Back at the Black Cat Inn, Damian checked his watch for the third time in fifteen minutes.
Annoyed, aching, and thoroughly out of sorts, Ronan wanted to rip the damned thing from his friend’s wrist and tell him to shove it up his arse.
“We’re out of time, Ronan. The mission can’t be delayed, and I need to get back to my family so Draven can return.” Worry defined the reason for Damian’s impatience. “I’m going to give you a boost to your system to help you recover.”
The Aether’s expression was no-nonsense, and Ronan reluctantly nodded.
Since his power was removed, he’d been unable to bounce back to normal, and none of them could figure out why. Initially, he’d been hesitant to accept help, worried the extra amp might give him a false sense of self and make him feel invincible when he clearly wasn’t. But now, he’d accept whatever Damian was offering to get him on his feet again. No way was he facing off with his father when his legs were as shaky as a newborn lamb.
“Remove your shirt.”
With an attempt at a grin, Ronan worked his shirt over his head. “Do you want to feel me up, then?”
Not bothering with a comment, Damian used his hands like defibrillators and sent a shock wave through him. Had Ronan not been sitting, he’d have surely fallen down from the explosion of energy.
“Jaysus!” His skin felt fried where it had come in contact with the Aether’s palms. A wild glance down at his chest showed angry red burns. “What the fuck?”
Alarm was a foreign expression on the Aether’s visage, and yet Damian looked as if someone had clubbed him on the side of the head and was about to go in for a second round. “That shouldn’t have happened, Ronan. I don’t know what the hell is going on with your system, but it seems to have had an adverse reaction to—ah! Of course!”
“Of course what? What the feck is happenin’ here, man?”
“I honestly don’t know why I didn’t consider it earlier,” Damian muttered to himself.
“Sure, and are you planning on the big reveal, or are you going to talk to yourself the rest of the bleedin’ day?” Ronan snapped.
Cutting him a dry look, Damian conjured herbs along with a mortar and pestle. “You’ve been fighting the process, and it’s manifesting into an allergic type of reaction.”
“How is that possible?” Brenna asked from her seat beside Dubheasa. The O’Malleys were all gathered, waiting for the moment they were to kick off the wedding.
“Ronan was violently opposed to the binding to begin with. It’s rare, but for those of the upper echelon—like Guardians or Sirens, such as yourself—the ability to manifest is tightly woven into the fabric of their power.” The Aether shot Ronan a dirty look. “In other words, our friend here didn’t trust me enough to let go. He was subconsciously holding back a part of himself, and it’s developed into a nasty little monster with a mind of its own.”
“Fuck.” Furious with himself, Ronan shook his head in disgust.
“Precisely,” Damian replied succinctly. “It’s not a difficult fix, and lucky for us, we have a Siren on hand.”
Brenna hopped up, an anticipatory smile lighting her face. “How exciting!”
With a snort, Ronan rolled his eyes. “For you, maybe. I’m feeling as if I’ve been hit by a high-speed train.”
Ignoring him, she turned to Damian. “What can I do?”
“Sing.”
“Excuse me?” She darted a nervous look toward Eoin.
“Brenna. When I tell you to, I need you to sing to remove what’s left of Ronan’s magic.”
Her skin flushed such a bright red that Ronan was convinced she was about to spontaneously combust. With grim amusement, he waited, positive he knew what she would say. Dear Brenna, shy wallflower she was, didn’t disappoint.
“But… but… I don’t… I can’t… I… we… I can’t have sex with him!” she finally managed.
“Sex? What?” Dubheasa’s indignation nearly rattled the rafters, rivaled only by Eoin’s, “Fuck. No!”
The fierce effort it took Damian not to lose his composure was beautiful to watch. He opened and closed his mouth no less than seven times, and the struggle to contain his laughter caused his neck to flush fuchsia.
Alastair and Castor didn’t bother to hold back. Those two eejits held onto each other, barely able to breathe as they howled like a pair of fecking hyenas.
“Brenna…” Ronan compressed his lips to hold back his own laughter. It wouldn’t do to add to her embarrassment when she discovered she’d assumed incorrectly. “I believe what Damian intends is to have me drink whatever wicked concoction he’s about to brew up, then have you sing to draw out the contained magic.” He allowed a wicked grin. “And it’s not that I’m not flattered, but no shaggin’ is necessary, darlin’.”
“Oh.” She nodded. “Oh! Right. Okay. Sure. I—”
That she almost sounded disappointed as she rattled on wasn’t lost on him.
Eoin, using his tried and true method, jumped to his feet and kissed her into silence. After a heated minute or two, he drew slightly away and touched his forehead to hers. “Are ya centered again, love?”
“Yes,” she gushed, all starry-eyed and glowing. “Thank you.”
“It’s me greatest pleasure.”
Ronan locked gazes with Dubheasa and lost his battle against the threatening laughter.
* * *
One hour later, Ronan was completely devoid of magic, and he fucking hated it. After having nearly undefeatable power, he had become useless, with the exception of his brawn and brains for a physical fight. Certainly, he was no match against anyone with abilities.
“How long into the wedding do you think it will be for Loman to show?” Trevor asked him.
“If I had to guess, when it’s time to repeat the vows and the officiant asks for objections to the marriage.”
Castor snorted. “That sounds about right. Loman prefers a grand entrance, and what better one is there than objecting to your marriage to the woman he considers the enemy?”
“Exactly.”
They were huddled in the O’Malleys’ kitchen, waiting for everyone to take their places and start the fake ceremony so they could teleport to the island. Alfred, Alastair’s butler, who Ronan had come to realize was better than the one employed by Batman, had dug up a rough map of the island and the layout of its buildings. No architectural plans existed of those structures, so they would be going in blind on that score.
“Damian will disrupt any signals to the outside world the instant we arrive, so even if Loman has alarms set, he won’t get notified.”
The nagging sense this entire plan would go wrong wouldn’t leave Ronan alone. “Every building will be rigged with explosives. It’s imperative you all realize that going in,” he warned the others. Then, ignoring the guilt at excluding her, he said, “I think Dubheasa should stay behind and hide in the Black Cat’s basement until we are done.”
Her expected protest was immediate. “Fuck no! I didn’t go through the binding of my power to be left behind as a sitting duck. I’ll do my part and save those puir bastards Loman is holding prisoner.”
“Love—”
“No, Ronan.” She tapped the rudimentary map on the table. “There are too many buildings and not enough of us to stage this rescue. The time we have will be limited, at best.” Swallowing hard, she shook her head and continued. “And none of you have said it, but we all know we may have to leave some behind to get out before Loman returns.”
“I’m not getting out,” Ronan retorted. When she gasped, he captured her hand and gently squeezed. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded, Dove. I meant I’m staying to see this ended with Trevor and Castor while the rest of you return home.”
“I’m your chosen mate, as you are mine. We’re to be Isis’s and Anu’s selected Guardians. You need to trust me, Ronan. Trust that I can help and be a worthy mate.”
Her sincerity cut him to the core, and he wanted to strenuously object, but she had a point.
“I trust you to help,” he replied gruffly.
The first strands of Cian’s music drifted to them, and as one, they stood.
“Loman will have arrived just outside the wards.” Castor checked his phone as it pinged. “Damian’s removed the force field from the island. It’s time to teleport.” Addressing the hired security directly, he said, “You all have your assigned buildings and the location to meet up with any survivors. If they are too weak, leave them by the airfield. We have transports lined up.”
Dubheasa’s hand was clammy in his, and Ronan gave her a confident smile. “First one to find Reggie wins the prize, love.”
“It better be grand, because I’m after winning it.” She rose on her tiptoes and quickly kissed him. “Let’s go.”
Castor stepped up to them and clasped their hands. “I’ll be your captain for today’s flight. Buckle up. There may be turbulence during the ride.”
Dubheasa’s laughter was the balm Ronan needed to soothe his nerves.
“Fecking eejit,” he muttered affectionately, surprising himself that he actually held his recently found uncle in such high esteem. “Just get us there already.”
His cells warmed to almost burning, and without his own magic, the sensation was more uncomfortable than normal. It took him a precious minute or two on the other side of the teleport to recover and cool down. It appeared Dubheasa was similarly affected.
“You two okay?” Castor inquired.
“Aye. We will be. Go do what you need to.”
“Make sure your ear com works.”
First Ronan, then Dubheasa, tested their earpiece, sending and receiving a message to Castor after he’d walked twenty feet away. After giving them the thumbs-up, he ran toward his designated buildings.
Ronan grabbed Dubheasa’s arm when she would’ve turned away. “Be careful, Dove. Please.”
“I intend to.” Her smile was beatific and punched him right in the heart. “I’ve a lot to live for.”
“You’ve got your knife?”
“Aye.”
Still, he was reluctant to let her go as he stared down into her excited emerald orbs. “This isn’t some craic. It’s serious, yeah?”
“I know.” After a sweet pat to his chest, she turned and ran for the closest building.
The sense of wrongness was extreme, and Ronan almost ran after her. Holding his breath as she touched the door handle, he let out a hearty exhale when she went inside and nothing immediately happened.
“Fuck me, I’m getting paranoid,” he muttered.
“But that paranoia has saved your life on more than one occasion, boyo,” his inner voice reminded him.
“Fuck.”