Cold Iron by D.L. McDermott

Author:D.L. McDermott
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Romance, General, Paranormal, Fiction
ISBN: 9781476734392
Publisher: Pocket Star
Published: 2014-02-10T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

They passed!” Brian screamed. “They fucking passed and left!”

That was what Conn had said the night he’d invaded her bedroom in Clonmel. He’d passed into the room. He’d used the term again last night, when they’d left the museum, said he could pass faster than any human could travel. She didn’t realize he’d meant he walked through walls . . . and furniture . . . and glass.

“If the old man finds out they were here—” Liam started.

“Shut up,” Brian snapped.

No one seemed to care much about Beth or her crushed hand at the moment. Heal yourself, said the Druid voice. How? screamed her conscious mind. But there was no answer.

“We’ll do this my way.” Brian dragged Helene to the rotting sofa and threw her down.

“The Fae promised you wouldn’t touch her,” Beth said.

“And now he’s gone,” Brian said, pinning Helene on her back. “All bets are off.” Helene screamed. Brian slapped her. He gripped her knees and shoved them apart, then swore. “What is that?” he snarled.

From the confusion in Helene’s eyes Beth guessed she didn’t know, but there on the inside of her thigh was a mark. Black, hastily scribbled, but unmistakably drawn by the same hand as the tattoo on Beth’s shoulder.

“Miach,” said Beth.

Brian screamed.

“It’s no good, Brian,” Liam said. “The old man’s claimed her.”

“What does that mean?” Beth prayed it meant Helene was safe.

“It’s a warding. Any man that touches her will find his cock withered,” Liam explained.

“Careful, Brian,” advised Nial. “That shit can be permanent. Remember what happened to the Fianna who touched our sister.”

“You might already be fucked,” Liam said. “You’ve smacked her around a good bit. That might count.”

“Shut up, Liam.” Brian licked his thumb, rubbed the mark on Helene’s thigh, and laughed. “It isn’t a tatt. It’s Magic Marker. It’ll wear off.” He yanked Helene off the sofa. “And I’ve got just the place to keep you in until it does. Cozy. Tight. Snug. You like that, don’t you, enclosed spaces? Narrow walls. Low ceilings, pressing down on you.”

Helene was hyperventilating.

“Stop it!” Beth shouted.

“It stops when I get the sword,” he said. He turned to Nial. “Get rid of him,” Brian pointed to the musician. “And don’t let the Fianna know the prince has gone.”

Nial hesitated. “Some of them have already left.”

So there were other half-breeds on the island. Nial wrested the oboe away from the wild-eyed musician and led him from the room. In the sudden silence, Beth heard voices. The discontent Fianna, somewhere else in the house.

Liam licked his lips nervously. “Maybe we should let the women go, Brian. If the old man figures it out and tells Conn, we aren’t a match for him. Not without the prince.”

“He’s one Fae,” Brian said, dragging Helene to the door.

“They say he’s never been defeated,” Liam replied.

“They say a lot of things. Watch the Druid. If she wants to see her friend again, she’ll think of a way to get her ex-husband here with the sword.”

And then he was gone, Helene’s quiet sobs drowned out by the creaking of the stairs.

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