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Oh, God, Cyn thought, my bloody head is killing me. She carefully screwed open one eye, as if it would help with the hangover. Hmmm, that’s weird. The hotel looks a lot different than I remember— Cyn bolted upright, gazing fearfully around the room.
“Bloody hell, I’m done in,” Cyn mumbled.
Her head throbbed like a pickaxe was slowly chipping through her skull. The pain was too much, so she closed her eyes again. She’d never responded to hangovers particularly well, but she didn’t exactly make a habit of pounding Irish Lagers and then going for a vigorous walk. Steeling herself, Cyn cracked an eyelid, preparing for the inevitable pain. Is this a hotel? she wondered, trying to imagine how she’d ended up there. But, wait, she couldn’t be on the mainland, because the ferry stopped running at night.
Furrowing her brow, Cyn covered her face with her hands and cursed. She was stunned by a mirthful chuckle, coming from the other side of the bed. Cyn cringed.
“Rough morning, love?” Fallon’s gentle voice teased, and a warm arm snaked around her waist, pulling her closer.
Ugh. Cyn dislodged herself. She absofuckinglootly hated this part of one-night stands.
“Uhmmm,” she murmured, her voice woolly. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “I feel like rubbish for asking, but where am I?”
Fallon’s face darkened. “You don’t remember?”
It was obvious she’d hurt him, and a tiny pang of guilt stabbed at her.
Cyn smiled sheepishly. “Well, I remember you, of course. You were a fabulous shag, but I’m a little foggy on how I got here.” She lied, uncharacteristically reluctant to hurt him any further.
“Didn’t Tomas tell you? You’re across the veil. It’s another realm.” His voice was still hollow.
Cyn racked her brain, but her hangover was making it impossible to think straight. And did he just say realm?
“Uhmmm,” she said, not sure where to start. “He was making this little metaphor about how you púca blokes ‘mate for life’ here.” She used finger quotes for emphasis. “And I, uhmmm, thought he was joking,” she said, drawing the word out.
Fallon’s face fell, and Cyn’s stomach iced over with fear. Suddenly, she knew Tomas hadn’t been kidding. Oh my God. She panicked. I’ve really done it now. Fuck me!
“What are you thinking?” Fallon asked, sounding worried.
He didn’t seem very angry anymore, but she was too miserable to answer. As she shook her head slowly, Felicity’s words came echoing back to her. Her friend had warned her that her one-night stands and fear of commitment were going to land her in a world of trouble. Felicity had said, ‘One of these days, you’re going to find yourself in a situation that you can’t talk yourself out of.’ But she never imagined she’d find herself in an entirely different realm altogether. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to scream or bawl her bloody eyes out. Suddenly, her predicament made her feel rather exposed. She grabbed the silk sheet, wrapping it around her in an approximation of a toga.
“I want to go home,” she said, firmly.
While she’d been having her crisis, he’d started getting dressed, and he yanked his tunic over his head.
“I’m having a little trouble understanding why you’re so upset, love,” Fallon said, softly.
Tears welled up, but she blinked them back. Just what had she done?! Perhaps sensing she was starting to lose it, Fallon tried reasoning with her.
“Tomas explained this to you, love. I am a púca, and you are my mate.”
Sighing in defeat, Cyn sat down on the bed, hard. “I thought Tomas was telling me about an amazing shag, not becoming your mate. When Tomas said he wanted me to meet someone I thought it was for...a threesome.”
His eyes turned to slits. “A threesome? Really?”
Cyn twisted her fingers in the sheet she’d wrapped around herself, unable to look at him. Fallon snorted angrily, muttering “that idiot,” under his breath. She chanced looking up, but he showed no sign of cooling down.
“And just how often do you do that without the intention of mating? Are you that capricious?”
Cyn was shocked...she couldn’t believe he was shaming her. She flushed to the roots of her hair. “I thought I was in for a ménage a trois with you and Tomas. That’s why I came here! Not to mate with you.”
“Unbelievable. Tomas led you to believe you were going to have a threesome. Well, that’s certainly not what I wanted. I sent him to find me a bonny lass to be my mate, my queen.”
“Your queen? I was having a couple drinks. Felicity’s investigations are always some hoax. How on earth was I supposed to know?”
Fallon ran a hand through his hair. “Great. You had no idea what you were doing because you were drunk. Thank you for explaining it so fully.”
Fallon rolled his eyes, making Cyn snort in spite of herself. Yes, she was pissed, but in the daylight, she wondered how drunk she’d been to misinterpret so egregiously.
“I guess I should have asked Tomas...” she trailed off.
He was quiet, as if contemplating their awkward predicament.
“I’m sorry I spoke harshly,” Fallon said. “But I’m still a little confused. I thought Tomas had explained this to you, in great detail.”
Cyn buried her head in her hands. “I thought he was talking about role-play,” she mumbled, not looking up.
“Role-play?” Fallon asked, his eyebrow arched.
Cyn sighed. “It’s...it’s when two people pretend to be other people, or animals, or whatever kinky fuckery you’re into, and you shag like that.”
Fallon chuckled and Cyn shot him a furious glare. He held up his hands, shaking his head. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just amusing to me, as a concept.”
“Well it was bloody well amusing to me, too, why d’you think I showed?” Cyn grumbled, looking around for the remains of her outfit.
“Aye, surely not because you wanted to humiliate me or get yourself into a difficult situation. Your act was much cuter before I realized your insincerity. Tomas, on the other hand, knows better. You should have been prepared,” Fallon said, crossing his arms.
Despite his irritation Fallon was as devastatingly shag-me-stupid fit-looking as last night. Giving him a dose of her sass was easier than dealing with the inexplicable desire brewing inside of her, despite the mix-up.
“Please,” Cyn said, rolling her eyes. “You and your bloody intensity.”
“My intensity!” Fallon practically roared. “Mine?”
Cyn tensed at the sound of footsteps in the hallway, which stopped behind the door. Great, now I’m about to be thrown out of a castle and I’m not even in bloody Ireland anymore. There was a knock. “Aye, come in,” Fallon said.
The door squeaked open, and Cyn gaped at the person who stood in the doorway.
