Page 31 of The Tides of March

The soft pop and crackle of the fire, the dogs’ contented snores, and the steady cadence of Tony’s exhales were a tranquil symphony and worth the stifling heat. Ronan didn’t care that he was roasting. It was bliss, having Tony snuggled against his side, humming Ronan’s name as he slept.

Tony’s nap lasted for about two hours. He woke up randy and rode Ronan’s beard and his cock, then stated that it was his turn to make lunch. That suited Ronan just fine and he felt like a king as Tony prepared a hearty pasta dish with roasted vegetables. Without donning a stitch of clothing, of course.

“I can’t say that I’ve had a lot of Italian food, but I don’ think yer supposed to be naked when ye do that,” Ronan warned again. He felt obligated to at least try.

That late, lazy lunch was Ronan’s last easy moment with Tony. An icy wind blew into the bay and a foreboding ache grew in Ronan’s gut as the sun set. He suggested Tony return to bed, not wanting him to get a chill. Normally, Ronan welcomed a wild storm but his nerves rattled along with the widows, he had such a terrible sense of dread.

He had put on the record player and got out his knitting, but they had failed to distract him from the storm coming in with the tide.

“I should start dinner,” Ronan said, giving up on Tony’s scarf and bundling it all back into the bag.

Tony wrinkled his nose. “I’m not that hungry, are you?” he asked and Ronan shook his head.

He was too nervous to eat but he didn’t want to worry Tony. “Still full from lunch.”

“I can fend for myself later. There are still a few scones from earlier.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Ronan said, then turned toward the window. He jumped at the strange, distant shrieks and cracks of thunder, goosebumps spreading down his arms as his already stretched nerves were plucked. “Stay here,” he told Tony.

Tony’s book dropped onto his lap and he frowned, concerned as he glanced at the window. “You’re going out? In this?”

“Nothin’ out there that can harm me. The dogs need to get in at least one good run before I turn in.” He lowered and shushed when Tony started to protest. “Won’ be long,” Ronan said as he caught Tony’s chin and shut him up with a kiss. “Rest, lad. Don’ need to overdo it, ye just got yer health back.”

There was a wry snort from Tony as he grabbed the front of Ronan’s shirt, holding on tight. “I’ve spent most of the day in bed.”

Ronan chuckled and nodded, reveling in the way their lips clung and the taste of Tony’s breath. “Aye, but ye still managed to put in some hard work and now ye should rest,” he said, rising and wagging a finger at Tony when he tried to follow. “No ye don’. Stay there and practice bein’ beautiful. Or take a long bath or enjoy a cup of tea if ye must move, but don’ worry about me.”

“Fine,” Tony sighed with a swat at the door and a roll of his eyes. “If I must… I’ll practice in the tubwitha cup of tea.”

The thought brought a smile to Ronan’s face as he pictured it. “Lovely. Perhaps I’ll join ye when I get back.”

“Oh! Maybe I’ll take theOdysseyand linger…” Tony mused, winking as he rolled toward the bedside table, tapping his chin as he perused the pile. It was steadily growing as Tony made himself at home.

“Do that.”

Tony was putting the kettle on as Ronan pulled on his boots and coat and headed out with the dogs, leaving Myrtle behind to guard Tony. The night had grown bitter and bleak and the wind stung Ronan’s face, making him shield his eyes as he made hisway to the beach, following the pack as they barked and howled at the noisy gusts and roaring waves. Another shrieking cry reached Ronan through the fog and mist, making him sniff at the air as he searched around him.

The awful foreboding that had gripped Ronan all evening had his gut churning as he searched the shore ahead of them and scanned along the horizon. The sun had set and the rising moon was shrouded by clouds and fog as the bay swelled with the tide.

His gaze caught on an unusually large mass as it emerged from the water. A hulking blue beast heaved itself toward the shore, dragging its long tentacles. Ronan’s blood ran cold and he was momentarily paralyzed, terrified and furious as an ancient horror lumbered toward the coast. It slowly lost its soaked, bloated, blue pallor and formed into a towering, muscular, man’s body, but with six long, lashing tentacles. A gray, gilled face with a single glowing red eye took shape in the mist, alarming Ronan and igniting his fury.

“Go back where ye came from!” Ronan shouted, running at the Fomorian, shedding his coat and sweater as he stormed into the water. He made himself as large and ugly as possible as he dove through the rising waves and went to meet it. The thick hairs on Ronan’s massive arms glittered in the moonlight as he rose, calling forth the tide and throwing it at the Fomorian.

A tremendous wave slammed into it, but the giant easily swept it aside and continued its advance. Ronan snarled, baring his great teeth as he charged at it. The Fomorian let out a defiant roar, lowering and preparing for impact.

“Get yer kraken ass back in the sea where ye belong!”

They collided and Ronan sent the beast staggering back but its tentacles slashed at his legs and arms, knocking Ronan off balance. Ronan used his legs like a tail and swept the kraken’s tentacles out from under it, pouncing while it was down. He punched with all his might, aiming for its face. It was too fastand its limbs too vicious, making it impossible for Ronan to land a decent punch.

One of the tentacles smacked Ronan’s cheek and he quickly swatted it away, mindful of the suckers. He dodged another tentacle but shouted as one wrapped around his leg, shredding his thick wool trousers. Ronan twisted and worked the knife from his belt as he kicked at it, then stabbed the blade into the tentacle around his leg. He gave it a brutal slash, nearly severing the tentacle before swinging at the kraken’s eye.

Ronan missed but he sliced its cheek before the blade lodged in the beast’s neck. “Go back!” he shouted just as he was grabbed around the middle and hurled at the shore. He held onto the slashed tentacle, ripping it off as he flew, skidding and rolling onto the wet sand. Ronan swiftly recovered. “Is that all ye got?” he asked, waving the tentacle as he stalked back into the water, pausing when the kraken let out a furious roar and receded into the waves. “Don’ even think about comin’ back, ye big, blue bastard.”

But Ronan knew that it would be back and it would beangry. He took a closer look at the tentacle and the rows of suckers, swearing at the tiny, pin-like teeth. His thick seal fur had protected him from them but Ronan didn’t have to guess what the wounds would have looked like. He recalled the young man that had washed up after the seal and felt like a fool for not realizing it was the sign of a kraken feeding.

He didn’t understand why or how, though. Had he upset the gods by healing Tony and binding his soul to a human’s? Or had someone summoned the kraken to Pooles Island through magick to fulfill a grudge? The dead seal and the second body suggested the latter and it seemed far more likely to Ronan that they were connected to the undead child that had attacked him and Tony. Which meant that it probably had something to do with MacIlwraith. Ronan wasn’t all that concerned about thewitch god—MacIlwraith could handle himself in a fight—but he didn’t want Tony caught in the middle again.

“There’s nothin’ else to do,” Ronan accepted, his heart breaking as he called the pack and trudged back to the cottage.

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