Page 17 of Shamrocked
Keane stood and took a step toward me, but Aidan flung out his hand and stopped him. “She’s not for you. She’s not for me. She’s not for any of us.”
“But—”
“I can’t bear for another woman to die on me.” Aidan retorted, his face dark with fury. He was shorter than the other man, but definitely the more dominant of the two. Keane ducked his head slightly, giving way before his friend’s anger. “Die she will, and us too. Again. Over and over and over. I can’t fucking take it.”
I wanted to hate him, but the agony shredding his voice stole my breath. My heart ached for them all. Warwick said they hadn’t even been reborn for a hundred years, so how many times had they already suffered and died? How bitter and hard would I be, if I’d watched my friends and lover die over and over again?
He looked at me and his eyes blazed with brutal intensity. “It’s safer for you if you stay away from us. Hopefully you haven’t picked up enough fae taint yet to draw the demons to you. I’m sure Warwick will do what he can to keep you alive as long as possible. Who knows, with a leprechaun at your beck and call, maybe you’ll get lucky and outlive us all.”
“You won’t help me?”
The blazing intensity in his eyes suddenly dimmed, and he looked weary and defeated, centuries of loss and battle and heartache stacked on him brick by brick. “I can’t,mo stór. I’ve seen shit the likes of which I pray you can’t even contemplate. Go on with you now. I hope you have yourself a grand life.”
9
Sitting at the island in Vivi’s kitchen, I stared dejectedly at the ancient coin I’d laid on the granite.
I didn’t want to have to call Warwick for help. I didn’t want him to wink and laugh and be I-told-you-so smug, or worse, cute and sassy. One would piss me off, and the other would tempt me. I couldn’t be tempted when Doran was locked away somewhere bellowing in my dreams for me to come free him.
With a sigh, I dragged my gaze up to Vivi as she moved around her kitchen. “I’m making a midnight sandwich. Do you want one too?”
It wasn’t quite midnight—but I’d never turn down a snack. “Duh. I wouldn’t miss one of your sandwiches.”
Some people slapped mayo and paper-thin processed meat on white bread and called it good, but not Vivi. She bought the good, thick turkey breast sliced off the bone and smoked provolone from the most expensive grocery store in town, and always picked up fresh Italian loaves, or, in this case, buttery croissants. Plus fancy whole-grain spicy mustard, leafy green lettuce, and tomato slices, with huge blackberries as big as my thumb on the side. She sat down beside me at the island and we ate in companionable silence.
“I freaking love you,” I said around a mouthful of sandwich.
“I do make a mean sandwich and a pretty decent cup of coffee.”
I huffed out a laugh. “The best, actually. But I’m not even talking about the food. Or the fact that you gave me a place to stay so I could get away from Jonathan and quit my job that was making me so miserable. Or even for sticking with me while we went to see a leprechaun.”
“I never thought I’d get to cross off‘meet Pointy Ears’ from my bucket list.”
I laughed again, shaking my head. “And then you marched into the lion’s den with me and faced down a motorcycle gang.”
“I had pepper spray if we needed it. Besides, most of them didn’t strike me as being very gang-like.”
Except Aidan. She didn’t say his name aloud, but yeah. He was the only scary one we’d met tonight. Without him… I couldn’t get the other two treasures. He was the key.
I yawned so hard my jaw ached, but I knew it was no use. If I slept at all, Doran would be growling and rumbling in my dreams, telling me to hurry up and find him.
“You need some sleep.”
I sighed. “I know. But I think I need to paint first. The clues I need are in the paintings.”
“If Doran can give you the clues, why not just tell you where he is and be done?”
“He doesn’t know where he is. Other than his friends’ faces, I don’t think the actual paintings are coming from him at all, other than his urgency.”
“Then who, or what, is giving you these clues?”
I shrugged uncomfortably. “I don’t really know. I’ve always called it my Muse, but maybe it’s something else. Faerie magic. Some destiny I never knew. It’s like I’m… remembering.”
“Like you’re reincarnated?”
I grimaced, shaking my head. “I don’t think so? But I don’t really know. It’s more like someone whispered everything I needed to know in my ear when I was born, and it’s there in my head, but I can’t remember it. I can only get close to that memory if I have a paintbrush in my hand. It’s like… losing myself. I have to shut down everything, the world, myself, the art—and just let that voice speak again. It’s scary, though, because it feels like I’m losing myself. Like maybe I’ll snap out of it, but I won’t be me anymore. Does that make sense?”
“Like you’re becoming something else? Someone else?”
