Page 101 of The Dark Before Light

He gazes down at me with a soft smile and peaceful eyes. “You gave me everything I needed and more, mo ghrá. We do this together—we take care of each other. Okay?”

My heartbeat skips. “Okay.”

When the water reaches the halfway point, he guides me into the bath and settles behind me. His arms encircle my waist, heavy and stabilizing. My head drops to his shoulder, a sigh leaving me as his lips trail down my neck.

“How do you feel?” I ask at length.

“Amazing. That orgasm suffocated half of my brain cells, though. I’ll have to learn to live with only moderate intelligence.”

I laugh. “You poor man.”

He smiles against my shoulder. “Worth it.”

“I’m glad.” I rub my foot over his calf. “I’ve never heard you speak in full-on Gaelic like that. Are you actually fluent?”

He nods. “There aren’t many opportunities to use it anymore, sadly. The language isn’t dead, but it’s definitely on life support.”

“That’s tragic. Even if it sounds like gibberish, it’s lovely to listen to.”

“Tá grá agam duit, Talia.”

I shift so I can look at him. “What does that mean?” When he only smiles at me, I scowl. “At least tell me what you said tonight.”

His low laugh vibrates my back. “I honestly don’t recall. Probably something along the lines of, ‘my brain cells are dying and I don’t care,’ or possibly, ‘I’ve discovered Heaven on Earth is being fucked in the ass by a goddess.’”

I laugh, unreasonably happy even if he’s lying. “Did you teach yourself the language?”

He shakes his head. “My gran did—my dad’s mother. She lived with us until she passed when I was fourteen. Taught me Gaelic alongside English. Alistair didn’t take to it like I did, and my parents didn’t speak it, so it became our special bond.” He smiles softly. “She was a strange, wonderful woman. People called her a witch behind her back because she had a habit of prophesying, usually loudly and without invitation. Things like pregnancies, deaths, divorces, and the like. Didn’t win her any friends, that’s for sure.”

I smile. “Was she ever right?”

He grins, but it fades fast. “Pretty often, actually. She even predicted her own death. The day it happened, I was home sick with a fever. She told me what was coming and said she was sorry I’d have to be the one to find her and tell my parents. I didn’t believe her, of course, but knew better than to argue when she had that gleam in her eye. She brought me a cup of tea and sang to me until I fell asleep. When I woke up, I found her in her rocker.” He clears his throat. “It was a stroke. Took her at exactly two o’clock, just like she said it would.”

Goose bumps prickle my skin. “I’m sorry, Kieran. That must have been so hard.”

He strokes my jaw. “It’s all right, mo ghrá. She was buried not far from our old flat back in Galway. I spent a lot of time at her grave growing up, just talking to her. And I still visit. It’s a lovely spot near the sea. Most of the graves are framed with stone and gravel, but she wanted grass to grow above her so we could sit close. Maybe I’ll take you there one day.”

My vision sparkles. I face forward quickly as adrenaline sends sizzling rivers into my limbs. Memory assaults me—my stumbling journey through the graveyard, all the gravel-boxed graves, then the beckoning patch of soft grass. I don’t remember the name on the headstone, just the rise of wings from the sturdy base and a feeling of comfort.

His grandmother’s grave.

Belatedly, I mumble, “That would be nice.”

He nuzzles his nose into the back of my head. “I think Gran’s magic lingers. One time—this was ages ago, right before I left for Oxford—I even found a drunk American girl nearly passed out on her grave. I had the weirdest feeling that Gran brought her there for a reason. We had the most interesting conversation. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.”

My muscles spasm, sending water sloshing against the sides of the tub.

He remembers.

“Cold?” he asks, scooping hot water over my chest and arms.

“A little,” I say weakly, even though I’m burning from the inside out. “What, uh—what was so interesting about the conversation?”

“Every second of it, but especially something she said when we parted. I’d told her that equals didn’t kneel. She said they did, but only to each other.” He pauses, voice softening. “I wish I could tell her she was right, but I never saw her again. Wherever she is, I hope she’s found what I have. An equal for whom kneeling is the greatest privilege.”

Chapter 29

Talia

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