Chapter Sixteen

Micah sat against one of the skyward reaching monoliths, knees pulled up, elbows resting on them, and staring at the ground, oblivious to the light of dawn that broke across the sky. There were no more tears to shed. They’d dried up some time ago. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to leave the henge. Brigid lay within it, laid out across the ancient altar as Fintan had arranged her. Tonight the fires would burn again, and those flames would take her body as the curse had stolen her soul.

“Micah?” Beth’s voice reached him distantly.

He lifted his head, dragged himself out of his thoughts, and focused on her. To his surprise, she stood less than four feet away. Her green eyes filled with concern.

“I know…” She huffed out a breath, shook her head as if she decided against what she’d intended to say. Then, she crossed the short distance between them and sat down at his side. Linking her elbow through his, she leaned against his shoulder. “There’s nothing I can say that will make this any easier. I know you’re angry with us.”

He clenched his teeth. In truth, he wasn’t upset with Beth. Just Fintan, the brother who should have taken more time to understand instead of locking his sister away. If he’d connected with Brigid, things might have turned out differently. She might have made different decisions if she believed her family would keep her safe from Drandar.

“Fintan’s been up all night. He’s taking this hard, despite what you might think.” Beth paused, took a deep breath, then continued more somberly. “He’s reached everyone but Taran. They’re all flying in on the family jet this afternoon.”

Micah nodded, uncertain how else to react. Part of him wanted nothing more to do with this family. The other part demanded he stay if only to defend Brigid’s memory.

Quiet spanned between him and Beth. She stared over the treetops at the brightening sky. Micah picked at the tiny rocks on the ground. He didn’t know what to say, what anyone expected of him right now. All he understood was the never-ending ache behind his ribs and the utter sense of emptiness that engulfed him. He’d been through one devastating breakup in his life. Screwed up and destroyed a damn good thing. But there was no fixing this. He couldn’t beg Brigid to take him back, couldn’t prove himself, couldn’t do a goddamned thing. Fate had ripped his choices out of his hands.

“Did she love you too?” Beth asked in a whisper.

Micah sucked in a sharp breath through his nose and stiffened, unprepared for such directness. Brigid’s face flashed in his memory. He saw her in their last moments together, an instant before he’d kissed her goodbye. Her amber eyes glinted with emotion that reached in and fisted around his heart. His chest tightened the same way it had when she walked out of her bedroom. He swallowed hard. Brigid had never said the words, but somehow he’d known.

“I’m sorry. It’s none of my business,” Beth apologized.

“She did,” Micah answered hoarsely.

Beth’s fingers squeezed his forearm. “I’m so sorry, Micah. I’d give my thumbs to fix this for you.”

It took effort, but he managed to lift his gaze to Beth’s and give a short nod. “Thank you.”

“Come inside? Tonight’s going to be even more difficult. You should try and rest.”

Go to his room, the space he’d shared with Brigid, the place where she would still live and breathe, and rest? Not hardly. He’d take one step inside and suffocate.

“I’ll be in after a while.”

Beth stood, giving him a sad, understanding smile. She took two steps away and halted. Looking over her shoulder, she said, “I know it’s no help, but Brigid acted honorably. She dealt Drandar a critical blow. If she hadn’t, if she’d destroyed that spell, he’d be undefeatable.”

Micah nodded. Frankly, at the moment, he didn’t give a damn about Drandar. He couldn’t let go of the keen awareness that if Brigid had just run and discarded her family’s desires, that she would still be here. He could have warded himself against her. They might have had some chance of surviving the curse, despite the odds.

Beth’s footfalls drew further away, leaving Micah to his solitude. He leaned his head back against the hulking block of stone and closed his eyes. He had never felt so lost, so absolutely uncertain of himself or the world around him. In all he did, he tried to honor the ancestors, to live according to their designs and maintain the harmony of nature’s elements.

In return, they abandoned him.

The oh-so-saintly, Celt High Priestess, Nyamah had abandoned him as well.

If he could find a means of locking his fingers around their necks, and squeezing the eternal light from them, he would do so unhesitatingly.

“You should go inside. Though I disagree strongly with the idea of resting.”

Micah groaned aloud. Good sweet elements of nature, he’d exhausted himself to the point that he was imagining things. But the sound of Brigid’s voice was so soothing, he couldn’t bring himself to push away from the rock. He kept his eyes shut, summoning her picture from memory, replaying her smile again and again.

Soft fingertips touched his cheek. The faint scent of patchouli blended with a stronger aroma of campfires. Micah’s heart stuttered.

“Do you think if I failed to show for my own funeral, it would be revenge enough on Fintan?”

As Micah’s heartbeat skidded to a halt, he slowly opened his eyes. Brigid bent over him, her long hair cascading over her shoulders, her smile as bright as the North Star. And tender—sweet sacred elements, he could spend an eternity basking in the emotion that softened her exotic features.

“No,” he whispered thickly. “They’ll just think I ran off with your body.”

A hint of mischief glinted in her amber gaze. “I’d let you do that, you know.”

“Brigid.” Every tight knot and kinked up muscle behind his ribs let go as he exhaled her name. He sat up, drew her into his arms. She tumbled into his lap, her lips latching on to his.

Micah tangled his hands in her hair, curled his fingertips against her scalp, lost to the incredible heat of her mouth. By some miracle she’d returned. She was here. His at last. And nothing could ever make him let her go. Not the rising sun, not her family, not even the ancient spirits that had breathed life back into her lungs.

Her kiss was just as desperate, every bit as needy. She clung to him as if she feared something might pull her away, and that too, Micah reveled in. He drank her in, knowing he would never get his fill, until his lungs burned with the need for air.

Panting, he drew the kiss to a close and guided her head back far enough he could look into her eyes. “How?”

She pursed her lips in false annoyance. “Gee. It’s nice to know what you really thought of me.”

Despite himself, Micah chuckled. He brushed the tip of his nose against hers, playfully nipped her lower lip, and settled back against the monolith. Dropping his hands to her waist, he held her in place so he could take in the full-measure of the woman who owned his heart. The tattoo on her forehead caught his attention, and he lifted one hand to trace the triangular symbol that hadn’t been present before. “What’s this?”

“What’s what?” Brigid squinted at him.

He traced the pattern again, dipping into the corners to explore the spirals there. “Your tattoo is different.”

“Oh.” Flat and monotone, Brigid’s voice held understanding she didn’t want to reveal. The way she rolled her eyes proved it. “That would be the ancestors. Unpleasant bunch.” She wrinkled her nose. “I assume it’s a reminder.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Reminder?”

“That I’m not supposed to screw up and be selfish this time.” She huffed out a sigh. “Which I suppose answers the question about not showing up for my funeral.”

“Oh no.” Micah shook his head. “I don’t care if your entire family is in town, you’re not leaving our rooms tonight.”

“My family?” Her question held a touch of disbelief. “They’re coming here?”

In that moment, Micah loved her even more. The wonder that widened her eyes, the surprised part to her lips—she’d never admit it, but the fact her sisters and brothers were traveling across an ocean for her supposed death touched her.

He rimmed her parted lips with the pad of his thumb. “I love you,” he whispered.

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, but she made no attempt to turn away. “Even if my coming back means Drandar will hunt us? I only have my magic. Nothing else to fight him with.”

Micah slipped his arms around her waist once more and drew her against his chest. When her cheek settled over his heart, he stroked her long hair. “You have me, sweet Brigid. Don’t be afraid.”

She sniffled, but the wetness of his shirt revealed her failed attempt to restrain tears. “I won’t be his slave anymore.”

For several long moments, Micah held her. The simple pleasure of feeling her breath against his neck, of her soft curves melding against his body filled the empty chasm that had torn apart his soul. It didn’t make a difference if they spent the rest of their lives running from Drandar—she was alive. Nothing would separate them again. Not fear, not her family, not even her incubus sire.

“I love you too, Micah.”

Brigid’s whisper was so quiet he almost missed it. But when the thought connected, he shifted her position, set two fingers beneath her chin, and tipped her gaze to his. He smiled at the embarrassed color that touched her cheeks. “I know you do. I don’t need your words.” He picked up her hand and brought it to his lips. “It’s in your fingertips.” Lacing his fingers through hers, he tugged her close enough their lips met. “In your kiss.”

She traced the seam of his mouth with the tip of her tongue. “So about going inside…”

Laughter rumbled in his chest. He slipped one arm beneath her knees and tucked her into his embrace as he stood. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

“Mm.” Brigid’s teeth grazed the side of his neck. “Who’s telling Fintan?”

Micah returned her playfulness by drawing her earlobe between his lips. “He can stew a while. Right now, I don’t want to share you.”

“That’s a bit selfish, don’t you think?”

“Probably.”

She gave him a grin as he carried her down the path. “Guess you learned that from me?”

“Guess so.”

Contentment rolled through him as she snuggled closer. He dipped his head, breathed in the smoky scent of patchouli and bonfire.

“They said I was your balance,” she murmured.

Micah tightened his embrace. No truer words had ever been spoken. As if Brigid understood the crushing weight of emotion, she skimmed her mouth across the base of his throat, and she squeezed him tight.

“I want to be that, Micah. Tell me I am. I need to hear it.”

He stopped to gaze deep into her eyes. “You are, sweetheart. I’m never letting you go.”

The sweetest smile he had ever witnessed slid slowly across her mouth. In her auburn eyes, tenderness glowed, welcoming him home from a long and arduous journey. He lifted her a smidgeon, pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. At last, she was his.

More importantly, for this life and the next, he belonged to her.