SWAN SONG

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Suck it up, buttercup. So you’re alone in a foreign country—you’ve handled worse than this.” Liah stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her eyes brimmed with tears.

Ireland was not what it was supposed to be, and she wished she could go back home. She took a deep breath and pushed back her thick brown hair, tapping the wayward curls down with a bit of water before she exited the bar’s bathroom.

The music assaulted her senses.

The lights were dim and intimate as the singer, Fiachra, hit a note that was higher than humanly possible. His voice was compelling, intoxicating, and it lured her and all the other women in, until the note broke into a low hum. His eyes found hers, locking her in place. She swallowed nervously but kept his stare until his voice went silent.

She scanned the club, stopping at the bar. The bartender, Eóghan—pronounced Evan—met her eyes. “What can I do you for, lass?”

Liah smiled, blushing at the unintentionally suggestive comment. There was something about him that captivated her.

But like an unseen tug of war, the pull between the man on stage and the man behind the bar made her anxiety rise.

Panic suddenly tightened her lungs as she met Eóghan’s gaze. She needed air.

 She headed out the door and wandered down the cobbled streets until streetlights came on with the setting sun. The lamps gave off a false sense of warmth as they glowed through the rising fog.

Goosebumps chilled her.

Impossibly lost within a lurking mist that folded around the buildings, she dodged the wispy grasps as she ran through the alleys.

When the shadow of a man appeared within the vapor, she quickly turned on her heel and ran down a different street. He followed. His shadowed form seemed to tower and warp under the streetlamps as he called out to her in Gaelic. She didn’t understand, nor did she stop. Instead, she opted for refuge in the nearby woods. He advanced, searching for her through the thick haze.

The watchful trees stood around her, defiant and unmoving. She held her breath as he moved closer.

“I can hear your heart. It’s frantic,” he hissed in a thick Irish brogue. His mouth curved into a wicked grin that she could only see in shadow. “Come to me, now.”

His voice made her want to, but Liah didn’t move.

Luckily, someone called out. He turned and left.  

Liah rose from her spot, watchful. The fog began to lift, allowing the setting sun’s rays to move through the tall trees and branches. Her chest burned from her thrashing heartbeat and from holding her breath for so long.

A sharp caw from the tree directly above startled her. A crow sat on a branch just overhead, eyeing her. It cocked its head to watch a large swan that circled the darkened streets. Normally she’d be curious about the birds, but she was worried about a reappearance of the man.

Taking in her surroundings, she came upon several strangely twisted branches. Saplings of Aspen trees were woven together in intricate braids, coming together to form an arch. It looked like a doorway—a doorway with hundreds of knotty, watchful Aspen eyes that observed her as the crow did from above. How she hadn’t seen the arch before was beyond comprehension. The space felt intimate and safe, until a swift upwind caused her to pause. Frigid air pushed at her back. Liah closed her eyes and took a large, awkward leap straight through the arched branches, landing with a thump on the forest floor.

Nothing happened.

She tried three more steps forward, and then back through the arch, but again, nothing happened.

Liah shrugged, berating herself for believing that something magical could’ve occurred.

A woman’s laughter echoed through the woods and Liah followed, looking in all directions for the source.

“Who’s there?”

Silence.

The crow cawed loudly. Liah stopped and turned in its direction. The forest grew darker and darker with each step away from the setting sun. She touched each tree as if it were a friend in a crowd of strangers. She couldn’t help it—the simple task kept the anxiety from being hopelessly lost at bay.

The breeze swept between the trees, creating voices from all directions, making her want to chase them. She ran back and forth, but they seemed just out of grasp. Eventually, she gave in to exhaustion and sat on the forest floor, wishing for her mother.

She remembered quiet nights in front of the fireplace as her mother hummed. Sometimes, Liah would sing the words to the songs, which made her mother smile in gratitude.

Liah missed those moments.

She hadn’t known they would be so few.

The crow cawed, staring at Liah.

She rose and followed the crow until finally, she saw the glow of the streets. Standing under a sign she recognized, she looked around to find the crow, perched on a streetlamp. “Thanks, crow, for helping me out,” she whispered, fascinated that it had followed her. She pulled a coin out of her pocket and flicked it into the air, watching it catch the glimmers of the streetlamp before the crow caught it and flew away.

Rustic buildings lined the cobblestone streets, lit with the warm glow of old-fashioned oil streetlamps. The scene looked as if it was taken from an old painting; she could see its soft, calmer appeal.

She turned down an alleyway. A door flew open, knocking Liah to the ground.

No one noticed the man dragging her body by her feet into the building.

 

 

 

~~ * * * ~~

 

 

 

Shrill laughter filled the forest.

Curious, Liah rose from her spot under the large leaded window and left her family’s cottage, situated at the end of a grove of trees. She walked without care, not glancing at the door she had left open. She didn’t notice the crumpled sage she brushed by; she ignored the warning caws of the crows overhead. She walked straight to the part of the forest that was off-limits, toward the laughter.

Liah stilled in the darker part of the woods, filled with healthy evergreens and oak trees, and dappled with colonies of Aspen. Daylight struggled to filter through the thick branches. She heard the faint call of her mother from her home, but the mystery of the laughter drew her in, thwarting all sense of self-preservation.

“Where have the fates led me to?” she whispered aloud, but there was no answer. She stood at the visible yet invisible line of sunlight versus shadow that held her there. She licked her finger and stuck it in the air; no discernible breeze on the sunlit side.

A peal of laughter turned into a sharp, shrill voice, singing, mesmerizing Liah, causing her to move absentmindedly into the gale of deceptive shadows, into the East Wind.

The keen song was elusive. Liah laughed as she moved through the trees, trying to catch a glimpse, exhilarated. Exploring the forbidden made it all the more delicious.

She felt free. The thick, rich air filled her senses as she breathed it in. The ground was dense with moss and blanketing ferns that promised a restful slumber, while old, curvaceously thick silhouettes of trees watched everything. The trees seemed to reach for Liah with their long, knotty limbs. Their windy whispers bewitched her, their swaying leaves hypnotic in their dance.

Liah smiled, removing her shoes to feel the soil beneath her feet, vaguely hearing her mother, Astra, calling out to her again from the distance.

“Can you open your eyes?” a voice asked in the distance, but Liah couldn’t place it. It didn’t fit.

“Dance with me, Liah, as we sing!”

“You’re not really here.” A tear fell from closed eyes.

“Come with me now.” The warmth of her mother’s hand caressed her cheek, wiping her tears.

“Liah, open your eyes. Wake up.”

“Oh, sing me a song of the water,” her mother’s whispered voice sang in her ear, distracting her.

Large, foreboding evergreen trees hid a small pond that glowed from the setting sun, where Astra and Liah walked hand in hand. The sun’s rays cast sunlight over her mother’s form, silhouetting her. Liah could barely make out her face, even though there was an impression of her grin.

“Go right in.” Astra grabbed Liah by the hand. She felt a jerk and then she spun in circles, getting closer and closer to the water’s edge.

 

“Oh, sing me a song of the water,” her mother sang brightly, cryptically.

“Of the swans as they dance and serenade,

Like the Siren’s enchantment of the sea,

Into the water you then wade,

For on the surface all seems carefree!

Oh, sing me a song of the water—

The marauder, stoic, lies in wait,

All these sensations alter thy concerns,

Before they come closer to seal your fate,

For underneath their frenzy churns,

Waking the spirits from their slumber,

Oh, sing me a song of the water—

Dear child, before you become the lumber.”

 

Liah woke, shocked to find herself in an unknown room. Her heart raced as she realized her mother was gone. It was all a dream. She was alone.

She turned her head toward the window and saw that bright daylight had overcome the city streets. “Where am I? How long have I been here?” she croaked. There was no one to answer.

The musky smell of old, dusty linens permeated her senses. She tried to sit up, regretting it instantly as pain shot through her body, ending at the tender spot on her head. She tentatively touched her head and found a bandage there, wet with blood. Her other hand went to her chest. She was clothed in an ugly nightdress that could’ve been worn by someone’s grandmother, instead of her cute little halter top and jeans. Luckily, it was soft.

The unfamiliar room’s caustic spirit was off-putting. It didn’t look like it had had many guests. A large fireplace held a small fire, just enough to warm the room. She slowly stood and shuffled over to it, raising her hands to be blessed with warmth.

“I thought I heard shuffling.” A small woman stood at the door. “You’re not very quiet, and I thought you would be, considering your circumstance.”

“What?”

The strange woman didn’t have a strong Irish accent, nor did she look like a typical innkeeper with her inky black dress and matching long, straight hair that framed her ivory face.

“I don’t repeat things, even to those who may not have all their senses in order.” The woman grinned with glossy red lips.

“Who are you? Where am I?”

“I’m Brenna, and you’re still in Ireland, obviously.” The woman laughed, her abnormally bright blue eyes shining in amusement. She moved through the room to add a few pieces of wood to the fire. A waist-long necklace, weighed down with a large, flashy labradorite stone, swung around Brenna’s neck as she stood, facing Liah.

“I don’t know where you stayed before, but you’re in our home now, so don’t fret. You’ve been asleep for quite a bit. All last night and most of the day. Come down when you are right and ready.” Brenna moved out of the room.

Liah changed back into her own clothes, which took longer than usual since her wound was so tender. She found another sore spot on the back of her head—probably where she hit the street when she fell. She was pleased to see that her clothes were freshly cleaned, without any visible blood stains.

Carefully, she walked down a flight of old, creaky stairs and stopped at the open door of a charming parlor. She peered inside. Across the room from the entryway, a large framed stained-glass window depicting a woman holding a small babe on her lap caught her attention. At the woman’s feet, another small child played with a flower while two cygnets searched the grasses for bugs. The gentle, protective mother’s smile didn’t reach her eyes: they were locked on the sky, at a large swan flying over the dark, foreboding woods behind them.

“It’s been in my family for generations—as long as anyone can remember.” Brenna said quietly, from behind Liah, making her jump. “We always ask our guests how it makes them feel.”

“Oh, why?”

Brenna shrugged. “Well, some love it, some dislike it, some are indifferent, and some have a visceral reaction. They hate it with unbridled passion! They’re my favorite.” She laughed lightly. “So?”

“I like it fine,” Liah said warily. “It’s Leda and the Swan, right?”

“Sure.” Brenna nodded. She hooked her arm with Liah’s, helping her down more stairs.

“Are you staying in Ireland long? Have you seen the sights? Kissed the Blarney Stone?”

Liah smiled softly. “I don’t know. Not many. Not yet.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t?”

“Don’t kiss the stone. It’s said that the special luck comes from some of the town folks’ sacred waters.”

Liah stopped and gaped at Brenna, wondering if she meant they peed on it.

“I can’t say it’s true, of course.” She winked and nodded.

Brenna led her to a small landing with a swinging door. “Anyway, just through that door with you; something warm and delicious is waiting, be sure of it.”

Liah stalled. She was a bit apprehensive, since she still wore bandages. The noise of strangers and music added to her growing anxiety. It sounded like a bar. The door swung open, giving her a glimpse inside. Liah could see that it was, in fact, the same bar she’d been in last night. Taking a deep breath full of musky aged ale and whiskey, she moved inside. People mingled and laughed, but Liah stilled when she saw a man standing on the shadowy stage with a guitar and a microphone. She couldn’t tell who he was until he breathed his life into his lyrics. The melody moved through the room, and everyone quieted and focused on him.

It was the man from before. She knew instantly.

Fiachra.

Liah didn’t understand his Gaelic lyrics but she felt them, especially when his face moved forward from the shadows and his eyes locked with hers.

Her breath hitched, suspended in time with him. Time passed without measurement until, his dark eyes shut, and he melded back into the darkness, only his cryptic voice lingering behind.

With the spell broken, Liah turned toward the bartender, Eóghan, who gave his wicked grin to everyone freely. He was muscular, with dark hair cropped short and questioning dark green eyes. His tattoos peeked out from under his black short-sleeved shirt. Visible around his neck as well, they seemed to litter his body in inky black and blue designs. Liah longed to see them in their entirety. She wondered what stories they could tell.

His gaze held hers. It was like time stopped.

He poured her a drink without a word, eyeing her form, giving nothing away. His toughened hand, knuckles scarred, pushed the glass to her.

“Thanks.” She took a sip, trying not to cough but failing miserably as the warm, honeyed liquid burned down her dry throat. She turned away in embarrassment, choosing to look at the stained walls with dark wood trim instead of him.

He moved from behind the bar and stopped next to her, his body lined up impossibly close to hers. “Not from here?” he asked in a thick brogue. The hair on the back of her neck stood up as a sense of excitement ran through her body.

“No.” Liah flushed. He rubbed the polished bar with a soft cloth, curling his arm around her. The push-pull friction of the gesture wasn’t lost on her.

Liah took a step to the side but he followed her movement, caging her in. “No concept of personal space?”

“None.” He grinned.

Music resumed in the background and she turned her attention to Fiachra’s voice, mesmerized. What was wrong with her? Why did this man have such an effect on her? Every word, no matter how minimal, left her wanting to rush the stage. But she resisted.

Eóghan stepped away from Liah and sneered at Fiachra, who grinned slightly as he sang.

“Your table, lass,” he said abruptly, causing Liah’s breath to hitch, flustered at his sudden displeasure.

She followed him and sat down. From her table she could barely see Fiachra, but she could see Eóghan’s penetrating eyes from behind his bar. Eóghan moved like a wild cat balancing on a high branch. A few women moved in front of him, trying to get his attention. Liah looked away. She sat back in her booth and looked over the menu, even though she couldn’t really read any of it. But staring at it gave her something to do, and it acted as shield from Eóghan’s and Fiachra’s unerring gazes.

Several minutes later, a plate dropped onto the table and the menu was yanked from her hands. She watched Eóghan, showing off his muscular ass in form-fitting jeans, walk back to his spot at the bar. She wasn’t the only woman who appreciated the view. Mine, Liah thought.

Whoa. Where did that come from?

She sighed, directing her attention to her food: a simple breast of roasted chicken, root vegetables, and a side of bread rolls with homemade butter. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she took a bite of the warm bread and butter. All else was forgotten.

By the time Liah looked up from her plate, the bar was quiet and only a couple of patrons remained, sipping on their wine and ale. She’d been so intent on her dinner that Liah didn’t notice when Fiachra’s music stopped,

The stage was dark.

Fiachra was gone.

She finished, and Eóghan grabbed her plate without a word. Liah tried to thank him but he seemed agitated.

Jarring notes from a music box flowed in eerily from another room. Captivated, she stood up. The music lured her like the snake from a basket when the pipe is played.

Eóghan let out an exasperated sigh. He threw his rag into the sink before he stepped in behind her.

The notes pinged ominously loud in the candlelit room. Old, worn green wallpaper that looked as if it was hand-painted by a steady, artistic hand covered the walls. Small, colorful flowers were equally spaced throughout each panel; creamy vines of leaves anchored old frame portraits of persons dearly departed with their cold lingering stares of layered paint.

The music quieted when Liah shuffled into the center of the room, which was empty except for a parlor table, chairs, a heavily leaded window, and an ethereal woman dressed in gray who sat in a fancy antique chair, staring out of a small section of stained glass. She held a small rectangular wooden box, idly running her first two fingers over the side where it was well-worn from the touch. Liah imagined the woman sitting for countless hours, staring out the window and using the wood like a worry stone.

A scene painted on top of the box showed a clearing surrounded with woods, and a small lake that was inlaid with mother of pearl ornamentation. Small flower decals that matched the wallpaper perfectly bordered the lid.

Liah gasped and twisted in shock as the door slammed shut behind her. Eóghan stood firmly in front of the door with his arms crossed over his chest. She made a move to leave, but Eóghan redirected her attention back to the lady in gray.

"Come closer." The old woman raised a hand and curled her bony fingers in a come-hither motion. The music crept ominously through the room again. Though Liah wanted to flee, she moved slowly, obligingly.

“Sit,” the woman commanded.

A chair moved of its own accord and hit Liah just behind her knees so that she fell right into it. It then hovered toward the old woman until it stopped just across from her.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” she cackled.

Her tongue clucked as milky eyes stared at Liah, and all amusement washed away from the old woman’s penetrating gaze. Liah swore she could see pictures of people and events flickering in her eyes like an old Fantascope, but she couldn’t make out anything clearly. The old woman held out her hand and Liah begrudgingly placed hers in it. The woman's other hand darted over top. Her fingers looked fragile enough to break as they danced over Liah’s palm.

"I knew it was you the first time I saw you. Spitting mad at the world, you were! Screeching up a storm to let the Heavens know your displeasure at being brought here again.” She chuckled, eyes closed.

“You’ve met me before?” Liah eyed the door again, but the woman clutched her hand tighter.

“Aye. I am Líadan. I was there when your mother brought you into the light.”

“You mean when I was born?”

The old woman frowned. “There has been a lot hidden from you, it seems. Where is your mother, child?” The old woman’s eyes opened wide as her mouth pinched shut in distaste, as if she already knew the answer. Her hand moved back over the tips of Liah’s fingers as if she were reading more answers there.

Liah shrugged, solemn. “I haven’t seen my mother in years.”

“Oh, Castaliah.” Líadan frowned in sympathy; her light eyes brimmed with tears before she moved her fingers to Liah’s wrists, as if measuring her heartbeat.

Hearing her birth name was like a jolt of lightning hitting Liah right in the stomach and knocking her out of her chair, as if Zeus had done it himself. But she remained sitting like nothing had happened.

“You know where my mother is?” Liah wrung her hands, worried about the answer. She wanted to ask about both her mother and her father since she was equally curious about both.

Líadan nodded and started to rub the wooden box as if she was trying to soothe herself, but she said nothing more about Astra. “Perhaps we should hurry so you don’t meet the same fate as your precious mum.”

 “Lurking in the doorway, Eóghan?” Líadan smiled softly, even though her eyes stayed fixed on Liah’s. “I see you’ve met.”

Liah’s attention darted to Eóghan. She’d forgotten he was there.

His hands were balled in fists under his crossed arms. Liah watched him flex as he scowled at Líadan before he turned his attention to Liah. “My grandmother is a seer—among other things … She also has a vivid imagination and enjoys imposing her will on others.”

“There is nothing imaginary.” Líadan laughed. “One must choose to believe in magic and one’s own gifts before they are given away …”

 Eóghan smirked, rocking on his heels. “Touché.”

“The crow seeks shiny objects, does it not?” Líadan grinned at him, making her wrinkled face look more like the bark of a tree, indented with deep lines.  

“What?” Liah was suddenly confused.

“Know that he’s obsessed and has already given chase.”

“Fiachra?” Eóghan bit out and Líadan nodded once before her eyes darted to the bandages on Liah’s head. Liah’s free hand instantly went to the wound, to feel the tender spot.

“You know who hit me?”

“I know who saved you. Me,” Eóghan countered.

Before Liah could react, Líadan clutched her wrist. She traced burning symbols into Liah’s hand. Liah tried to move away, but she was impossibly strong.

“You went through the Faeryn gate!” Líadan’s eyes widened. “The fated strings have been spun, the swan’s song has been sung, all has begun!”

Líadan dropped Liah’s hand and sat back in her chair, whispering, “The fated strings have been spun, the swan’s song has been sung, all has begun …”

 

 

 

~~ * * * ~~

 

 

 

It was late when Eóghan showed Liah back to her room. “You will be safe here—as long as you stay in here,” Eóghan said hastily before wishing her goodnight. He shut and locked the door, tossing the extra key underneath the door to Liah. It was a small gesture, but it eased his nerves. He sat next to the door, knowing it would be a long night. She was worth it.

Liah didn’t seem to be enchanted, like Líadan had said, but he had to trust his grandmother. All he knew was that Liah had enchanted him.

It had pleased him when he caught her watching him, though it infuriated him when she watched Fiachra just the same.

If she only knew.

“So, creepy stalker, what happened?” Brenna asked as she moved next to Eóghan, nudging him. “What crazy things did Granny say?”

“What if she didn’t tell me anything?”

“You make it your job to know everything at all times about everyone,” she droned, rolling her eyes.

“You let Fiachra inside again,” he accused her angrily.

“Nope.” Brenna perked up with a devilish grin. “Grandma just swung the door to stop Liah’s running around like a rat in a maze.”

That rocked him. He turned to Brenna questioningly.

“She said Liah will have to choose, and so far, you haven’t made the best impressions!” Brenna mimicked Eóghan’s stiff stance and glaring brogue with humor.

“It’s hard to explain.” Eóghan let out an exasperated sigh. Closing his eyes, he let his head hit the wall.

“Tell me,” Brenna whined.

“Shall I tell you how Líadan told me?”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes.” He nodded.

“Go for it.” She grinned.

Eóghan took a deep breath before reciting:

 

“Flight of the fairy on the bray,

Pray tell the future of thy day,

Seen a man, is he friend or nay?

Naïve of passion or peril, the dancers sway,

With a flick of a coin and yearning prey,

Thrown o’er wood, a dowry lay,

As cries of the swan song foray,

Spirits circle, come what may,

Oh, the Fates have come to play.”

 

“Well. She never does things easily,” Brenna scoffed.

“I have the coin.” Eóghan sighed.

“What coin?”

“Flick of the coin—I was the crow that day. I was following Fiachra as I always do. He was … chasing prey—” He pointed toward the door. “He knows she’s special.”

“Shapeshifted?” Brenna asked and Eóghan nodded.

“A crow. I found her, and I swooped in to help. He left without much of a hunt, luckily.”

Brenna closed her eyes tightly. “And the box?”

“I don’t know.” Eóghan folded his arms in front of him. “I’d like to think it’s the dowry, but I know better. It played creepy music.”

“Líadan’s a wicked witch,” Brenna agreed with a laugh. “A beautiful, magical, wickedly amazing witchy witch.”

“With a creepy box.”

 

 

 

~~ * * * ~~

 

 

 

Eóghan didn’t have the heart to tell Liah that Fiachra had charmed her into believing her trip was cursed. It had just been an illusion set by Fiachra to get her alone and out of the bar, to where Eóghan couldn’t watch over her.

Fiachra enjoyed the chase, but there would be no chase if she didn’t leave the bar.

He longed to go to her, to hold her, but after that night with Líadan, Liah spent the next few days in her room upstairs, ignoring Fiachra’s alluring music that played in the bar. Eóghan could see the frustration on Fiachra’s face when he sang, expecting Liah to come to him. Brenna mentioned to Eóghan that Fiachra’s voice grated at Liah’s nerves. Instead, she popped in headphones to drown out the sound, and took her meals in her room. Even though it took everything in him to not go to her; he gave her space.

Liah surprised both Eóghan and Brenna when she finally came down stairs a week later, when the bar was the most crowded. She avoided Eóghan completely and sat at the same table he’d put her at that first night.

Liah watched Fiachra sing his heart out, which made Eóghan irrationally angry. It sounded like screeching to him, but many of the female patrons seemed mesmerized with his siren song, including Liah.

“Go to her.” Brenna nudged her brother. “I know you want to, and she is waiting for you. I can tell. I’ll handle all this.”

He looked apprehensive.

Brenna laughed. “It is time.”

Eóghan moved to where Liah was sitting and swooped in next to her. “Hi,” he said in her ear. She startled, breaking her stare at Fiachra. He apologized with a disarming grin. “Have you seen the city?”

Liah scoffed.

“Would you like to go for a walk with me and see it?” He kept his eyes on hers, knowing she was apprehensive, but he also didn’t want her to look over at Fiachra. Eóghan didn’t want her to listen to his cawing voice, either.

Women often went missing when they fell for Fiachra’s charms.

There was nothing Eóghan could do about it.

“Sure,” Liah said finally, with a slightly nervous grin.

Her scent was flowery—wildflowers in the spring. He wanted an even closer smell, but he didn’t want to be weird.

Taking her by her hand, he pulled her out of the bar, then toward the fire escape stairs where he helped her up.

“This wasn’t the way I expected to see the city,” she huffed. They could still hear the music playing below them.

“It is the best way to see it, though. You can see for miles up here on the roof.” He grinned, showing her that he could be charming. She finally relented with a small smile. “Remember when Líadan took your hand?”

“Yes.”

“She activated the gifts you were given before you were even born—gifts that should have been cultivated and practiced.” He gently touched that part on her hand and felt her slight shiver. “So when a man like Fiachra comes along, you will see him for what he is and not his allure.”

“Do you have enchantments that I might see?”

Eóghan was taken aback by her question for a moment.

“You’re blushing. I didn’t think it was possible.”

“I am a shapeshifter, like Fiachra.” Liah gasped in shock, but Eóghan continued. “I’d like to think I use my charms for good.”

He winked.

“And me?”

“Easiest explanation would be that you’re a nymph … A witch, basically, by today’s standards. But you’re much more than we can imagine.”

“And your tattoos?”

“Aye, you want to see them?” She nodded. Eóghan took off his form-fitting black shirt. “Wings.” He flexed a little, showing off the tattoos.

“So, you’re a shapeshifter … Can you fly?”

“Aye. I was with you the day in the forest when you were hiding from Fiachra. I was the crow.”

“He was the other bird? The one circling?”

“He was hunting for you.” Eóghan reached into his pocket, pulled out the coin, and handed it back to Liah. She gasped, wide-eyed, as she looked at it. It was one of her favorite souvenir coins—a warped penny she had pressed of Peter Pan when she was little and went to Disneyland.

“It says ‘Pan,’ with a distorted image of him,” Liah explained.

“Not distorted, lass.” Eóghan laughed out loud. “Pan wasn’t known for his beauty. Fitting you’d get a charm from Pan himself, being a nymph and all.”

Liah looked closer. It truly looked like the mythological Pan and not the cartoon.

Eóghan said more softly, “That is why you needed to make your choice.”

“My choice in what, exactly?”

“Your partner.” He swallowed. “Your mate.”

“Oh.” Liah looked at him with wide eyes.

“I’m just kidding. You already made your choice, as did I.”

“Did I?”

Eóghan took the coin out of her hand and flipped it in the air. When it landed, it was a coppery ring with only the name, ‘Pan,’ remaining. “It wouldn’t have changed if you hadn’t.” he said quietly. “You can try it with Fiachra, if you so choose, though I doubt he’d be up here trying to woo you.”

“Is that what you’re doing?”

He moved in closer as his fingertips grazed her chin, opening her mouth to him. But his mouth hovered just over hers when he said, “That’s what I’ve been trying to do since you got here.” Eóghan laughed, shaking his head and looking down at her. “Perhaps you’re immune.”

“Perhaps not?” Liah countered. Her eyes moved to his lips and then back to his eyes.

“Yeah, lass?” He grinned widely.

Liah nodded.

He placed the ring in the palm of her hand.

The sound of Fiachra’s singing suddenly stopped.

Eóghan’s jaw tightened as he watched the door. “Time to go.”

 

 

 

~~ * * * ~~

 

 

 

He took Liah by the hand and pulled her to his chest.  Black wings splayed in the night air as his arms wrapped around her. She didn’t want to open her eyes, but when she did, she could see they were soaring gracefully through the forest. He wasn’t a crow—more like a man with wings. All his peeking tattoos were gone.

She couldn’t tell how much time had passed or where they were when they lit upon a slip of land bordered by cliffs, tall trees, and a small stream.

“I live here.”

“Not at the bar?”

He shrugged coyly. “Sometimes at the bar, but only to guard you.”

She watched in amazement as his wings fused back to his body, becoming the intricate full-body tattoo.

“You slept outside my room?”

“Every night.”

“That’s not creepy at all.” She laughed but then quieted when the enormity of the situation overcame her.  “I don’t know what to say but thank you.”

Eóghan nodded before he reached into what looked like a simple grouping of trees. Liah was surprised when the trees suddenly revealed a two-story log cabin.

He opened the door and ushered her in. They lingered just inside; she longed to touch him. He closed his eyes, and Liah placed her palm over his heart, feeling it quicken.

Each touch had an underlining power—their statically charged energy coursed between them, like touching Zeus’ lightning bolt, but neither pulled away. They relished in the energy that coursed between them.

“I waited so long for you,” Eóghan whispered as he pulled her palm from his heart and kissed it. She smiled.

“So, are you sure you’re not a swan with those wings?”

“What?”

Liah bit her lip and continued. “The stained glass, the eerie, prophetic poems, and the warnings of swans trying to kill women … Then there’s Fiachra and his weird music. He was a swan flying overhead that day, wasn’t he? The day you were in the tree.”

“That, he was,” Eóghan said quietly.

She nodded in understanding.

“Besides, if I was a swan, I’d have a lake, not a stream.” He snickered, trying to break the tension. “I can turn into a crow or a wolf, usually. They go together, as it was.”

“And Brenna?”

“Don’t tell her I told you, but a raven or cat.”

“And the gray lady?”

“She is like you.”

“Oh,” Liah frowned. “And in the box?”

“A music box, I hope!” Eóghan’s amusement didn’t reach his eyes.

He didn’t want to waste any more time with questions, especially not about that box.

He kissed her hand more intently, tongue tipping out to taste while his eyes stayed on hers. The whole energy within the room changed. His eyes became darker, beseeching. She gave him a soft smile and kissed his warm lips. Eóghan touched her cheek with one hand, then wrapped the other arm around her waist. They wore entirely too much clothing; he was thrilled when Liah began to take each piece off slowly, teasingly. With heavy-lidded eyes he watched, not wanting to look away from something he had long waited to see.

He was much easier to disrobe, wearing only pants since he’d left his shirt back on the roof. She grinned as she slid his pants down.  

He thrusted a little at her and they laughed, breaking the lust-filled tension for a moment.

Liah palmed his erection and he groaned as she stroked him swiftly. Her grin at the pleasing effect she had on him made him pull her close, kiss her deeply. They moved in fumbled steps toward his bedroom, leaving their clothes behind.

His hand found her thick brown hair and he pulled at the root, just enough to move her head back, to gain access to her neck. He attacked her sweet flesh, leaving the marks of their passion. His mouth traveled down to her breast where he licked her taut nipple. Her soft noises of pleasure spurred him forward.

Laying her on the bed, he took the moment to really look at her. Her breasts were small but had a nice weight, just as he liked them, and her legs splayed out perfectly, ready for him. Liah’s long legs, bent at the knee, gave just a glimpse of her sex, already aroused and waiting to climax.

“You tease.” She rolled her eyes, lifting her hips to him.

“Am I not to enjoy watching your body reacting to me?”

“I don’t want to wait any longer.”

With warm fingers, he lightly caressed between her legs, dipping inside of her, listening to her moan as she arched her back, trying to get closer to him. Her eyes fluttered closed, trusting him. Eóghan’s curved fingers tickled with steady motions before he splayed them to create more friction. Using his other hand to pinch and pull at her clit, he watched her body writhe. Her skin broke out in goosebumps as her breath hitched. He didn’t waste any time; he bent to taste her. Eóghan chuckled as she gasped in pleasure, clutching his short hair, holding him to her.

Each touch sent shocks up her entire body. He added one finger inside and then another, scissoring them.

He watched her come undone, her body writhing before him in waves as her inner walls desperately clutched at his fingers. Eóghan couldn’t wait to feel that on his cock.

“What are you thinking of, something erotic?”

Liah laughed, slightly embarrassed. “Sky sex.”

“What?” Eóghan chuckled, shaking his head. “I bet I could hold you and fuck you as I fly through the sky. Is that something you want?”

She moaned.

“With my cock deep inside you, every flap and thrust of my wings is a push inside you. I bet you would lock that pussy so tight onto my cock—especially when we dive down …” He grunted, palmed his cock and ran his hand over it as his eyes closed. Liah watched him stroke himself in awe. “Would that be something you’d want to try?”

“Yeah,” Liah answered breathlessly.

He shuddered when she ran her hands over his tattoos.

Aligning his body with hers, the fantasy all but forgotten, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer so she could feel his weight.

In a sharp instant he slid inside her. He stilled when Liah gasped and clutched him. Her eyes shut. Her body rippled with white hot fire.

Her warmth—the deep, electric pulses of their connection, their bonding—hit him hard. It took everything in him to keep her pinned below him, to keep from thrashing over her like a carnal animal. He’d save that for later.

“Feel that?” He had to know if she felt the intensity too.

“Yes.”  Liah grabbed his shoulders, pushing him to move: he did so, slowly. The ebb and flow of their linked bodies finally found a place of pleasure; the tension from moments ago dissipated.

“Liah.” He pushed and pulled as she moved under him, building back up the pressure until their nerves were so close to the surface, they could snap at any moment. Each touch was both pleasure and pain.

His body writhed over hers in impossibly quick gyrations. His hips moved, rutted, twisted and pumped. Strong hands gripped her breast and her hip, his mouth kissed and pulled and nipped at her lips.

It didn’t take long before he felt her succumb to her own pleasure. He reached his own euphoric release.

They lay panting, bodies spent.

She grinned as his tattooed wings pulled away from his skin and transformed into the feathered wings. They wrapped around her like a cocoon.

“Castaliah, the muses say you inspire poetry, but only I know that you are the poetry.”

“Mmm, you charm me.” Liah beamed. “Just out of curiosity, though … What would have happened if you hadn’t saved me and Fiachra had caught me?”

“You really want to know?” Eóghan shuddered. She nodded, cuddling closer to his side.

“He probably would’ve turned you into a tree and used you for wood.”

Liah gasped. “Can he do that?”

“He can, and he does. But that is a whole other story.”

 

 

 

~*The End*~

 

 

 

For my husband Ron, our kids, my mom, and everyone who still believes there’s magic in this world.” ~ EA 

 

 

 

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About the Author

 

 

 

Everleigh Allen writes creative stories with a mysterious, mythical, magical, and racy edge. Her tales bring her readers into worlds that she wants to visit herself. 

 

She lives in Texas with her husband, three of her four children, and a zoo of animals. She is also a sculptor and artist in multiple mediums. A writer of fiction that has been featured online for years, the MOONLIGHT, MONSTERS & MAGIC anthology is Everleigh's first published work.

 

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