Page 73 of Shadow Spell

He only flicked her a glance as Roibeard landed light as down on his shoulder.

In that moment, in that glance, it was like looking at a stranger, one sparking with power and rage. Light swirled around him, like a current that would surely shock to the touch.

She’d known him the whole of her life, she thought as her breath backed up in her lungs, but she’d never seen him truly, fully until that moment when the full force and fury of what ran in his blood revealed itself.

Then Branna rushed from the house, with Kathel thundering out with her. Her hair, raven black, flew behind her. She had a short sword in one hand, a ball of hot blue fire forming in the other.

Meara saw their eyes meet, hold. In that exchange she saw a bond she could never share, never really know. Not just of power and magick, but of blood and purpose and knowledge.

There she saw a kinship that ran deeper, wider even than love.

Before she’d caught her breath again, Fin’s fancy car spun up. He and Iona bolted from either side. So the four of them stood, united, forming a circle, one where the light undulated and spread until it stung her eyes.

It died away, and it was only her friends, her lover, standing in front of the pretty cottage with its blaze of flowers.

Now when she pushed at the door, it sprang open—and she sprang out.

She marched straight to Connor, shoved him hard enough to knock him back a step. “Don’t you ever lock me in or out again. I won’t be closed off or tucked away like someone helpless.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking clear. It was wrong of me, and I’m sorry for it.”

“You’ve no right, no right to close me out of it.”

“Or me,” Boyle said, his face ripe with fury, when he strode up beside her. “Be grateful I don’t break your head for it.”

“It’s grateful I am, and sorry as well.”

Meara saw for the first time Alastar had come—he must have all but flown from the stables. So there was horse, hawk, and hound; the dark witches three; and the blood of Cabhan, with his own hawk standing now with Roibeard on the branch of a nearby tree.

And there was herself and Boyle.

“We’re a circle or we’re not.”

“We are.” Connor took her hands, gripped them only tighter when she started to yank them free. “We are. It was wrong of me. I jumped straight into the fury of it, and that was wrong as well. And foolish. I shut you out of it, both of you, and that showed you no respect. I’ll say again, I’m sorry for it.”

“All right then.” Boyle shoved at his hair. “Bloody hell I could do with a beer.”

“Go on in,” Branna told him, glanced around at the others. “Help yourself to what you want. I need a moment with Meara. A moment with Meara,” she repeated when Connor continued to grip Meara’s hands. “Go, have a beer and open the wine Fin should’ve brought with him.”

“And so I did.”

Fin went to his car, fetched out three bottles. “Come on then, Connor. We could all do with a drink after this day.”

“Yeah.” With some reluctance Connor released Meara’s hands, went inside with his friends.

“I’ve every right to be pissed,” Meara began, and found her hands taken again.

“You do, yes, you do, but not only with Connor. I need to tell you that when I ran outside, I knew at once what he’d done, and I was relieved. I’m sorry for it, but I can’t let him take full blame.”

Stunned, and wounded to the core, Meara stared at Branna. “Do you think because Boyle and I don’t have what you have, aren’t what you are, we can’t fight with you?”

“I think nothing of the kind, nor does Connor. Or Iona, and I imagine she’ll be making this same confession to Boyle.” When Branna let out a breath, the sound of it was regret.

“It was a moment, Meara, and the weakness was on our part, not yours. You fought with us on the solstice, and I don’t want to think what might have happened without you, without Boyle. But for a moment, in the rush of it, I only thought, ah, they’ll be safe. That was my weakness. It won’t happen again.”

“I’m still mad about it.”

“I don’t blame you a bit for that. But come inside, we’ll have some wine and talk about all of it.”

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