19

BANN BLINKED AWAKE. THE dream that had jerked him out of sleep faded, leaving a trace of a memory of water. Then even the trace faded, too. With a yawn, he stretched, grunting at the satisfying pop of his spine. One hand reached for the knife on the floor beside his bed while his eyes swept the room, an old habit. A few feet away, Cor was a boy-sized lump under the comforter in the middle of the other bed.

The door was shut. Bann had closed it before retiring, just in case, for some reason, Shay had decided to allow Max the run of the house. Nothing short of a closed door would stop the dog from making a beeline for Cor whenever possible. And vice versa.

Sitting further up, he pushed the curtain aside on the window next to his bed with the tip of the knife and peered out. The front yard was empty, as was the street leading south. Almost out of view, his truck sat tucked around the corner of the house; only its fender poked out. To the east, a streak of pale blue on the horizon marked the beginning of the new day, that in-between time when magic happened. Not that Bann believed in magic anymore.

Well, maybe just a little.

Knowing he would never get back to sleep, he rose, dressing as quietly as he could, one eye on his sleeping son, hoping for a few minutes alone before buckling on fatherhood for another day. Not that he didn’t love his son beyond insanity, but still…

As he tugged on briefs and jeans, he wondered briefly when he had switched back to his old habit of sleeping in the nude. He picked up his knife and T-shirt, then eased out of the room on soundless feet. Closing the door with a wary snick, he paused in the hallway and stared down the dim hall at Shay’s door.

For the past few days, ever since the hunt, he’d found himself comparing Shay to his wife. Elizabeth, a beautiful and highly refined woman from one of the oldest and most prominent Fey families, who’d had high standards and even higher disdain for those who did not meet them. Bann had often wondered if she was more enamored with the idea of wedding the descendent of the High King than with the descendent himself. The first few years of their marriage had been marked with an endless procession of soirées amongst the other elite clans of the East Coast who were eager to meet the long-son of the Boru. A Knight for whom those parties were endured rather than enjoyed. But later, as the years passed, Elizabeth had grown disappointed in who and what he was—a roughhewn bogtrotter from the Old Country, with archaic manners and a hunter’s mentality, both out of place in the twenty-first century. His insistence that they live a simpler lifestyle than Elizabeth was accustomed to—which was followed by a series of arguments that flayed both of them—had been the first stake in the heart of their marriage. Cor’s arrival had helped bring them together for a few years, until Bann began talking of training their son to hunt. That’s when the real battle had begun. A war made up of brutal skirmishes—each side determined to win, whatever the cost.

The old question haunted him: Did Elizabeth marry me for my lineage or for myself?

But now, there was Shay. If Elizabeth had been high heels, black tie, and the tink of martini glasses, Shay was barefooted mornings, faded jeans, and fresh coffee in a thick mug.

Shay Doyle. There was something about her that soothed the burn of the hell he had been living. He found himself wanting to know her. Her thoughts. Her opinions. Her dreams. He wanted to know what made her laugh and what made her weep.

To be sure, he also found himself wanting her. To explore her body in the coracle of the night and have her explore his. If she appeared and beckoned for me to join her in her bed, would I go? He snorted. The question is not would I, but how swiftly would I run?

As if on cue, her door opened.

Bann held his breath.

Max appeared. The dog trotted past him toward the kitchen, the beat of gottapeegottapeegottapee in his gait. An unaware Shay stumbled after him, yawning. Hair tousled around her face and shoulders, she was dressed in a plain cotton camisole and a pair of plaid flannel boxers. Although baggy, they were short enough to trap Bann’s gaze.

Which was good, since the cami was stretched tight across her breasts. And the morning air was cold. From the looks of things under said shirt, really cold.

Fumbling with his own shirt, he pulled it over his head to blindfold himself. A faint squeak of surprise. The whisper-hiss of bare feet scampering away. By the time his head poked through the neck hole, the hallway was empty. From the kitchen, Max whined.

After letting the frantic dog outside, Bann flipped on the coffeemaker. As it spat and complained, he made a lap around the island, trying to think of anything other than Shay.

Shay’s smile.

Shay’s voice.

Shay’s body.

“What are you, man?” he muttered to himself in Gaelic. “A besotted, downy-cheeked boy?”

“They say talking to oneself is a sign of mental illness.” Shay appeared, barefooted like himself, and dressed in jeans and a hoodie, much to Bann’s disappointment. And relief. But mostly disappointment. “Especially if it’s in Gaelic.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Liar.” She moved toward the back door. “Sorry Max and I woke you up.”

“I was already awake.” Bann snagged two mugs from the cupboard. “Coffee?”

“Please.” As he poured, Shay slid the door open. Max bounded in, banging into the glass and almost knocking it off its runners. He scampered over to his food dish. At the sight of the empty bowl, he looked up at Shay with a what the hell expression.

“It’s like having a child,” she grumbled. She picked up the bowl and disappeared into the pantry where she stored the forty-pound bag of dog food.

“Care to trade?” Bann called, rummaging in the refrigerator for the cream.

“Dad?”

“Ah. Speak of the devil.” He turned at his son’s voice.

Wearing an old T-shirt and sweat pants, Cor leaned his elbows on the island’s countertop, face wrinkled with pain. He cradled his head in his hands, fingers buried in his hair.

Bann winced in sympathy. “Another one, eh?”

Shay appeared with the dog’s bowl filled to the rim with dry kibble. “What’s wrong, kiddo?” After placing it in front of an ecstatic Max, she walked over to Cor. “Not feeling well?”

“He often wakes up with right fierce headaches.” Bann explained. “I do not know what brings them on, but they have plagued him since he was a toddler.”

“Migraines?” Shay cupped Cor’s chin in her hand and peered into his eyes.

“The Healer back home said no—the symptoms are not the same. And, anyway, Fey are not prone to migraines.” Bann joined them. “They usually last an hour or so, then dissipate. The sláinte potion has no effect on them.”

“Hmm.” Shay leaned against the island. Drumming her fingers on the Formica, she studied the boy. “Only in the mornings, Cor?”

Cor nodded, then grimaced at the movement.

“Sometimes, he gets them after a nap. What?” Bann asked when Cor glared up at him through his pain.

“I don’t take naps.” Cor curled his lip. “I’m not a baby.”

“Of course you’re not.” Bann hid a smile behind his mug.

“I’ve got an idea. A remedy we can try, at least.” Shay fished a hair band out of her pocket and pulled her tresses back into a ponytail, the act signaling Healer mode. “Cor, go lie down on the sofa.”

As Cor shuffled over, Shay took a gulp from the mug Bann had handed her, then returned to her storeroom. He could hear the tinkle and rattle as she moved bottles and other objects about. Something fell to the ground with a dull whump.

“Son of a—” She bit back the rest of the curse. “I really need a ladder in here. Or longer legs.”

The phrase longer legs had Bann moving toward the pantry. To be of help, nothing more. He paused in the doorway of the tiny space.

“Watch your feet.” Shay was on her knees, sweeping up pea-sized nuts strewn across the floor and dumping them back into a small burlap bag. After cleaning up the mess, she tossed the bag into a trash can and rose. Dusting her hands on her jeans, she sighed. “Well, that was a waste of some perfect good piñon.”

“Can I be of help?” he asked.

“Yeah, can you get that for me?” Looking up, she pointed to a Mason jar on the highest shelf. “The one with the purple label.” She scooted closer to the shelves to give him room.

Bann squeezed in behind her. He tried to ignore the warmth of her body against his. Tried to ignore the brush of her butt against his thighs. Tried not to breathe in the scent of her shampoo, or her soap, or just the scent of her.

Okay. To be honest, he didn’t try very hard.

Reminding himself that his son was just a few yards away, he reached over her head and grabbed the container half-filled with a pale liquid. It gurgled and sloshed in the jar as he edged sideways out of the room. Shay followed.

“Thanks.” Taking the jar from him, she walked over to the counter and unscrewed the lid. She held it to her nose and inhaled deeply. “Oh, that’s nice.” She sniffed again with a smile. “Got this idea from the mortals.”

Intrigued, Bann leaned around her and took a whiff. Summer filled his nostrils. “What is it?”

“Lavender oil. According to humans, the aroma is supposed to soothe headaches. I thought I’d try it on Cor. Figure it can’t hurt, and it just might help.”

Bann trailed her over to the sofa. Not sure what to do, he hovered to one side as Shay sat down by Cor’s knees and placed the open container on the coffee table. His son lay with his eyes screwed tight, hands fisted on his chest in misery.

“Cor?” The Healer reached over and uncurled his fingers, holding his hands flat between hers. “You need to relax. You’re only making it worse when you tense up your body that way.”

“Hurts,” Cor whimpered. He squinted up at her. “Make it stop.”

“I’ll try.” She let go. Dipping into the jar, she moistened the tip of her finger. “Okay, I’m going to rub some oil on your temples. It’ll feel a little cold at first.” With that, she dabbed the lavender on the side of his head.

Bann sank down on the arm of the nearby chair and watched as she rubbed Cor’s head in a slow, circular motion. The aroma of a late June morning filled the room. She dipped again and applied the oil to his other temple.

Gradually, Cor’s body relaxed. His face smoothed out. He took a deep breath, then another, and sank farther into the sofa’s cushions.

“Better?” Shay whispered.

“Better,” Cor whispered back. Blinking sleepily, he smiled up at her, then closed his eyes.

“Good.” She wiped her hands on her jeans. Leaning closer, she brushed the hair off Cor’s forehead as he dozed. Her gaze was fixed on the boy’s face.

Bann’s was fixed on hers.

By all the gods, she is beautiful, he thought.And not just on the outside.

“Loosen, ye son of a bitch.” Squatting by the camper, Bann fought to unscrew the cap on the wastewater tank, the afternoon sun autumn-warm on the back of his neck. Thoughts about nothing more pressing than obtaining a Colorado driver’s license, ordering plate tags, and opening a bank account drifted through his head. He grinned as he wrangled a vise grip around the cap. May the mortals never find out how easily we Fey can procure illegal documents when necessary. The vise grip slipped, and he scraped his hand along the undercarriage. Wincing, he examined the wound. Each knuckle had a neatly rolled spool of skin on top. He glanced along the east side of the house. Making sure the Healer wasn’t in sight, he licked the beads of blood welling up. Her voice drifted from the backyard, mingling with Max’s barking and Cor yelling commands at the dog between fits of giggles.

Bann smiled at the sound as he worked. We should do something today. The three of us. Something simple and pleasurable, like a meal out. Maybe stroll about downtown afterwards. Something that has nothing to do with killer gods and vengeful monsters—

A shadow fell across him like a shroud.

Bann’s knife was in his hand before the vise grip hit the dirt. Every nerve in his body screamed at him. Strike! Strike now! Drown your blade in the shapeshifter’s blood! The war cry swelled in his throat, almost choking him. He whirled around.

Quinn Tully stood a few feet away. Even with the sun casting his face in shadow, Bann could see the traces of the bruises he had put there ten days ago. He wondered how the younger Knight had managed to approach Shay’s secluded house without his knowledge. Furious with himself for allowing it to happen, he shifted his feet under him. Ready for battle. “What are you doing here?”

Quinn’s eyes darted once to the weapon in Bann’s hand, then toward the backyard and Shay’s disembodied voice. “I’ve come to talk to Shay.”

“No.”

Quinn snorted. “Screw you.” He started toward the side of the house.

Bann slapped a hand on the younger man’s chest, halting him in his tracks. “I said no.”

“Back off.” He knocked Bann’s arm aside. “Or—”

“Or what? Ye’ll strike me? But, no, ye would not dare.” He crowded closer. “Ye only hit women.”

For a long minute, they stood chest to chest. Quinn’s breath was a mix of nerves and beer fumes and whatever processed meat he had had for lunch. A voice in Bann’s head, one he always associated with the warp spasm, began whispering to him. It coiled around his neck like a lover’s arm, lips close to his ear as it murmured, urging him to attack first and attack hard. Preferably by breaking Tully’s nose. Or jaw. Or both. Perhaps loosening a few teeth along the way. Then a knee to the balls with another blow to the face as the bastard collapses in agony. Just to make certain he understands us, eh? Just to make certain he never raises his hand against Shay again. A feral smile bared his teeth.

Quinn blinked.

Ah, victory. Bann’s smile widened when the younger Knight eased back a step, clearly sensing the Knight’s willingness, nay, eagerness, to beat the crap out of him. Again. “Leaving so soon, are ye, then?”

“Just remember, Boru.” Quinn’s lip curled. “Certain people know where you are. And know where your kid is.”

Dread punched Bann in the gut. Willing his expression to hold fast, he raised his chin. “Is that the best ye can come up with? Why, I’ve been more terrified of me auld grandmam when she’s had one too many nips.” When the younger Knight started to speak, Bann took a step toward him. “Get out of here.”

Hesitating just long enough to show he had a spine, Quinn glared back, then turned around and walked away. Bann watched him until he turned the far corner and disappeared. Lightheaded from the surge of adrenaline, and with his pulse drumming like a bodhrán, Bann fought the desire to go after him. An engine roared to life beyond the neighboring houses, then rumbled away, fading after a long minute.

“Dad!” Cor called from the backyard. “Come see this. It’s really cool!”

Unclenching his fingers from around the knife haft, Bann took a deep breath, willing his heart to slow. Do I tell her? he wondered as he walked around the house.

Cor stood at the far end of the patio, a stick as long as his arm in one hand, Shay next to him. On the other side of the concrete slab, Max sat at attention, ears pricked and eyes fixed on the boy. A smile split his muzzle in greeting when he glanced over his shoulder at the man.

“What’s with the knife?” Shay asked as Bann joined her and Cor.

Shite. “I, um, the cap to the water tank was jammed. I needed to use the point of the blade to loosen it.” He shoved it back in the sheath. “So. Cor. What is it you wish to show me?”

“Watch what Max can do.”

As the boy stepped away to give himself some room, Shay leaned closer. “You suck at lying,” she muttered. “There’s no way you would ever use a weapon to pry off something. Especially not that weapon.” She nodded toward his hip. “What’s really going on? And don’t take the bullshit route with me.”

Bann started to go down that very path. As Shay’s expression, he gave up. “Quinn Tully was here,” he said in an undertone. “He wished to speak with you.”

“What about?”

“I dinna ask.”

“Where is he now?”

“Not here.”

Shay grinned. “You threatened him, didn’t you? Got all in his face?”

“Define threatened.”

She snapped her fingers. “Damn, and I missed it. I do love a good testosterone-loaded challenge. Two guys trying to prove who’s got the biggest pair.”

“You would have been disappointed, then. There was no contest.”

Shay hooted. “I like your style, Bannerman Boru.”

And I like the sound of my name on your lips, Shay Doyle.

“Daaad.” Cor’s voice rose in frustration. “Are you going to watch or not?” He stood with his arm stretched out, the stick parallel to the ground at shoulder height.

Bann and Shay shared a smile. “Go ahead, son.”

Holding the stick still, Cor signaled silently to Max. The dog cocked his head, tail punishing the ground. Grumbling in frustration, Cor gave the signal again.

Hitting full speed after two strides, Max charged across the yard, a blur of black and tan. He cleared the stick with a languid grace, paws tucked and tail a-flying. Skidding to a stop, he whirled around and charged again, this time approaching Cor from the rear, who had dropped the stick and hunched over, hands braced on his bent knees.

To Bann’s surprise, the dog sailed over his son’s head. He wondered how a dog as massive as that hound could be so light on his paws. Landing with a faint huff, Max spun around, then stopped at Cor’s hand motion to stay. Tongue lolling out, Max planted his butt on the concrete, panting with contentment in a job well done.

“Cool, huh?” Cor beamed at Bann.

“To say the least. Did you teach him that?”

“Yup!” The boy was almost strutting in place.

Bann’s earlier desire for an outing returned. Before he could speak, Shay walked over and bumped fists with Cor.

“I think we need to celebrate,” she declared. “Who’s up for ice cream? I know a great place just a few blocks away. Dog-friendly, to boot.”

“Can we, Dad?”

“Yeah, can we? Dad?” Shay added, a smirk on her face.

Identical pairs of blue eyes looked up at him. Do they know they both have me wrapped neatly and unequivocally around their little fingers? “A grand idea. Shall we take my truck?”

“But then Max won’t be able to come,” Cor pointed out.

“He can ride in the bed…” Bann’s voice trailed off at Shay’s expression.

“And risk him falling out?” Shay looked at him as if she was tempted to put him in the back of the truck. “Yeah, I don’t think so. We’ll take my car.” She snagged Cor before he could bolt for the house. “Hold up a sec, Shorty. You’re in charge of Max while we’re at the shop. Bring his leash.”

Five minutes later, Shay locked the front door and hurried down the driveway. Bann was waiting by the driver’s side. For a moment, she thought he was going to demand that he drive the SUV. Instead, he simply opened the door for her. At her word of thanks, he closed it and walked around to the passenger side, scanning the area with practiced movements of head and eyes before he climbed in.

Always on guard, she thought as she turned on the engine. Must get old—wish I could take some of the burden off him. Looking in the rearview mirror, she spoke to Cor sitting in the back with Max beside him. “All set?”

“Yup!” At a pointed throat-clearing from Bann, Cor corrected himself. “I mean, yes, ma’am.” He held up the leash and jangled the hook.

“Sheesh, Bann,” Shay muttered under her breath as she backed down the driveway.

Shifting in his seat in an effort to find another inch of room for his long legs, Bann gazed out the window. “‘Manners maketh man.’ My son will be a gentleman.”

“I thought you were raising him to be a warrior.”

“I’m raising him to be both.”

There. Right there. That statement. That sums up Bannerman Boru, Shay thought. She glanced briefly out of the corner of her eye at him, enjoying the view of his profile as they drove out of the cul-de-sac and through the neighborhood. Her gaze slipped down to his mouth. Nice. Very nice.

Feeling warm, and not just because of the sunny day, Shay powered down her window, enjoying the breeze of the drop-dead gorgeous autumn day. While sitting next to a drop-dead gorgeous man. The sound of Cor laughing as he messed around with Max drifted from the back seat.

For just a moment, the pure bliss of being alive filled her. Even with all this crap we’re dealing with—and we are dealing with it—this round world is one hell of a beautiful thing.

After a few blocks, she turned onto the main thoroughfare of the local retail area. The wide street was lined with brick and wooden buildings from the eighteen-hundreds, most of which had been converted into art galleries, tourist shops, and restaurants. Mature trees shaded the sidewalks, the ground around them littered with leafy reminders of the gold rush days. Finding an empty parking spot a block from the Creamery, she pulled over.

Before Bann could move, she jumped out and trotted around to the curb. Opening the back door, she made sure Cor had Max on the leash, then waved them out. “Okay. Make him stay at heel or he’ll trip people.”

With boy and dog leading the way along the midweek-quiet sidewalk, Shay strolled beside Bann, smiling to herself when he stepped around to walk on the outside. She slowed to point out a display of mining tools in an antique shop window. Sepia-tinted photographs of rough miners were shown alongside photos of well-to-do businessmen in frock coats. Bann leaned closer. Their reflections in the window overlapped liked lovers.

A cry from Cor whipped their heads around; Bann’s hand went for his knife.

Just ahead, the boy was struggling to restrain Max. Dancing on his hind legs, the dog strained at the end of the leash, whining with eagerness at a tiny dog walking its elderly owner on the other side of the street. Cor hung on, teeth bared and the leash wrapped tightly around both wrists. His feet skidded on the pavement as he was dragged forward by the eighty-plus-pound animal. With an almighty lunge from Max, he lurched forward with a squawk.

“Cor!” The image of the boy being dragged across the asphalt into traffic flashed through Shay’s mind.

Before she could even blink, Bann took two long strides and caught Cor around the waist in midair with one arm. The other hand grabbed the leash and yanked Max back on his haunches with a savage tug.

“Down!” Bann roared. “Before I boot yer arse into the middle of next week!” Belly to ground, Max tucked his tail. Holding his son against his hip, feet dangling, Bann freed the lead from around the boy’s wrists.

Shay hurried over, alarmed, but mostly amused, at the alpha male demonstration. As she took the leash from Bann, Cor wiggled free of his father’s hold.

“Hey! Don’t yell at Max!” Hands on hip, Cor squared up to his father, eyes narrowed and jaw thrust forward. “It wasn’t his fault—it was mine. I should’ve made him sit. If you’re gonna yell, yell at me.”

Wow. Gutsy, Shay thought. Suicidal, but gutsy. Apparently, Bann thought so, too. A glimmer of respect flickered in his eyes.

“You would defend your friend, eh? Be as a shield wall for him?”

“Y-yes, sir.” The resolution on his boyish face mingled with trepidation. He kept his gaze locked on his father’s.

“Even if you would be punished for his misconduct?”

Shay held her breath. He wouldn’t, would he?

Cor nodded and stiffened, awaiting his sentence. Confusion wrinkled his face when Bann held out a hand. He cautiously took it.

“No. Thus.” The Knight slid his hand down and wrapped his fingers around the boy’s forearm, waiting until Cor returned the traditional gesture. They shook. “Proud I am of you, Cormac Boru. Well stood.”

Shay squatted down by Max, pretending to adjust his collar. Damn. These two are going to steal my heart if I’m not careful.

A tiny voice in her head whispered. Who says they haven’t already?