9

BANN KNEW THE INSTANT the new arrival’s gaze settled on him. It was the same feeling as when he used to hunt. The feeling that something was hunting him right back. Out of habit, he reached down and loosened his knife in its sheath.

Draining the last of his beer, he casually shifted the bottle to his left hand—always leave yer blade hand free, m’lad—holding it by its long neck as he watched the man saunter over, his friends tight on his heels. Bann saw Rory start toward the newcomers with a scowl before another Knight snagged the young man’s arm and began speaking in an undertone. He caught a few words of don’t need any trouble and let Hugh handle this. The conversation, which had died down when the door opened, picked up again. Laney faded away with an excuse to use the bathroom.

“Tully.” Hugh greeted the man. “I didn’t think you and your boyos would be joining us tonight.”

“We changed our minds, Hugh Doyle.” Tully looked Bann up and down “So, you’re Bannerman Boru.” He held out his hand, his smile never reaching his blue eyes. “Weston Tully.”

Clasping the man’s forearm, Bann kept his face neutral as they engaged in the tiresome game of who-can-squeeze-harder-and-leave-a-bruise. Both men, about the same height and build, declared it a draw.

Dropping his hand, Tully looked past him. “Hello, Shay,” he said when the Healer joined them.

“Fáilte.” She offered the traditional greeting with forced civility. “Care for a beer?”

“Later, thank you.”

“Hey, Shay.” One of the younger Knights, his dark blond hair cropped in imitation of Tully’s, nodded at the Healer. “Good to see you again.” His eyes lingered on her body in a way that made Bann want to punch him. Or break the bottle still in his hand over the younger Knight’s head. Or both—he wasn’t particular.

“Quinn.” Shay gave a curt nod. Bann wondered why her expression had turned stony.

“I see you’re still taking in strays off the street.” Quinn gestured toward Bann.

“And I see you’re still being an asshole.”

“Guess you haven’t forgiven me.”

“You just now figured that out? Wow, you’re slower than I thought.”

Quinn narrowed his eyes. Before he could speak, Hugh interrupted him.

“So. Tully. I thought you were undecided about all this.”

Weston Tully shrugged. “I am. As are many others. This decision to declare open war on a god affects all Tuatha Dé Danaan in the region, you know. It would’ve been nice if you Doyles had asked the rest of us before committing yourselves.” The room quieted as the other Doyles stopped pretending to not be listening in.

“And why is that?” Hugh said. “The autonomy of the clan goes back to the beginning. We have the right to govern ourselves insofar as our actions do no harm to others.”

“You think abetting someone who brings Cernunnos, possibly one of the most insane gods of the Old Ones, into our midst is doing no harm to others?”

Hugh shrugged and took another sip of his beer. “Toryn Mull has no issue with our decision.”

Who’s Toryn Mull? Bann wondered.

“Toryn Mull is our chieftain,” Shay explained, as if reading his thoughts.

How does she do that?

“You have an expressive face,” she muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

“Toryn Mull is so behind the times, he still believes in the legend of Gideon’s Spear.” Tully said with a sneer. “Which is why many of us”—he gestured to the Knights flanking him, including Quinn—“have taken matters into our own hands. We’ve joined together to formally request that Bannerman Boru move on. His presence here in Colorado is a danger to the rest of us.”

“And what would you have Boru do?” Hugh said. “Leave this place and hope the Horned One follows him? Why, Cernunnos would slaughter everyone who sheltered him, in retribution, just to ensure that other Fey will shun him and his son in the future. No, we fight the god. Here and now. Right, Bann?”

Without realizing his heart had already made the decision, Bann nodded. He looked around the room. “I deeply regret drawing this evil into your midst and would change it if I could.” He raised his voice. “But the threat is here, and so I shall stay as well, for I will not leave you unprotected.” His eyes met Shay’s for a moment.

Voices swelled in admiration. Bottles and glasses clinked against one another; a corner of Bann’s mind wondered how Cor was sleeping through all this. He noticed Tully studying the crowd, his mouth tight. He’s outnumbered here and knows it.

Hugh squeezed his shoulder. “That fine speech deserves a toast.” He took the empty bottle from Bann. “I’ll fetch us another round.”

When Hugh left, Tully stepped closer. Out of the corner of his eye, Bann spied Shay’s hand creeping to the haft of the knife worn low on her hip. Keeping his face impassive, he stood his ground as Tully assaulted his personal space.

“Bold words, Boru.”

“True words, Tully.”

“They better be. You end this threat to our people.” Tully’s bland expression did not match his cold tone. “Or else.”

“Or else what?”

“Or we’ll solve the problem.” Without another word, Tully stepped around Bann and headed toward the kitchen. “I think I’ll have that beer, now,” he announced in a loud voice.

Heart thundering from the dodgy blend of alcohol and testosterone and adrenaline, Bann watched as Tully strolled away in search of refreshment, his clan members following in his wake. The sound of Shay’s sudden angry voice jerked his head around. His pulse spiked higher.

A few feet away, she was arguing with Quinn, her eyes snapping with a blue flame. Quinn sneered back, his lip curled in derision.

“You’re so full of shit, Quinn Tully. You know that?”

“Funny. You used to think I was awesome.”

“That was before I got to know the sucky you.”

“Yeah, you’d know about sucking.” He made a kissing noise with his lips.

Shay ignored it. “I can’t believe you’re going along with Weston Tully.” She snorted. “On second thought, why am I surprised? It was always clan, first and last, with you. No, wait. It was always you first, then clan, then the rest of us.”

“Hey, Tully’s just trying to protect all of our people.”

“Bann is our people. In case you didn’t notice.”

“So, it’s Bann, not Bannerman. You sure don’t waste any time.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what I mean.” He leaned closer and whispered something.

Even before he finished, Shay’s open hand whipped around and connected with Quinn’s cheek, the thwack of the blow drowned out by the buzz of voices and music. His head rocked back. Shock widened his eyes for a moment, then they narrowed into black slits.

“You bitch.” He slapped her, the back of his hand cracking against the corner of her mouth.

In a single movement, Bann lunged forward, yanked Quinn around, and punched him in the face. The shock of the hit zinged through his wrist and arm and up into his shoulder. He could feel his knuckles split, courtesy of Quinn’s front teeth. Hopefully, he swallowed a few.

Quinn staggered, almost knocking Shay over. Bann shoved the younger man backward and pinned him to the wall. Throwing an arm across Quinn’s throat, he leaned on it, grinding his forearm into his opponent’s Adam’s apple.

“Lay a hand upon her again, and I will kick yer arse from here to the Atlantic Coast.”

Quinn coughed as he struggled to break free. “Why are you all jacked up?” Blood and spit flew from his lips. “Found out she wasn’t that great of a ride?”

Fury and an odd sense of protectiveness erupted inside of Bann. His entire body twisted and knotted until he feared the skin would rip open, revealing the monster inside. A red haze swamped his vision, like someone had spray-painted the inside of his eyeballs.

Giving himself over to the warp spasm, the ancient battle rage of the Celts, he listened as the cold fire sang to him, urging him to strike out, to kill the enemy. Why, what a fine idea. I think I will. And perhaps I’ll make a drinking cup out of his skull when I am finished. Bann smiled at the thought.

He tried. He really did. He landed six or seven brutal blows before hands grabbed his arms and pulled him back. Dimly, he could hear Shay shouting his name through the high-pitched hum in his ears.

“Bann, enough! You’re scaring Cor. Stop now. Please. Stop.”

Bann blinked, the blood haze fading. Gasping for air, he looked around. Several Doyles were holding back Weston Tully and his men. Quinn lay crumpled on the floor, face covered in blood, moaning softly. Nearby, Shay was kneeling by Cor, both arms wrapped around the boy as he stared wide-eyed and white-faced. Max stood next to him, hackles raised.

The hands holding his arms let go. Hugh stepped around in front of him. “All right, now?”

Bann nodded, suddenly aware of a raging thirst. He licked his lips. But first. “Cor.”

The boy broke free of Shay’s hold and flung himself at his father. Bann staggered a step from the impact. He bent over, almost passing out from the residual kick of the warp spasm, and hugged his son. Blood from his hands, Quinn’s blood, left streaks on Cor’s T-shirt like a tie-dye job from a mass murderer. He leaned against the wall, thigh muscles quivering more than he would ever admit.

“Well, knowing Quinn,” Weston Tully said, helping another Knight lift half-conscious Quinn to his feet, “he probably deserved some of that.”

“He did,” Bann replied. All of it.

Without another word, Tully and his men left, taking Quinn with them. As the rest of the crowd began discussing the event in a manner that suggested a fight was not only common but expected, Shay stepped closer.

“What the hell?” She glanced down at Cor. “Excuse my language, kiddo.”

“He struck you,” Bann said.

“In case you didn’t notice, I have a knife. And I was about to use it. But”—she paused and touched the reddened spot on her face—“I appreciate the gesture.” She grinned as she deepened her voice. “‘Lay a hand upon her again, and I will kick yer arse from here to the Atlantic Coast.’”

“I thought the Pacific Coast was too close for an effective lesson.” A sudden weariness swamped him. “Son, back to bed with you.” He already knew how that would end up.

“I’m not tired.” Cor kept one hand fisted in the tail of Bann’s shirt, the other buried in Max’s ruff.

Gods, I am, Bann thought, wishing someone would put him to bed. Not up to another fight, he nodded. “Let me wash my hands, then.”

“Cor, would you make sure Max has water in his bowl? My cousins have big feet and probably knocked it over.” She waved him toward the kitchen. When the boy left with his four-legged shadow in tow, Bann nodded once in gratitude.

“Let me see to those knuckles of yours.” She nudged him toward the bathroom.

Bann let her. Closing the lid on the toilet, he sank down and leaned back while Shay soaked a washcloth in cold water.

“Hands,” she ordered, wringing out the cloth. Holding his hand with a firm but gentle grip, she dabbed the blood off his knuckles. Eyes locked on the job, she spoke. “You’re awfully old-fashioned, you know that?”

“My greatest fault.”

“Oh, and here I thought it was your stubbornness. Or quick temper.”

“Secondary faults.” He held out his other hand.

“Well, thanks again. Quinn’s a jerk. That’s why I dumped him months ago.”

“I could think of more appropriate terms for him than jerk.”

“He’s also vindictive. I wouldn’t be surprised if he tries to get back at you in some way.”

Bann shrugged. “He’ll need to wait his turn. I believe a god is ahead of him.” He cleared his throat. “My apologies for ruining your party.”

“Why, it’s not ruined at all.” She grinned as she finished up, tossing the dirty cloth to one side. Bann found himself staring at the dusting of freckles across her nose. “We’ve plenty of food and drinks, lots of good company, and nobody has died. All in all, a success. Speaking of drinks, I think I could use another.”

“I as well. And I’d best see to Cor.” Bann let out a long breath. Poor lad. He didn’t need to see me doing that.

Seemingly hearing his thoughts—again—Shay gestured toward the hall. “He’ll be okay, Bann. From what I can tell, he’s a tough kid.”

That he is.