“Higher?” Dubheasa’s stomach dropped. How could one man be so evil? She’d met some shady characters in her life, but Loman was the worst of the worst. His relentless quest for more power put him firmly at the top of the arsehole list and made him a lethal adversary. Despite her seemingly naive response of sending nonmagical humans to fight him, she wasn’t completely ignorant. Paying soldiers to do a job seemed wiser than sending novices like her siblings or herself into the mix.
“My guess is that he’s been targeting witches who are easier to abduct than most.” Castor cut her a sharp look. “You’ve never had any real ability of your own due to Goibhniu’s curse, but the O’Malleys are one of the original Six families who descend from the gods and goddesses. Your family’s magic makes all of you a part of the upper echelon of witches and warlocks, and while they possessed it, it made the O’Connors stronger than you could imagine.”
“And Loman would’ve become addicted to that power,” she concluded. “He’d feel weak without it and strive to compile as much as he could to confront us and get back what he lost.”
Castor nodded approvingly. “Now you’re catching on.”
“Are we going to be forced to fight him? My brothers, sister, and me?” The churning sensation the dread created inside her stomach made her want to vomit. Her worry wasn’t for herself. She simply couldn’t bear to have someone she loved die.
Whether Ronan was privy to her thoughts or simply sensed her distress, he was quick to comfort her, drawing her against him and encasing her tightly within his strong arms. A weak part of her wanted him to never let her go. His answering squeeze told her he had indeed read her mind.
“It won’t get that far, Dove. I’m after stopping him before he gets close enough to hurt you or anyone you love.”
Tilting her head, she met Ronan’s potent silver eyes, and her heart stuttered in her chest. In that instant, she realized he fell firmly into the category of those she loved. “I don’t want you to fight him, either.” Her voice broke, and she cleared her throat in preparation of her confession. “I love you, Ronan O’Connor. I think it may be that I always have, and I’ll be mighty salty should anything happen to you at Loman’s hands.”
Ronan opened his mouth, but closed it just as quickly. His audible swallow caused his Adam’s apple to bob between the muscled columns of his throat. And when his lips tightened, Dubheasa understood his reaction. She’d felt a similar response the first time the L-word tumbled from his lips. The knowledge of holding another’s heart in your hands was humbling, and sometimes that emotion was too great in the moment to reply.
She squeezed the forearm banded across her upper chest, acknowledging his feelings. They didn’t need words, the two of them. Everything he wished to say was expressed in his eyes, and his told her exactly how much he loved her in return.
Stretching on the tips of her toes, she gave him a lingering kiss. As she drew away, he halted her with a hand at the back of her neck. Bringing his other hand up, he cradled her head and gazed down at her with such longing and heat that she thought her soul would be branded throughout eternity.
“And I love you, Dove. If I live a thousand lifetimes, I’ll be after holdin’ that love close and looking for you first in every one hereafter.”
“Aye, and you’d better.” But she couldn’t prevent her happy smile, effectively ruining the sass behind her reply.
His answering grin stole the air from her lungs and curled her toes.
When she could breathe normally once again, she drew away from Ronan and crossed to where Fintan was sitting. “Did Reggie reply?”
Just as he shook his head, a neat scrawl appeared on the page.
Old Désorceler Society stronghold.
Loman and a handful of mercenaries.
Reference prisoners, number unknown. My cellblock houses twenty rooms. All full.
“Fecking grand.” Dubheasa dropped onto the sofa and gnawed her lower lip in consternation. “If Loman’s already gained the abilities of those prisoners, we’re in for a fierce fight.”
Loman wants Ronan’s and Sabrina’s abilities.
Intends to kill both.
Dubheasa sucked in her breath so hard, she coughed long and loud, causing tears to stream from her eyes.
“Jaysus!” Ronan’s complexion paled as he stared at the written words.
“Get details,” Castor barked, all humor gone. The normally jovial man had become a vengeful warrior.
Quentin was already on the move. It seemed he’d barely cleared the door before he returned with Damian and Alastair in tow. Trevor was hot on their heels.
Silently, the Aether read the message Reggie had sent. Any father would be out of their fecking mind at this point, and Damian Dethridge was likely no different, yet his expression remained guarded, giving nothing away. But Dubheasa sensed his turmoil underneath the stoic façade. Loman O’Connor had signed his own death warrant by stating his desire to kill Damian’s daughter. In no scenario that Dubheasa could think of would the man be kept alive to carry out his dastardly plans.
“I need to return to my family.” Damian finally tore his gaze away from the book. “Blane, you’ll do what you do best and obliterate that bastard’s soul when you see him, yes?”
“Consider it done.”
With a short nod to acknowledge Trevor’s comment, Damian then faced Ronan. “You’re to stay away from my daughter.”
Hurt flashed in Ronan’s eyes before he purposely blanked his expression. “Aye, if that’s what ya wish.”
“It’s not what I wish, my friend. It’s what’s necessary.” Strain tightened the skin around the Aether’s dark, almond-shaped eyes, and his lips thinned in a grimace.
“I don’t understand what—ah.” With a shake of his head, Ronan gave him a self-deprecating smile. “Your aim is to separate the targets and make it harder for Dear Ol’ Da to get us both in one place. You think he’ll come for my power first.”
“Yes.”
“Then you should be refortifying your wards to exclude me.” There was a sorrow in Ronan’s words, as if the last of his allies were lost to him.
Dubheasa’s heart hurt for him. Standing, she entwined her fingers in his. He didn’t look her way, but his hand tightened over hers.
“I’m not ready to do that quite yet, Ronan, but you’ll be alerted if the need arises. I have complete faith you’ll win this round.” Oddly, Damian appeared more tired than frightened. “I’ll wish you luck.”
With that, the Aether was gone.
As many times as she’d witnessed a teleport in recent months, Dubheasa found it difficult to wrap her mind around an immediate disappearance.
“Would the stolen abilities revert back to the original witch if Loman’s power source was shut down?” she asked.
“No. He’d only lose the means to amp up more than he already was,” Trevor replied. “His new abilities wouldn’t necessarily go away.”
“A spell would revert those abilities if someone present was to cast it,” Alastair said, giving her a thoughtful look. “What do you have in mind, child?”
“The fake wedding we discussed this morning. If it was made known Sabrina would be there as our flower girl, Loman might risk an attack. He’d have to know he couldn’t reach her any other way, yeah?”
“Probably.”
“I propose we stage a rescue while he’s distracted.”
Alastair nodded slowly. “It’s worth a shot.”
Castor sent him a measuring look. “Should we talk to Isis about pulling the Six from both sides of the veil, Al? Like in the battle with the Enchantress?”
“Yes. I believe we should.” Alastair straightened his cuffs and strode from the room to presumably contact the Goddess.
Dubheasa hated that she constantly felt like the uneducated outsider of their group. “What does that mean?”
Ronan sat and drew her down beside him. “Two hundred years or more ago, Isolde de Thorne, Damian’s mother, was the Aether. Only she was possessed by a mysterious evil destined to consume all magic and drive her mad in the process. Isis gathered the most fierce from Earth and the Otherworld to battle the woman, knowin’ they had to stop her.”
Enthralled by his story, Dubheasa remained silent, eagerly anticipating what came next.
“Sure, and some died, their souls destroyed by the Darkness, but stop her, the Six finally did. Isolde couldn’t be killed, but she could be entombed in a magic coffin. And that’s exactly what Isis achieved with the help of those families from both sides of the veil.”
“Who are the Six families?”
“The Thornes, Dethridges, Champeaus, O’Malleys, Carlyles, and the Drakes,” Castor answered.
She frowned. “Not the O’Connors?”
Ronan sighed. “No, love. My family are a right bunch of thieving bastards, they are. And they gained their magic through stealing it or marrying into it.”
His response didn’t surprise her. “So is the Enchantress still entombed two hundred years later, then?” What must it be like to lie in a tomb year in and year out, never able to escape and slowly being driven mad?
“Ach, no. She found a way out by possessing Mackenzie Thorne. By then, Damian had taken on the mantle of Aether. And his evil mother went after his young daughter.”
Castor’s smile was hard as he finished Ronan’s story. “Damian fried her ass. When it comes to his daughter, he doesn’t play around.”
“Yeah, and I heard the story of Moira just last week,” Dubheasa replied. “How he burned her alive for attempting to hurt Sabrina.”
“He’s ruthless when crossed, and rightfully so.”
“Heavy is the Aether’s crown, to be sure,” Ronan added. “I wouldn’t want to be makin’ the decisions he has to.”
“What type of decisions is he after making?” she asked.
Castor was quick to answer. “Life. Death. Everything in between.”
“Damian has that kind of power?”
“Aye,” Ronan replied.
Dubheasa found it hard to fathom. Life and death were for the gods and goddesses to decide, not mortals. Although the Aether was the highest order of mortal and harder to kill than other magical beings, he could still die and he retained human emotions. The weight of his choices had to be heavy indeed.
“And it’s why neither the Authority nor the Goddess stepped in to stop him from barbecuing Moira. They understood it was up to him to exact retribution and remove a dangerous player from the game.” With a gesture toward Ronan, Castor continued, “To protect his daughter, he’d do anything, and they know it. Case in point, transferring a Guardian’s power to an O’Connor.”
“Yeah, and what better way to balance mine than with an O’Malley Guardian?” Ronan grinned at her.
“It’s a grand way to end a centuries-old feud,” she agreed. “But speaking of Sabrina, as the Oracle, wouldn’t it be possible for her to tell us the outcome of our plan?”
Castor’s visage became thoughtful, but then he seemed ready to reject the suggestion.
Quentin cast him a sharp look. “With someone as dangerous as Loman, this may be the time to see what the human Magic 8 Ball has to say.”