Page 20 of The Scald Crow

“I’ve been better. Why are you here?” The murmuring voices faded, and I heard the quiet for the first time since my father passed.

“Saoirse brought me. I hope I’m not intruding?” The pieces fell into place. Saoirse owned the Black Horse Pub and brought Calla to my father’s wake.

“No, of course not. This is Ireland, after all.” I smiled, and my heart flared with happiness. I had no idea how to approach that emotion. This was not the time or place to feel it, yet there it was. I wanted to reach out, wrap her in my arms, and never let go.

I lifted my gaze toward the open window. A salt breeze carried a cold north wind. The curtains fluttered, and the candles flickered. A deep sense of foreboding crawled under my skin, causing me to pause. I looked at Calla, who appeared unaffected by the change in temperature.

“I’d like to pay you. For yesterday. For the gas?” She searched through her handbag, pulling out twenty euros. She extended her arm, handing me the bill.

“What? No. That’s unnecessary.” Darkness spread along the floor as a hooded crow alighted on the window sill. I held my breath, struck by the bird’s imposing size. The crow bobbed its black head, showing off its black-feathered throat and gray-tufted chest.

“Kraa. Kraa.” The bird squawked, commanding the room with its call. Intelligent eyes inspected Calla alone. The crow ruffled its striking plumage, unfurled its glossy black wings, and soared into the overcast sky.

“What was that?” Calla jumped back, her gaze following the crow’s flight.

“A ‘hoodie,’ otherwise known as the scald crow. They’re uncommon in these parts, especially this time of year.” I scratched my head, wondering if the visit conveyed a dark message. “The locals would say the ‘hoodie’ visits when death is near.”

“Death? You mean an omen of death?” The color faded from her cheeks, her gaze darting around the room.

“That’s what they say.” I saw myself reflected in her dove-grey eyes. My mind fought with conflicting emotions. The woman presented a distraction I didn’t need, yet I wanted her. I felt helpless against her charms.

“Colm.” She spoke my name the way a lover might. She trailed her fingers over mine.

My throat closed. My hands shook. How had I gotten by her side? I couldn’t remember moving across the room, but she was before me, her fragrance seeping into my pores—moonlight and black orchids. My awareness of her heightened, and I leaned into her touch.

An icy breath whispered, demanding I follow. I turned toward her, wondering if anyone else had felt the cooling breeze, but I couldn’t tear my gaze away.

“Calla? Where are we going?” The situation struck me as strange, but I didn’t know why.

She moved through the mourning crowd on the wings of a bird. None looked her way, or mine, for that matter. We were in a time draft of our own making, and everything and everyone had ceased to exist. The air between us compressed, the four walls closed in, and a blur of light enveloped us. I could almost touch it, but the shimmering silver bands remained out of reach. Her long strides took her beyond the clapboard house, beyond the horse paddock, through long meadow grass and carpets of wild thyme. The ocean roared, throwing frothy streamers into the sky and crashing one after another onto the rocky shore.

She didn’t answer my question, just teased me with a backward glance. She halted beneath the budding branches of an ancient oak tree.

“I want you, Colm.” I sensed trepidation in her voice, laced with fear, but then she plunged her hands forward and rested her palms against my chest.

Desire ripped my heart into two distinct pieces. Both belonged to her.

The ground shook, and the branches cracked and splintered overhead. The ocean became a roaring whirlpool. Heat tore through me—her heat. I became one with her essence, drifting through a wonderland of frozen lakes and smoky forests. Aromatic pine, touched with winter’s frost, shielded us from harm.

Her eyes widened, and yet she said nothing.

Whatever that was, I was utterly powerless against it. I surrendered to the otherworldliness of the situation, questioning nothing. My heart pounded in my chest.

“Kiss me.” She curled her fingers into my shirt, closing the gap between us.

I threaded my fingers through those silken locks and drew my thumbs along the delicate curve of her jaw.

A soft moan reverberated in her throat. She tugged me closer and nibbled my bottom lip, tentatively at first.

Rational thought left me when her lips scorched mine—when she swept her tongue inside my mouth and explored wildly. When she dug her fingers into my hair, seizing the kiss and making it her own, I circled my arms around her, pulling her into a hard embrace. I had dreamed of this moment.

A soft breeze slipped over and around us, melting the winter snow and awakening the earth to the coming spring. I saw something that took my breath away—a goddess, wrapped in a delicate gown of gossamer silk threaded with stardust, sat astride a milk-white stallion. Woven into her lustrous ebony locks—a thorny crown of hawthorn blossoms. Radiance surrounded her.

Heat surged through my limbs. Hunger fed my soul. Bealtaine—the night when the majestic white stag chased the white doe, marking the sacred ritual: the union of the spring goddess and the horned god. Seed scattered, fertilizing the land. Faeries danced. She was the hunted, and I was the hunter, pursuing the sovereign queen on this Bealtaine eve. Her sighs fractured my heart into jagged shards. My cock throbbed for this woman.

“Thank you.” A sob rose in her throat. She looked over her shoulder and then back at me, her face wet with tears.

“What’s wrong,mo ghrá?” Her distress slammed through me. I pressed kisses along her delicate cheekbones. Her flesh was icy cold.

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