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Niall hadn’t been on the island in a long time, but it seemed not much had changed since his last visit. Actually, he hadn’t been beyond the veil in fifty years, and it felt odd now that he and Tomas were staying on O’Leary land. Fifty years was like a blink of an eye to him. Immortality could make time feel like nothing, or it could weigh you down and grind you into the dirt. But the thatch-roofed cottage had been in his family forever, and he had a host of childhood memories from a time when the púca were freely accepted—welcomed even—among the humans. A local family that honoured the old traditions had been tending to the property generation after generation. Their family hadn’t died out because púca blood was like the fountain of youth. Literally. And if you were mated to one through the sacred ceremony, you became immortal. His eyes were closed as he rested on the bed. However, the bed was definitely an improvement if his memory wasn’t rusty. And he could tell without even opening his eyes that Tomas was staring at him.
“You going to tell me what it is you’re thinking or shall I guess?” Niall asked.
“I was thinking that I haven’t been here since I found my mate.”
“So this is why my sire sent you. You’re to hound me until I saddle myself with a lifetime of misery.”
Tomas didn’t say anything, so Niall opened his eyes.
“Do you remember what I was like before I took a mate? It’s not all bad.”
“Well, I suppose when you put it that way,” Niall said, his voice oozing with sarcasm.
Tomas laughed. “Some of my happiest days weren’t until I met my mate. Wait. You won’t expect it and then it’ll hit you like a rock.”
More like a bloody boulder.
“Let’s hope it misses,” Niall muttered.
Niall didn’t have time to think about it, because suddenly his stallion was spooked in the way that all púca get when they sense something isn’t right. The hair on the back of his neck prickled.
“What is it?” Tomas asked.
“I’m not sure...”
Niall rose from the bed, and without waiting to see if Tomas would follow he strode out of the cottage and started walking toward the centre of Kilronan. As he got closer to the town his stallion grew more and more anxious. He’d reached the heart of the sleepy village, and the sensation that had spooked his stallion intensified when a priest approached the entrance to Tí Joe Watty’s pub. A force emanated from the place. It was definitely powerful enough to lift the veil. His stallion stood at attention.
“Do you feel that?” he asked Tomas, who was just catching up to him.
“Aye.”
“I’m thinking we should stop in for a pint and keep an eye on that one,” Niall said, motioning toward the priest as he opened the door to the pub.
