cock.

“Did ya think I wouldn’t?” he asked dryly.

Her cheeks flushed becomingly, and he soaked in the sight, filing the memory for a later date.

“The world as a whole wondered when you disappeared from the music scene,” she said.

“The world or you?”

“Both.”

Though she knew the way to Brenna’s wing, she followed him down the hallway and into the sunroom.

Fintan didn’t object as he once might’ve.

“Surely you read all the reports?” Taryn asked. “There were rumors you’d died in a fiery crash or lost your vocal cords to some dreaded disease, like cancer.”

“But you didn’t believe them,” he stated matter-of-factly.

After she perched on the loveseat, he sprawled in the chair opposite and propped his guitar on his thigh. Resting his head against the cushion, he observed her. In the brief time they’d dated, he loved watching her animated face as she gabbed on about whatever interested her.

“Ya had to know what I was back then, yeah?” he asked.

“I recognized you were a fellow witch, but I hadn’t heard the term Siren before.” She shrugged and met his curious regard. “I did wonder, though. There were anti-witch factions still at large, and I worried about you being caught in their trap.”

“I’d have saved you the worry if I’d have known about it,” he assured her.

Her lips twisted in a bitter smile, and the sight caused Fintan’s gut to clench. His “ghosting” had hurt her far more than he’d realized. Hurt them both.

“Having learned of a Siren’s ability to lure magic from others, I’m curious. Is that why you stopped singing? Are males of your kind known as Sirens, too?”

He considered her question as he fiddled with the tuning pegs. “No to the first, and yes to the second. I stopped because of Uncle Peter and this feckin’ Seer nonsense. When he died, I was the one cursed with his gift. Can ya imagine me onstage, droppin’ to the ground when a vision struck?” Fintan snorted with wry amusement, recalling his career with more than a little sadness. At odds with his need for privacy was the enjoyment he’d received performing.

“And yeah”—he locked eyes with her—“the males, rare though they be, are Sirens, too. They’re far less dangerous than the females of our species until they turn evil.”

“Turn evil?” Her brows clashed, and confusion filled her lovely visage. “I don’t understand.”

Fintan saw no reason to hold back the truth. If she wished to be so bold, she could easily ask Damian about his kind. Hell, she probably had.

“I’d have thought Brenna would’ve told you about our Aunt Odessa.”

“Not all of it,” she said. “She only mentioned she’d worked for her, in passing, and it wasn’t pleasant.”

His cousin’s conflict with Odessa’s Succubus was personal, and if she didn’t wish to share, he’d not dishonor her by telling tales behind her back.

“If I steal another’s magic through seduction, using my musical gifts, I’ll become an Incubus.”

She shook her head, and her frown deepened. “I’ve heard the term in passing, but I thought they were something the fantasy world made up.”

“No, aoibhneas mo croí . They’re very real. And they’ve an insatiable desire for sex and power, not carin’ who they destroy to get it.”

“But your cousins aren’t evil, meaning they haven’t stolen any power. What makes you believe you would?”

While it was true Narissa and Brenna were possessed of an ironclad will, Fintan wasn’t. He was weak. And because of that weakness, he’d buried himself at the estate and enchanted the landscape to hide for the last two and a half decades. If the temptation were removed, his chances of remaining human were greater. Even as he had the thought, his gaze dropped to Taryn’s full lips. The pull to seduce her was more fierce than any he’d experienced. Having her here, in his safe space, sheltered from the world, was intoxicating. If he could keep her here forever, he would.

“Sexual desire, whether it be a man’s or a woman’s, is biological, Taryn-Taryn,” he said in a soft, hypnotic voice. As he spoke, the tendrils of his power emerged and drifted through the air between them. It enveloped her, caressing her aura and stoking her barely concealed desire for him. “It stems from a need to procreate. But for my kind, the drive is greater than all that.” He strummed a haunting note, drawing it out longer than humanly possible. Lowering his voice, he said, “It’s a necessity.”

He felt the second her passion sparked to life, and she shifted in her seat. Her breaths were little more than pants as her head fell back and her eyes closed. If he wanted to give her an orgasm with just his music, he could, but the risk of taking what she wouldn’t freely give—her magic—was too great.

The chord he struck was discordant and an assault on their ears. He dropped the guitar onto the seat beside him and rose.

“I’ll tell Brenna you’re here,” he said coolly, prepared to hide from Taryn for the remainder of his life if he had to. There was no way in hell he’d hurt her if he could help it. And that’s what stealing from her would do: remove not only her abilities but her life force with it.

“You wouldn’t,” she said, barely above a whisper, halting his retreat.

“What?” He spun back.

“You wouldn’t steal from me or kill me. I know that, Fintan.”

Sudden, uncontrollable rage filled him at her inability to grasp the seriousness of what he was, what he could do to her if left unchecked.

“Fuck if you know anything about me, Taryn Stephens! You with your basic witch ways and your feckin’ sad eyes!” He stormed back and knelt before her. Roughly grabbing her hips, he dragged her to the edge of the cushion before parting her jean-clad legs to press his pelvis to hers. “Do ya not think I feel your lust? That me monster isn’t excited by your wish for me to fuck ya every way to Sunday and beyond?”

He fisted her hair and forced her closer until their chests collided, and she was panting in earnest. Fear or desire, it didn’t matter because both turned him on and, in doing so, turned her on through their bond.

“And this”—he ran his nose along the throat he’d exposed, breathing in her addicting pheromones—“this thing inside me, strugglin’ to break free? Yeah, it grows stronger every fuckin’ time you come ‘round, swishing that grand ass of yours.”

Tugging her head back, he met her shimmering eyes and felt remorse for his aggression. Yet he needed to prove his point. She was no match for his strength or effortless ability to take what his Siren craved.

“I could make ya come with a song, love. Five notes at most. And it would be too late for you to protect yourself from my Incubus. Protect us both. Because I want ya more than I can put into words.”

Contrarily, she licked her lips and looked intrigued. “Five notes?”

With a snort of disbelief, he released her and stood. “You’re feckin’ mad, you are. Stay away for your own safety, Taryn-Taryn. I’m beggin’ ya.”

As Fintan strode from her, Taryn whooshed out a breath. The idea of a five-note orgasm wouldn’t leave her after he implanted it into her brain. How did a Siren make someone come with just their voice? Was that why Eoin was always smiling around Brenna? Why Narissa strutted with such confidence?

When Fintan had strummed his guitar and spoken to her in his husky, hypnotic voice, he’d awoken a vicious need inside Taryn. One that wouldn’t quit until he satisfied it.

Was it intentional? Had he done it to prove a point only to forget to shut it down? Would sex with him today be better than their first time together?

“Fuuuucccck!” His shout rang out, and he strode back into the sunroom an instant later. “Ya can’t be havin’ those thoughts while you’re here! Get out!”

Lifting her chin, she dug deep for courage in the face of his furious scowl. “It’s not your house, Fintan Sullivan. It’s Brenna’s.”

Dismay chased shock across his divinely handsome face.

Yes, she could understand why all his gorgeousness, along with his Siren’s song, could send a woman straight to her knees, either to beg for sexual favors or give them.

One of his dark brows shot up, and an intrigued light entered his stormy eyes. His sensual mouth kicked up at the corner. “It’s temptin’ to see you on those grand knees, aoibhneas mo croí. ”

Heat spread from her chest up her neck and scorched her face.

Their stupid mental link was going to get her in deep shit if she didn’t learn to turn it off.

“Aye,” he growled. “The deepest shite imaginable.”

But his gaze had softened, and the fierce man from a moment ago looked regretful.

“I’ll try to keep my thoughts to myself,” she promised.

“Sure, and that would be best.” He turned on his heel to leave but paused. “It’s sorry I am if I scared you, Taryn-Taryn.”

“You didn’t. Not really.”

Fintan grunted in his standard grumpy fashion before striding out the door.

Next on her agenda was to find a way to block their thought exchange. Maybe Brenna could help, and if not, she could go to Damian as a last resort.

“Fintan?” she whispered, imagining him in her mind’s eye. Not the angry, resentful version, but the grinning young man, with his mischievous dancing eyes.

The buzz of their link grew louder, and she assumed he could hear her.

“I didn’t mean to provoke you or your Siren. I’m sorry, too.”

Radio silence.

Well, she tried. Standing, she crossed to his beloved guitar and stroked her fingers along the wood’s grain.

“I miss your music,” she telegraphed. “I never got the chance to tell you, but I was your biggest fan. And the world is worse for not experiencing your beautiful songs.”

“Thank you, Taryn-Taryn.”

She closed her eyes in relief, strangely grateful he’d chosen to respond. “When you’re willing, we should discuss the necklace. I found out a few things ? —”

Like a fucking wraith, he appeared, triggering her scream.

“Dude! What the fuck? I thought you’d left.” She placed a hand over her pounding heart and glared. “Not cool.”

His engaging grin was reminiscent of their first meeting, and Taryn’s lungs squeezed, making breathing difficult.

“Yeah, and you should’ve led with the information about Bloodstone’s necklace,” he said.

“You never gave me a chance.” She inhaled a steadying breath. “Ready to listen?”

He plopped down and drew the guitar in his lap as if it were his talisman against her particular brand of sorcery. “Aye.”