Dubheasa was the first to find Reggie’s cell, grinning when he stared at her in stunned disbelief. “I’m rescuing you, Reg. Tell me how to open your cage.”
“You have to leave, Dubheasa. Loman knows you’re coming, and he’s planned for this.”
His urgency spiked her already high adrenaline. “How?”
“Doesn’t matter. You’ve got to go!” he ordered.
“But she’s here now, Reginald, me boy,” a voice purred from behind her. “I’m after thinking we should give her a room of her own, yeah?”
Heart hammering out of her chest, Dubheasa spun to see Castor’s twin reclining against the bars of a cell diagonal to them. The difference was slighter than she’d imagined. Loman had more bulk, shorter hair, and soulless eyes.
“Run, Dubheasa,” Reggie hissed in a low voice. “As if your fucking life depends on it, because it bloody well does.”
“Sure, and it would be a feckin’ shame if ya left without greetin’ your host, girl. One would question your upbringin’, yeah?”
Loman’s taunts fueled a hereto-unknown anger within her for his cruelty. Toward Reggie, toward Ronan, toward all the poor souls trapped within the walls of this dreary prison. “And would it have been better to be spawned and raised by you, ya fecking gobshite?” she snarled.
Reggie made a grab for her as she started forward, screaming in agony at the instantaneous second-degree burn he received from crossing the magical barrier that held him captive.
“Reggie!” Her helplessness to ease his pain fed the fire raging within her.
Loman’s sadistic laughter rang out as Reggie cradled his arm to his chest. “Now, Reginald, ya had to know the consequences. You’ve seen it often enough, yeah?”
“Go bugger yourself, old man!”
“You’ll never learn, boyo.” Not bothering to straighten, Loman touched his bracelet.
The symbol above the cell lit, and a blue light traveled from the sigil, down along the walls, and illuminated the stones underneath Reggie’s feet. Fear filled his light jade eyes an instant before a scream was wrenched from his throat and echoed down the corridor. His body convulsed for what seemed like forever before the supercharged floor shut off and he collapsed on the ground.
Dubheasa wanted to tear through the barrier to get to him, to see if he still lived, but doing so would cost her own life. As she faced Loman, her gaze locked onto the three-inch-wide steel bracelet around his wrist. The blue light slowly faded from the sigil matching the one above the cells. That damned band had to be how Loman was maintaining the enchantment to contain his prisoners.
“He’ll live to mouth off another day, girl. Don’t waste your tears on the likes of him,” Loman sneered.
Unaware she’d been crying, Dubheasa swiped her fingers beneath her eyes. Sure enough, they came back wet. “At least someone cares enough about him to shed a tear. You’ll go to your grave with no one to mourn you,” she taunted.
“I’ve been to me grave twice already. Ya think it breaks me heart to have no mourners?” His bark of laughter was harsh and caused her skin to prickle. “I’ve no fear of death.”
“You should, because it’s coming for you soon enough.”
Contempt curled his lip. “Not from the likes of you. You’re a weak fool, ya are.”
From the shadows of the cell behind him, Dubheasa detected movement, but she was quick to ignore it. Whoever, whatever, was in that cell was not her primary concern. Somehow, she had to get away from Loman, and her chances appeared slim at that moment. The island was massive, and the compound housed at least ten prisons with hundreds of cellblocks. Some of which, like the one she was in, weren’t connected to the central building at all. The rescue team she’d arrived with was spread thinly, her earpiece was no longer transmitting, and her telepathic connection to Ronan had gone by way of her abilities, so rescue wasn’t likely to be imminent.
“Weak?” She snorted. “I’m imagining everyone is weak to your limited way of thinking, yeah?”
“Aye.”
He straightened from the bars, and it startled Dubheasa to realize he was as big and intimidating as Ronan. He might be Castor’s identical twin, but this guy wore his bulk in the most threatening of manners. Neither Ronan’s nor Castor’s size had caused her a moment of fear, but Loman made her feel diminutive in comparison. Added to the fact that she was powerless, where he had magic on his side, and her predicament became more perilous.
Again, the shadows behind him shifted, and again, she ignored the movement.
“You have plenty of abilities, O’Connor.” The smile she gave him was one she’d used on recalcitrant clients during her days at Lamda. Designed to cajole and charm, it had worked about ninety percent of the time. “You could afford to let Reggie and me go.”
Distaste curled his mouth downward, and he shook his head. “You O’Malleys! Cowards, the lot of ya! And when I’m done with these pitiful eejits, I’ll be retrieving what ya owe me, to be sure.”
Righteous anger gripped her, and she dropped the pretense.
“Owe you?” She scoffed. “We owe you nothing, Loman O’Connor. Nothing but a poisoned bullet to that dead black heart of yours. What you had from us, your family stole, and it was never yours to begin with!”
“Hold your whist, or I’ll spell ya to silence, ya bleedin’ she-devil!” Hands curled into fists, he looked ready to pummel her under those meaty weapons of his. “I—ugh—”
Thick, muscular arms plunged through the bars and wrapped around Loman’s neck in a stranglehold. Blisters broke along the rapidly darkening skin, and the man’s agony was made obvious by his guttural yell.
“Get the bracelet, Dubheasa!” the prisoner ordered. “Hurry, girl!”
Diving into action, she bolted across the aisle and grabbed hold of Loman’s right wrist. He fought like a demon possessed, even as his face turned purple from lack of air. Between clawing at his captor’s face and swinging at her, Loman made it difficult to remove the band. The clasp was tricky, and the precious seconds it took to unclip it caused Dubheasa to sweat. Just as she believed success was within her grasp, Loman’s hammer of a fist grazed her jaw and knocked her down. Hitting the floor, she lost her grip on the bracelet, and it skittered through the bars of Reggie’s cell.
She had only one choice—thrust her arm through the opening to retrieve it before Loman could get free. And by the looks of her rescuer’s seared limbs, it wouldn’t be long. Her current predicament would require her to burn her own skin to retrieve the controller.
Chancing one last glance at the prisoner, she met his agonized moss-green eyes.
Her heart stuttered.
She knew those eyes.
“Da?”
“I can’t hold him for long, love. Get the bracelet, yeah?”
Her mind raced with the why and how of his presence here, but she was out of time. Her father’s skin had begun to smoke, and the sheer torment on his face tore at her soul. Just as she would’ve reached through the bars for the band, Reggie’s hand closed around it, and his gaze locked with hers.
“Go,” he mouthed.
With a barely discernible nod, she scrambled to her feet. But she only made it the distance of one cell when a hand fisted in her hair and threw her to the floor. The force of the attack sent her across the expanse of aisle, and she collided with the bars containing her father.
The smell of his charred flesh triggered her gag reflex, and she valiantly fought to hold back the vomit. If he could endure, so could she.
“I’m sorry, Da,” she whispered achingly.
The left side of his mouth twitched as if he intended to give her the standard half smile he always graced her with when she was a small child. After he disappeared from her life, she’d come to remember that small gesture as his silent way of telling her everything was going to be all right, although it never was.
The resonant clank of disengaging locks reverberated throughout the building, and to her shock, the cell in front of her opened. Wasting no time, she dove toward her father and cradled his head in her lap. Yes, she should’ve gotten the hell out of Loman’s reach, but the man was in full-rage mode and any attempt to escape would likely see her dead at his hands.
“You’re a pathetic mouse of a girl, ya are. Not fit to be the mate of my son,” Loman said with a look of hatred. “He’ll be well rid of ya, to be sure.”
“He loves her, Uncle.” Directly behind Loman, standing in the center of the corridor, was Reggie. Cradled within his arms was a crossbow, loaded and ready for bear. “And if you want him to kill you for good this time, then go ahead and hurt her. But I know Ronan—far better than you ever could hope to—and I can promise you he’ll tear you limb from limb.”
“Bah! Stop plaguing me with your blatherin’, boy!” Loman snapped without turning. To Dubheasa, he said, “He makes me feckin’ brain ache with all his dire predictions, he does.”
Reggie’s truth might’ve hurt her chances of survival, adding the nail to her coffin, so to speak. As much as Loman hated all O’Malleys, he seemed to despise her more than most. Perhaps the reason was that she held Ronan’s affections, where his father never could.
Ronan didn’t love lightly, and with good reason. Using fists and ugly insults, Loman had tried to mold his son into an unfeeling machine. A clone of himself. Ronan’s abusive childhood had made him reticent and suspicious of everyone’s motives, and yet, he’d offered Dubheasa unconditional love. Trusting her to keep his heart whole as she had put her trust in him.
She looked down into her father’s tortured eyes.
He, too, knew the truth of it. One way or another, Dubheasa would be Loman O’Connor’s next victim.
Holding her gaze, her father opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound left him. Again and again, he repeated a single word, but she had no idea what he was trying to say. His body began to shudder as if he were freezing, which was at direct odds with the burning hot skin of his arms and the side of his face he’d pressed to the bars. Dubheasa only prayed he could hold out long enough for a healer to arrive, but her stomach clenched as she noted the rapid graying of his features.
“It’s going to be all right, Da. I promise ya it will.”
“You’re a fool, girl. He’s a dead man.” The small hairs on her arms rose at the vehemence in Loman’s tone.
Rising to a standing position, she faced him. Although her magic was bound, she hadn’t come empty-handed, and she eased her hand close to her waistband, hoping to reach the knife there before Loman struck.
Reggie must’ve been warned by Loman’s tone, and he raised the crossbow to his shoulder to take aim. “Back away from her, old man. I’ll not tell you twice.”
Loman did turn then. Hands raised to his shoulders as if he intended to surrender, he faced his nephew. “Are ya man enough to pull the trigger again, boyo? When I return, I won’t be as kind to ya as I was this time, I won’t.”
There was no doubt or hesitation in Reggie’s expression, and the thwack of the arrow hitting its target was overly loud to Dubheasa’s ears.
As was Ronan’s disbelieving bellow as it filled the cellblock.
It seemed to take a lifetime for her to glance down at her chest, possibly because of the dread of what she’d find. There was no real pain, just what felt like a forceful punch to her breast, clear through to her back. The clatter of the crossbow caught her attention as she dropped to her knees, barely registering the sharp pain of contacting with the stone.
Lifting her head, she met Reggie’s dismayed gaze. In the depths of his eyes, she witnessed his remorse and the resignation that his life was over along with hers. His fear that Ronan wouldn’t question why he had shot her, and the conviction that his cousin would kill him regardless.
As she collapsed and her shoulder bounced against the ground, Loman flashed her a gloating smile, so evil in his pleasure. The fucker had anticipated Reggie’s shot and teleported out of the arrow’s path.
Not wanting his to be the last face she saw, she turned her head toward the rush of running feet.
Ronan’s frantic eyes turned a deep gunmetal gray with his looming grief.
“I’m sorry,” she said. A death rattle choked off the last of her apology as metallic-tasting liquid pooled in her mouth. She tried again. “I’m so—” Once again, coughs caused her body to spasm, and her blood splattered against his charcoal-gray shirt, adding to the dark stains of his enemies’ blood already there.
“Don’t talk, Dove,” he cried urgently. “Don’t try to talk. We’ll get ya to the healer. Just hold on, love.”
His words ran together the more panicked he became, and she tried to smile. To assure him he’d be just fine without her. Because he was Ronan Fucking O’Connor, the best man she knew.
Freezing and exhausted, with no more energy remaining, she closed her eyes and turned her face toward the warmth of his large palm. She lifted her lids to view—and perhaps memorize for the afterlife—his beautiful face one last time. “Love you,” she murmured as she exhaled her last breath.