21

NUDGING MAX ASIDE, BANN lingered in the hallway. He raked his fingers through his hair, willing his body to settle down, then squared his shoulders and eased into the room. Gods, could I have mucked this up any worse? The gods shook their heads no, snickering, and settled back for more of the show.

Closing the door behind him, he waited. Cor was kneeling on the far bed under the window, his face a pale smudge in the glass as he stared out at the front yard and the growing storm.

A growing storm in here as well.

“Son, I—”

“She’s not Mom, you know.” Cor said in a soft voice.

“I know.” What was I doing, even thinking about kissing another woman with Cor nearby? We may have had our problems, Elizabeth and I, but I need to honor her memory. For Cor’s sake. He sank down on the empty bed as the boy continued.

“So, you’re not supposed to…to…hold hands with her and kiss and stuff.”

Feeling so far in over his head, Bann was surprised he hadn’t drowned in the depths of sheer ignorance. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to figure out how to justify his actions to an eight-year-old, much less to himself. Cor’s next words hit him between wind and water.

“Wouldn’t it hurt Mom’s feelings if you did that?”

Fisting his hands so tightly that he would have sworn the skin on his knuckles had popped open, it took Bann three tries to get the words out. “I don’t know, Cor. What do you think?”

“I don’t know, either.” The boy turned around, his shoes messing up the neatly made bed. They sat in silence until Cor’s stomach let out a growl.

“Wash up for supper.” Bann waited until Cor left the room before burying his face in his hands. Damn me to Hell. Self-loathing burned his throat.

“Hey.” Shay appeared in the doorway. “You okay?”

“Stellar.” He dropped his hands and examined them. Silence thundered.

“All right. I’ll, um, just go finish…”

Shay left before Bann could explain. Or justify. Or whatever the hell he was supposed to do. Lowering his head again, he massaged his temples. For a moment, he resented having to be a parent. The parent. All. The. Bleedin’. Time. Guilt over that emotion made his growing headache spike.

After an awkward mealtime that was spent pushing food around plates, Bann ordered the boy to bed an hour and a half early. He surprised Bann by actually going instead of protesting. As he started to close their bedroom door, Cor spoke.

“Dad? Are you mad at me?”

“No, of course not.” Well, yes, a bit. Although not as angry as I am with myself. He turned off the light. “Codladh sumh.”

He left the door ajar just enough to keep the monsters at bay. I’m surprised he is not more frightened of the dark. Most mortal children would be a gibbering bag of piss and tears if they’d gone through what Cor has this past year. Hell, this past month. Marveling again at the sheer toughness of his son—where he comes by it, the gods only know—he headed to the living room.

Light flickered around the great room from the fire he had built prior to ushering the boy to bed. Each gust of wind caused it to bow and dance from side to side. The only other illumination came from the light over the stove Shay had left on after insisting she would do the dishes. Bann hesitated when he noticed the Healer sitting on one end of the sofa, gazing into the flames, legs curled beneath her in the way he had always secretly admired in women. Max lay at her feet, a wolfish Sphinx-shape in the fire-lit room.

She spoke without turning her head. “We need to talk.”

“I know.” Bann took a seat in a nearby chair. “But let me first start by apologizing. I should never have kissed you.”

“Oh.” Shay toyed with the throw pillow she held on her lap like a shield. “And why is that?”

“By doing so, I’ve managed to dishonor my wife’s memory in front of my son, mislead you, and I’ve added yet another emotional burden to Cor. It’s too soon for him.” And perhaps for me, as well.

“And maybe for you as well.”

Bann just shook his head, no longer surprised she could read his thoughts.

“Look, Bann, I get it. I really do. You both are still in mourning for Elizabeth. You’ve got Fir Bolgs and a lunatic god after you. Right now, the last thing you need is any kind of…” She waved her hand around aimlessly.

Bann rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension that knotted the muscles into a hangman’s noose. “Truthfully, I don’t know what I need.” Outside of a strong-arse drink.

Shay muttered something.

“Sorry?”

“I said, you need a friend, Bannerman Boru.” She stared into the fire as if remembering something, then glanced sideways at him. “I’m applying for the job if there’s an opening.” A half-humorous, half-something else expression colored her face.

“Shay Doyle,” he said softly after a minute. “Ye’ve a heart as big and grand as the Rockies. Are ye sure ye want to deal with the likes of us? We’re a troubled pair, Cor and I. We seem to be flailing through life.”

“Aye, to be sure.”

He smiled at her imitation of his brogue. “Why, then, I accept—”

An odd scraping, followed by a thumping, echoed from outside. The house shuddered as the wind picked up, shrieking its frustration at having to go around the building instead of through it. Before the man and woman could move, Max rose with a growl, hackles raised. His eyes were pinned on the back door.

Leaping to his feet, Bann yanked his knife free and started for the kitchen, Shay beside him, matching him stride for stride. They spun around when Cor came stumbling from the hallway, dressed only in a T-shirt and boxers. He clutched his closed switchblade in a fist.

“There’s something outside my window.” He grabbed at his father.

“Stay with Shay.” Bann pushed past them and headed for the front door. He turned the knob, then gave a sharp whistle. “Max. To me.”

“Bann…” Shay began.

“It’ll be all right. Probably just a tree limb.” He hoped Cor wouldn’t remember there were no trees on that side of the house. He tightened his hold on the hilt, the heavy knife reassuring in his hand as he eased the door open. “Heel.” A corner of his mind wished his son was as obedient as the dog now glued to his left side.

Man and hound slipped outside. Dusk was two shades of gray away from becoming night, while the storm continued to fling debris from west to east, with an occasional detour from the north. The scent of snow, which always reminded Bann of stale ice cubes one would find in the freezer of an elderly person’s home, filled his nostrils. Eyes tearing from the wind, he surveyed the front yard.

His rig sat in its spot on the east side of the lot, shielded somewhat by the house. The door of the camper rattled madly with each gust, as if something was clawing at it, trying to get out. Bann eased further into the yard. Remembering Shay’s earlier demonstration, he tapped the dog’s back. “Max, guard. Guard.”

Max crept down the empty driveway. Shay had parked her SUV in the garage earlier in the afternoon after declaring the standard Colorado native’s response to the weather—wait ten minutes and it will change. As if to prove her right, snow began pelting Bann’s face.

Squinting, he scanned the area again, checking for movement in the shadows. Nothing. He was starting to relax when the dog tensed and jerked his muzzle toward the side of the house. A low growl, scarcely heard over the wind, rumbled from his chest. Cold fingers played a tune along Bann’s spine. “What is it, boy?” he asked, slipping unconsciously into Gaelic.

Max didn’t answer. Apparently, he did not speak Gaelic.

Still in a half-crouch, the hound slunk along the ground toward the side of the house. Bann followed. Reaching the southwest corner, he pressed himself against it, holding Max back with a hand on the dog’s neck. Sheltered somewhat from the worst of the wind, he steeled himself and peered around the corner.

The area was empty except for a plastic garbage container blown over on its side, vomiting trash from its open lid. Tense from the increasing cold, he forced his muscles to relax, then blew on his fingers before starting along the building. When Max pushed past him to take the lead, Bann let him, trusting the dog’s nose. He followed Max to the next corner, then paused with a whispered command for the dog to heel. The image of something or someone circling the house and coming up behind him made him check back over his shoulder every other step.

That, and years of training to hunt goblins under the stern hand of an exacting but affectionate Knight.

Why, ye stupid lump of an apprentice. The voice of his old master echoed in Bann’s head. Look behind ye whilst hunting or ye’ll find one of those beasties on yer heels, eager to deliver the poc sídhe and scramble what few brains ye have in that thick skull of yers. A cuff on Bann’s thirteen-year-old head had followed, driving the lesson home. Ye may be a long-son of the King, but I’ll kick yer arse if I see ye failing to guard it.

With a final glance behind, he eased around the house to the backyard.

The snow blew harder. The juniper trees at the edge of Shay’s property waved their arms, smacking the boulders at their roots for trying to peek up their trunks. Further north, the wind moaned around the hoodoo rocks of the park, sculpting away as it had before the Tuatha Dé Danaan ever stepped foot on the Emerald Isle a continent and an ocean away.

Before he could stop him, Max suddenly shot across the yard and disappeared into the rocks. “No, Max!” Bann shouted above the wind. “Come!” The wind laughed at him. He ran after the hound, cursing the dog, and himself. Knowing he was doing something he would strangle his son for even thinking of doing.

He did it anyway.

The tempest diminished as he entered the maze of sandstone. Grateful for the reprieve from the wind, he called again. A bark pulled him deeper into the boulder field. What the bleedin’ hell am I doing? The beast can look after himself.

He knew the reason why he was chasing after Max. Two reasons, actually.

He jogged around more rocks, ducking under the low branches of a lone juniper tree, head swiveling from side to side as he ran.

Fu-whith! The spear came out of nowhere, impaling the sandy ground between his feet. It looked like a third leg as it stood quivering from the impact.

“Shite!” Bann flung himself backwards. He hit the ground and rolled, barely avoiding the second spear. Scrambling to his feet, he dove for a nearby boulder and threw himself behind it, scraping an elbow along the sandstone. Panting, he crouched down, back pressed against the rough surface, straining to hear over the storm’s wailing. He tensed as Fir Bolg voices spoke nearby.

“Damn,” growled a voice. “He went to ground.”

“Find him. We can’t let him get back to the house.” A second voice spoke. “That other Fey is removing the rest of the wards even now. Once those are down, we won’t have any problems getting in.”

“I don’t know about all this,” the first voice said, doubt slowing its words. “It’s weird that a Tuatha Dé Danaan would turn against another. And what about Sreng and the master? I thought we’re supposed to wait until Samhain…”

The voices faded as they moved away. Toward the house, Bann realized. Rage, mixed with dread, tore through him at the thought of those monsters getting anywhere near the woman or child. My woman and child, the most primitive part of his brain snarled. He gritted his teeth as he bunched his legs under him in preparation, ready to unleash his own monster.

I am the roar of the sea. I am a bull of seven battles.

Movement wrenched his head around. A few yards away, a shadow stirred in the deeper shadows. Low to the ground, it crawled toward him, an amorphous shape. He thought of the moonstone in his pocket. Palm-sized, it emitted a pale, soft light when held in a Tuatha Dé Danaan’s hand. Fumbling for it, he raised his knife.

“Come along, ye fokking brute,” he growled in Gaelic. “I haven’t got all night.”