Page 51

Had I not seen where he had taken me, I would have believed I was standing in the middle of the stone cottage, wood shelves lining the solid stone walls.

The lights flickered, mimicking candles, throwing shadows around, making the room close in on me.

I glanced around for a door but only found the one we had just entered.

A single dark oak staircase rose from the center of the room.

“Where are we?”

“The private entrance to the manor, originally for the family to access the beach. Come up this way. Let me get you a drink,” the man murmured, gesturing to the stairs.

I hesitated, uncertainty gripping my heart. What waited for me if I ventured too far inside? His voice was gentle, coaxing, but something else was beneath it—something that made my skin prickle. Despite that, he had saved me from the woman, and for that, I was grateful.

I tried to steady my heart as I followed him up the stairs, the wooden planks creaking beneath our steps, softened by the blue silk carpeting lining the middle of the treads.

At the top of the stairs, dark oak paneling gleamed in the light filtering through the leaded glass window.

Two settees faced each other in a nook overlooking the harbor.

I started toward them, but before I could sit, he brushed my arm.

“In here, pet.” He pointed toward a door, his voice gentle.

I shivered at his touch but followed his direction, relieved to be away from her—away from danger, forcing myself to remember this was Lorcan’s childhood home.

I walked through the door he pointed at into a solarium. The heat from the enormous marble fireplace dominating the wall to the right licked at my skin, but inside, I was frozen. No amount of warmth could chase away the dread curling in my chest.

“Who was that woman?”

“What can I get you to drink?” The man’s voice was low, almost seductive, as he appeared to ignore my question.

“Oh, um.” I clenched my jaw, closing my eyes and shaking my head, unable to even think of a drink.

The man set my bag down next to the coffee table before he moved to a drinks cart in the corner, pouring some amber liquid into a glass.

Next to him, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the harbor broke up the off-white walls.

I couldn’t see the beach from where I stood, couldn’t see if the vampire still stood there, but I could see the waves of the harbor.

The man brought the drink to me. Did I imagine he twisted his hand to ensure his fingers skimmed mine as he handed it to me?

I lifted it to my nose. The scent was smoky and rich. I took a small sip.

“There. Now… that’s better, isn’t it?” His voice was soothing, almost hypnotic.

The warmth of the drink spread through me, loosening something.

I didn’t want to relax, but I was. “Thank you,” I murmured, watching as the tremor in my hands died away.

I took another sip, relishing the heat it brought to my chest. “Thank you for saving me from her. I don’t even know why she attacked me. ”

He sat down next to me, only inches away. The space between us was too small. My body tensed, every instinct urging me to move. I shifted as far as I could into the corner of the couch, increasing the space between us by a few millimeters.

“She attacks often. It’s not something we like to think about.”

I looked around, shifting slightly, uncomfortable with his closeness. “And who is ‘we’?”

“Well, myself. And the members of the staff here.”

I tilted my head. “And who are you?”

“You can just call me Aodh.”

“Like the first letter of the alphabet?” I couldn’t help but smile.

He turned to look at me, his elbows resting on his knees. “Yes, but spelled A-o-d-h. It means fire.”

“Well,” I said, inserting a bit of formality into my tone and forcing myself to stand, putting some space between Aodh and me. “Thank you again. I really should head back. Would there be a way you could help me find a cab?”

I set my drink down on the table between the couches. My body felt numb, my mind wanting to forget what I had seen and what I knew to be true. I needed to get out of this house.

“Why would you want to leave so soon?” He looked up at me with a flirtatious smile creeping across his lips, making my skin crawl. “You came here with questions about Lady Isobel. And from the sound of your accent, you’ve come a long way to find answers.”

“I simply wanted to see the manor.” The words tumbled out as my pulse sped up. How did he know I had questions about Lady Isobel?

He stood and came close to me, invading my space again. “You’re her descendant, aren’t you?”

I tilted my head. “How do you know that?”

He shrugged. “Cormac told us a woman may come by researching Isobel, and if you did, I was to give you as much information as possible. And I wouldn’t want to disappoint him, so please, allow me.”

He stood and extended a hand to me. I looked at it, the same hand that had helped me from the beach. Part of me recoiled from him, yet something in his demeanor commanded trust.

A soft smile spread across his lips. “You were also looking for information on Lord Lorcan, if I understand correctly.”

A dull throb settled beneath my breastbone. “Not exactly. I know he helped her. That he tried to save her from her fate.”

“Yes, he did,” said Aodh, the smile never faltering as he dropped his hand. “This way.”

I followed him through the doorway to the left of the massive fireplace into a space rivaling Harrowmont Hall’s rooms. Four archways mirrored each other on opposing walls.

Two large chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a golden glow on every rich detail—the intricate wood beams and plasterwork—a masterpiece of a time long gone.

It felt untouched, preserved, as if time hadn’t dared to lay a hand on it.

“Now, please,” he said, holding his arm bent at the elbow as if expecting me to take it like a lady of old. “Let me introduce you to the Marquesses of Dún Na Farraige.”

We walked deeper into the room. On each side, three paintings hung in careful arrangement.

“The paintings here,” he said, “are all original artwork of each Marquess.”

“And what about their wives?” I asked.

“There was only one Marchioness. And that was Lady Aine.” He gestured toward a painting on the right, nearest the front door, guiding me to it.

A woman stood against a backdrop of rolling waves, her dark hair caught in the wind, her striking blue eyes gazing into the distance.

My breath caught in my throat. They looked similar to Lorcan’s eyes—the same color as the rolling waves behind her.

Aodh shifted beside me, his hand gentle yet firm on my arm, leading me across the room to the other wall. “And this is Lord Kieran. The first Marquess of Dún Na Farraige.”

The man in the portrait stood regally in a blood-red room, dark furniture around him, his round face stern and commanding.

Aodh caught my eye and turned toward the solarium. “Their sons are each here, too.” He pointed at the paintings in turn. “Cormac. Lorcan. Aiden. And Conall.”

I nodded. But something felt off. According to Cormac, the Marquess was given the title in the 1100s, yet Lady Isobel knew Lord Lorcan in 1810.

There had to be over five? I moved toward the portrait that hung between the first two archways on the same wall as Aine; the one Aodh had said was Lorcan.

My feet moved as though I were pushing them through quicksand.

My voice was tight as I spoke. “Weren’t there more? ”

Aodh followed beside me as I stood in front of the painting of Lord Lorcan. My heart fluttered as I traced the features—features I knew. But it wasn’t possible.

I turned to Aodh. “Surely… surely, there were more.” My heart froze in my chest. Reality took shape around me.

The woman who had attacked me on the beach. Her fangs. The portrait of Lorcan. Those eyes that had looked into mine; his face had not changed.

Aodh’s voice sounded out of place, almost jovial. “Are you okay, pet? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

My breath hitched as I stared at the painting, ignoring the man beside me, his voice distant. My stomach dropped with a sickening clench. It couldn’t be true. But I already knew it was—my God. I was staring at a portrait of Lorcan—my Lorcan. Lady Isobel’s Lorcan.

Aodh cleared his throat. “A lot of planning would have gone into a party to introduce the Baroness of Blackcairn. If it was done here, there may still be records—guest books, invitations. Surely, that’s something you’d be interested in. Should we check the archives?”

My heart pounded, but I forced my voice to stay stable, my throat dry. “Sure.”

The world spun around me as I shuffled after Aodh.

He led me through the solarium and down a set of stairs as I focused on my footing.

I barely glimpsed the kitchen at the bottom of the steps before we went through a door and followed a long hallway.

Near the end, he opened a large wooden door, flipping a switch on the wall as he stepped in, a warm light flooding the space.

Shelves lined the walls, filled with books older than I could imagine. The temperature in the room was just right—too right. The air wasn’t stale, not musty, but controlled as if the room had been preserved. My spine tingled as I stepped forward into the windowless space.

“If we’re going to find anything about that party, it will be in here.” Aodh followed me into the room, his hand reaching out and touching my hip, freezing me in place.

I whirled around to face him, regaining my senses. “I… I think I just want to head back,” I said, my voice shaking.

He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. Only curiosity, as if he were watching a fascinating insect that had landed in his palm. “But why, pet? Is there something about me? Something you don’t trust?”

My heart thundered behind my rib cage, heat rising behind it. “I was just attacked, attacked by a woman with fangs. You appeared out of nowhere. I saw you. You were on the overlook—much too far away to have reached us in the time that you did. And she wanted to kill me.”

The tears I had been holding back finally spilled over. Shock gave way to anger.

The words almost stuck in my throat, choking me.

“And now you’re here, telling me Cormac wants you to give me information.

There is a portrait of Lorcan upstairs that could have been painted a month ago, and there isn’t anything creepy at all about a basement room with no exit except the one you are standing in front of. ”

His lips twitched, forming a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“And I’m just supposed to be okay with—” My breath caught. My stomach twisted.

Aodh’s voice held an edge to it, like he was holding back a laugh, like none of this was unexpected. “Vampires.”

The pieces of my world clicked into place, one jagged edge at a time. Lady Isobel had been right—vampires existed—and she had attacked Ashdowne with a wooden knife because she had known without a doubt. She had known he was a vampire.

And Lorcan O’Cillian—the Marquess—the only one who had never abandoned her. The only one who had believed her story.

I struggled to breathe as I took a step away from Aodh. “They’re all vampires, aren’t they?”

A slow, wicked grin spread across his face. “Yes, pet. They are. Every last O’Cillian you know of.” His expression darkened with something that made my skin crawl. “Well—except for Aine.” The way he said it—offhand, dismissive—made my stomach twist.

My breath hitched. “My God. And you.”

He was suddenly next to me.

“No,” I whispered, my voice shaking as I shrank away from him. My heart pounded as I felt shelves at my back. My eyes searched his as he placed his hand on the shelf next to me. “Please. Don’t hurt me.”

His lips quirked as if amused by the idea. “Now, pet, if I wanted to hurt you, I would have just let Runa do that. But I have another plan for you.”

I pressed my back into the shelves, not caring about the pain as they dug into my skin. My breath came in sharp, uneven bursts. Aodh toyed with my hair before he placed his other hand on the shelf, caging me in. Tears gathered in my eyes.

“Briar,” he murmured as he pressed his body into mine, pinning me in place.

“No.” I shuddered at the way he said my name, the feel of his body that made my blood run cold.

“Don’t worry, Briar,” he continued, his voice low, intimate. “I have no plans to hurt you.” His gaze dropped to my lips. “My brother should have kept you. Someone as gorgeous as you…”

His fingers trailed down the side of my face. He brushed my hair behind my ear, his touch slow, deliberate, as if savoring the moment. Then his fingers traced lower, brushing against my neck.

“Lorcan never should have let you leave,” he murmured. “Never should have let you get away.”

My skin crawled at his touch. Every muscle in my body locked up as I struggled to move, to breathe. I tried to pull away from his hand, but my head only met his other arm.

His fingers hovered over the pulse in my throat. My breath caught as I glimpsed a fang as he leaned into me. “Look at you,” he breathed into my ear. “Such a perfect human. How did he ever let you go?”

My heart thundered against my ribs. I glanced around, searching for a way out, for anything I could use to escape. But there was nothing.

His voice filled with mock sympathy. “Lorcan is a fool. One who will learn in time that he should always keep a beautiful woman at his side, not send her away.”

His fingers tangled in my hair, his hand resting on the nape of my neck. I tried to shrink back into the shelves, desperate to escape him. His touch remained gentle, but it was all the more terrifying because of it.

“Now, pet,” he whispered, “we both know I can do anything I want right now, so don’t fight.” I could feel the movement of the air against my lips as he spoke.

I swallowed hard, but my throat was dry. I had gone from one predator to another.

His eyes drifted closed.

My stomach twisted, and I braced myself. Any second now, I would feel his lips—cold and unyielding. I squeezed my eyes shut, my pulse hammering in my ears. But nothing came.