Dances With Demons - A Phoenix Chronicle Novella by Handeland Lori

Author:Handeland, Lori [Handeland, Lori]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Novella, New York Times Bestselling Author
Published: 2014-04-11T07:00:00+00:00

* * *

“Let’s sit at the table to eat the scones.” Quinn started for the cottage.

“I thought they were scones,” Megan said, using the British pronunciation of the word, which rhymed with con, like skawn.

He set the bag on the table and rolled his eyes. “Please.”

If there was one thing the Irish avoided, it was anything British.

She laughed. “I don’t suppose there’s any clotted cream.” Her laughter faded. “No refrigerator.”

He shrugged. No need.

“You have lights but no appliances. Not even a toilet.”

“There’s a toilet.”

She gave him a withering glare. “That is not a toilet.”

He experienced a moment of shame at the primitive nature of the place. However, its lack of amenities was one of the reasons it was so safe. The generator that powered the lights was fueled by propane, which anyone could buy. The water came from the well by means of an old-fashioned hand pump. He supposed he could put in a toilet and a shower, connect them somehow to the well and the generator, but that would involve workers and permits, payments and the like.

Would explaining all that arouse her suspicions higher than they already were? What kind of man kept a home that was off the grid unless he had something to hide?

A man who wasn’t truly a man. One who might never be.

The thought distracted him so that when she moved to set the sickle on one chair at the same time he reached for the bag of scones-that-rhymed-with-cones, his hand connected with the flint.

He drew in a breath, dropped the bag, spun as the pain ripped through him, cradling his hand against his belly, waiting for things to get much, much worse.

But they didn’t.

Megan leapt to her feet so fast her chair tumbled over. “Did I cut you?”

She yanked at his shoulder. He remained right where he was. He could not let her see.

“A little,” he lied. “It’s fine.” He started for the door.

“Wait. Let me—”

“Eat,” he said shortly. “I’ll wash it at the pump. ’Tis nothing.”

Quinn hurried to the garden. He spared a quick glance at the cottage. Megan stood in the doorway. From there she couldn’t see anything important, so he stuck one hand beneath the spout and used the other to pump. Cool water gushed. He let it cascade over the appendage until she returned to the table. Then he stopped and peered at the mark caused by the brush of the flint against his flesh.

“D’anam don diabhal,” he muttered.

There was no way he could explain why his hand had been burned and not cut.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.