Ten minutes later, Ronan was back in his room, suffering from a raging hard-on. Dubheasa had kissed him to within an inch of his life—multiple times—and touched him in all the ways his body was eager to remember from their single night together in New York.
He could’ve given in to her resistance-melting overtures and made love with her, but he wanted more than to scratch an itch, hers or his. He wanted her to submit to him completely. Accept what was meant to be and the position of his forever mate. But chances were she wouldn’t.
He caught his reflection in the mirror over the dresser. “You’re a fecking fool, Ronan Fucking O’Connor!”
“I doubt anyone would argue—”
Ronan instinctively struck out with a roundhouse kick and connected with Trevor Blane’s jaw before he could register the man wasn’t a threat. The impact sent Trevor crashing through the armoire door.
Ronan winced. Not on the guy’s behalf, no. But on his own! Bridget O’Malley was going to have Ronan’s arse for breaking an antique if he didn’t get it repaired before she saw it again.
“Fucking hell, O’Connor!”
Reaching out a hand, he hauled Trevor out of the cupboard and onto his feet. “Sorry, man. Damian should’ve warned ya to never sneak up on me.”
“He did.” Trevor’s irritated expression shifted to sheepish. “I forgot and got within range of those freakishly long legs of yours.”
With a laugh, Ronan gestured to a nearby chair. “Why don’t ya have a seat, and I’ll conjure ice for your jaw. Then you can tell me the reason for this impromptu visit.”
Trevor touched the ice pack to his cheek an instant before Dubheasa rushed through the door, a flaming ball balanced in the palm of her hand. Her troubled eyes were wide as she summed up the situation, and with a heavy expulsion of breath, she shook her hand to disperse the flame.
“Were you going to save me, then, Dove?” Ronan asked with a proud grin. Over the week they were at the Sullivan estate, he’d made her practice creating flame after flame until she was thoroughly irate and promised to fry his arse. That it had become second nature to her was promising for any future conflict she encountered.
“Saving you would’ve been a side effect.” Hands firmly on her hips and brows raised in challenge, she gave him a back-the-hell-off look. “My main goal was to maim anyone who was out to cause trouble.”
Taking his life in his hands, he approached her and ran his knuckles along her jawline. “Admit it, love. You were here to play the hero. For me.”
“Feck off, O’Connor. I was not.” But like a cat, she leaned into his hand, belying her words. Seeming to catch herself, she stepped back and bounced a glare between him and Trevor. “Are you fighting, then?”
“Not in the least,” Trevor said with a warm smile.
Irritation prickled Ronan’s skin. He hated the man his easy charm.
“Then why are you here at this hour?” she asked, suspicion heavy in her voice.
“Merely to tell Ronan I was deliberating over the problem of his father and I think you should sit this one out.”
She drew back in shock. “And why would I be doing that?”
“Because you’re a novice, Dubheasa, and I don’t think Ronan will be able to concentrate if you’re in the middle of the fray.”
“Do you believe this eejit?”
Her outraged question echoed in Ronan’s head and made him wince. “Ouch, love. You’ll need to dial it down a bit if you’re going to be calling Blane names, yeah?”
After an elbow to the ribs, which prompted Ronan’s chuckle, Dubheasa faced Trevor. “Look, and he wasn’t supposed to rat me out that way. And I only said you were an eejit, truth be told. That’s practically an endearment in Éire.”
Ronan laughed harder and dodged Dubheasa’s foot when she tried to donkey kick him.
“I swear, Ronan O’Connor, if you don’t hold your whist, I’m going to—”
Dropping a hard kiss on her lips, he followed it with a light smack on her arse. “Don’t be threatening me with a grand ol’ time, Dubheasa O’Malley. We’ve got company.”
“I feel like I should leave the two of you to your violent foreplay,” Trevor said dryly.
“We’ll have our entire lives and then some to hash all this out.” Ronan stared down at Dubheasa’s flaming face and smiled without humor. “Or we will if me darlin’ Dove accepts the role of mate and Guardian, but in response to your suggestion, Blane” —Ronan’s gaze bore into hers to make his point— “I’ll not be going behind Dubheasa’s back or excludin’ her from the planning process, all the same. She’ll fight by my side if she’s of a mind to.”
The softening of her expression and the gratitude in her eyes made Ronan feel like he’d finally done something correct where she was concerned. But she wouldn’t like his next words.
“Dove, you’ll not want to be hearing this, to be sure, but our friend here made a valid point. You’re still a novice when it comes to your abilities. And for sure, you’ll put yourself at risk if you join this war against Loman.”
“I thought you wanted my help to locate him?” She looked adorably confused.
“Aye. But I’d be happier if you did it behind the scenes, I would.”
As she took the time to think it over, her focus shifted between him and Trevor. Finally, she nodded. “I promise I won’t purposely put myself in harm’s way. But you both need to train my family as best you can in the interim. Should Loman come after them again, I want my siblings and nephew to be safe.”
“Sure, and you need to know I’ll lay my worthless life down for all of you, Dove. I’ll be after training you as time allows, and Ruairí will help.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Ronan yawned, kicked off his boots, and flopped back on the bed, tucking an arm under his head. “Tell us the other reason you’re here, man.”
Trevor waited until Dubheasa perched on the edge of the mattress, then took the chair in the corner. “I think we need backup for whatever plan Damian Dethridge has knocking around that devious mind of his.”
“You don’t trust him?” His words came out harsh, but one thing Ronan didn’t care for was someone questioning his friend’s integrity.
“What? No! Of course, I do. I meant for your father, should he outsmart us. We need a fail-safe.”
“Oh, aye. And we’ll have that, to be sure.”
“Do tell,” Trevor said.
Dubheasa glanced over her shoulder, a questioning expression on her face.
With a tired sigh, Ronan rolled to a sitting position. “As Damian said before, we’ll have Fintan Sullivan and my uncle. With Castor comes other key players like his son Quentin, Alastair Thorne, and Knox Carlyle. Those three men are the most powerful of our kind, excluding you, Damian, and me.”
“I’ve met a few of them. And yes, while I agree they are formidable, they can be defeated. We need the undefeatable.”
“Then who and what are you suggesting?” Dubheasa asked quietly.
Ronan recognized it as her thoughtful voice. Only when her mind was going at a mile per minute did she grow silent.
“There are others. Another Guardian, like Ronan,” Trevor told her.
Surprised to hear of another, when he’d been told only a single Guardian couple existed at a time, Ronan demanded details, and Trevor was happy to respond.
“There is a group called the Authority, higher than the Witches’ Council. They are the ultimate overseers of humans, both magical and mortal alike. The table is comprised of the Fates and a handful of gods and goddesses, along with a few retired Sentinels. They rule with an iron fist.”
Ronan shared a disbelieving look with Dubheasa, then asked Trevor, “How is it we’ve never heard of them before?”
“They like to remain mysterious.” He muffled a yawn and rubbed the back of his neck before he continued. “I work for the Authority. Have for quite a few years, as has my father and his father before me. They’re after Damian, in that they want him to answer to them.”
“And so far, he’s been reticent,” Ronan concluded with a nod. “Is that why you’re here now, then? As a gift from the Authority to tempt him?”
“Yes and no. I’m on loan, it’s true, but they know I’m not temptation enough to draw him into the fold. However, they also know he’ll do anything to keep his daughter safe, and someday they’ll exploit that fact. If they haven’t already.”
“So I’m assuming this Authority has the best and brightest working for them, yeah?” Dubheasa asked.
Trevor nodded. “Something like that. The other Guardian’s name is Draven Masters. Last I heard, he was somewhere down in New Orleans, in the States, dodging his responsibilities and picking fights over card tables.”
As he mulled over the idea of seeking out Draven, Ronan gave in to the temptation to curl one of Dubheasa’s dark locks around his finger, taking pleasure in the silky feel of her hair on his skin. If she noticed or minded, she didn’t care enough to say.
“If he’s in hiding, how do we find him?” she asked.
“His best friend,” Trevor replied with a grin.
“And that would be?”
“Me.”
Ronan chuckled when Dubheasa blew out an exasperated breath. “Ya had to know that’s what he was about when he mentioned the man to begin with, love.”
“He dances around a subject same as you.” Her pert reply made them laugh. In a move that surprised Ronan, she gave him a quick kiss on the mouth before turning back toward Trevor. “Who else did you have in mind for this little party, then?”
Meeting Trevor’s amused gaze, Ronan grinned. “Is it any wonder why she’s stolen my heart?”
“None at all, friend. I’m just sorry you saw her first.”
“Quit with your male bonding, and let’s get back to business,” she scolded. But a smile teased her tempting lips, and Ronan wanted nothing more than to tell Trevor to feck off so he could take Dubheasa to bed.
As if he knew exactly where Ronan’s thoughts had wandered, Trevor snorted and shook his head, then answered Dubheasa’s question. “There are a few. I could approach them on the down-low and hope like hell the Authority doesn’t get wind of it. Begging forgiveness is easier than getting their permission.”
“They wouldn’t approve additional help?” Ronan asked, more than a little concerned about angering the ultimate judge and jury of all mankind. “And why not, if Loman’s second escape from the Otherworld’s holding area is creating a hole in the veil between dimensions? Sure, and it’s in their best interests too, yeah?”
“One would think.” Trevor shook his head. “But they are a mercurial bunch.”
“That’s just feckin’ grand,” Ronan muttered as he released Dubheasa’s hair and climbed to his feet. “Let’s get started.”
Rising, Trevor stretched his back and gave them a tight smile. “You two get some sleep, and I’ll send a few texts. We’ll meet back here in the morning. Say” —he glanced at his watch— “six hours from now?”
“Aye.” Ronan gestured to the door. “You leaving that way or teleporting as ya did before?”
Trevor strode out of the room, then turned, purposefully shoving the door wider and flaring his eyes. “To clarify, sleep isn’t code for sex.”
“Feck off,” Ronan said with a hand gesture to back up his comment.
The other man’s low laugh made him smile in response. Now that Trevor understood Dubheasa was hands-off, Ronan liked him a lot better.
“I don’t think we should pull in anyone else, Ronan.”
He faced Dubheasa and lifted a brow in question.
Her frown deepened as she shook her head. “You heard what he said. The Authority is ‘a mercurial bunch.’ That worries me.”
“We’ll not do a thing without their permission, love. I promise. Now, come to bed and be my cuddle toy. I need a few hours sleep.” He punctuated his statement with a yawn.
“If I climb under those covers, the last thing we’ll be doing is cuddlin’.” She stood and approached him, rising on her tiptoes to give him a light, lingering kiss. “If tomorrow wasn’t so important, I’d join ya in that oversized bed of yours.”
Ronan rested his forehead against hers and sighed. “I really hate me da.”
She snorted and patted his chest. “He’s a right proper gobshite, he is. When the time comes, you’ll kick his arse for the both of us, yeah?”
“Count on it.”
“Grand. Now let’s fix Bridget’s wardrobe, or it’s likely she’ll kick your arse.”