Page 57 of Whiskey & Witches

Seamus was still tied in place by her magical ropes, and his eyes flared wide like a wild horse trapped in a pen. From the sweat pouring down his face and the paleness of his skin, it was easy to see he understood he was about to take his last breath. Staggering toward him, she looked him square in the eye.

“Roisin, don’t.” Damian’s voice held barely suppressed anger and an unmistakable warning.

But he was too late. Roisin was done being a victim. She’d become a mother tiger protecting her young: vicious, deadly, uncontrollable. With no hesitation or remorse, she held the knife to Seamus’s throat. “You’ll feel what he felt, but no one will save you. And when you’re gone, no one will mourn your loss. After everyone breathes a sigh of relief, they will forget you ever existed.”

His lower lip trembled, and tears welled in his eyes. “It’s sorry I am—”

She plunged the knife into the side of his neck and dragged the razor-sharp blade sideways.

The gurgling sound he made sickened her, and she knew she’d remember the horror of what she’d done for the rest of her days. But she’d never regret it. Not once.

Tossing the knife away, she recalled the magical ropes holding him in place. Dropping to her knees alongside Seamus’s body, she emptied the contents of her stomach. She didn’t move until all his blood stopped its rapid exodus from the artery she’d severed and the light died from his terrified eyes.

Part of her was afraid to turn around. Afraid to see the disgust and horror in the men’s eyes. In her son’s eyes. So she remained where she was.

Thin arms encircled her from behind, and she gripped them hard, sobbing her anguish that she’d not been there in time to save Aeden when he needed her the most. Once again, it had fallen to another to help him, and although it had gutted her not to act, she’d instinctively known Ronan could and would save him where she didn’t have the type of magic to do it. “I’m sorry,mo stór,” she cried. “I’m so sorry, my darlin’ boy.”

His little arms squeezed her tighter, and a distant part of her brain registered his strength, surprising in his diminutive form. Shifting and turning their bodies so his back was to Seamus and she was facing Aeden, she remained kneeling in front of him. She ran her fingers over his sticky, blood-stained neck, feeling for any trace of the wound.

“Seems we owe Mr. O’Connor a world of debt, don’t we?” she said. Her voice was shaky, and she couldn’t stop the copious amount of tears pouring down. Aeden’s sweet face was blurred, and she continuously blinked to try to see him clearly, to assure herself he was whole and healthy.

“He’s a good man,” Aeden whispered, as if he were imparting a secret, and it registered on her that he could speak without any apparent pain. “He just doesn’t know it, Mam.”

“I quite agree,” she whispered back. Pulling him close, she sat back on her heels and rocked her son in her arms. “I love you,mo stór.More than my own life, I love you.” She choked down another sob. “No one will ever hurt you again,” she said fiercely. “No one.”

“I know.”

He patted her back like she was the one needing comfort. And perhaps she was. The horror of seeing her son drop to the ground, clutching his sliced throat, would haunt her, leaving her with nightmares for as long as she lived.

Drawing on what was left of her courage, she looked up at Damian Dethridge. His expression was impassive, giving nothing away.

“It needed to be done,” she said, and there was defiance in her tone. She might be punished, but she’d do it all over again.

“Yes,” he replied. “It did. But I’d have saved you the trauma and done it for you.”

Heavy emotion clogged her throat, and all she could do was nod.

“Go from this place, Roisin,” Ronan said gently from behind her. “Take Aeden and go. I’ll clean up the mess my family made.”

“Moira used blood magic. I can’t stop her if she comes for him again,” she croaked out.

“You won’t need to. I’ll neutralize her spell,” Damian said. He hiked up his slacks and squatted beside them. With a hand on the top of Aeden’s head, he smiled. “If I’m not mistaken, Beastie wove protection into his DNA. Even had Ronan not gotten to him in time, Aeden wouldn’t have crossed to the Otherworld. He’d have held on until help arrived.”

“Then I owe your daughter more than I can ever repay,” Roisin said gruffly.

“And I owe your son for sacrificing for her, so we’re even.”

“Thank you for charging to the rescue.”

He chuckled, but there was a weary sound to it. “I did nothing but chase Moira away. You and Ronan were the ones who saved the day.”

“Mr. Ronan needs to be healed,” Aeden said. “She cut his back.”

Roisin gasped. She’d forgotten Moira had attacked Ronan. Setting Aeden on his feet, she struggled to rise and cast Damian a grateful look when he helped her.

“I’ll take care of him,” he assured her. “Teleport to my home. Your husband will be beside himself. I left him guarding my family.”

“But he has no pow—”

---