Page 191 of Flirting with Darkness

A ripple ran through his jaw before he released me and tore a strip from his shredded shirt, then wrapped it around my injured arm. The pain pulled tears from my eyes, but my cheeks were already wet—I must’ve cried as the monster tore my flesh.

Faolán’s expression wound almost as tight as the bandage he tied. “You won’t bleed to death. But we need to get you some proper treatment.” His jaw worked side to side for a moment, then he straightened from where he’d been bent over me and strode to the river. No doubt to clean the blood from his hands.

Except, when he reached the rocks, he ducked, picked up his blade, and started towards the washerwoman.

I blinked, brain not fully understanding, not wanting to believe, but my legs heaved me upright. I took faltering steps, cradling my arm. “Faolán? What are you…?”

He brought the blade back, no hesitation, only swift, unerring savagery.

“No.” The word scoured my throat, burning and raw, and I half fell, half ran at him.

But of course I was slower than a blade.

One strike took off her head.

I grabbed him as her body fell into the pool and stared at the black ripples radiating from the point where she’d disappeared.

It was only once they’d stilled that I could stare up at him, mouth open, unable to speak.

“Rose.” He said it so softly, it cracked my heart. It would’ve had me sinking against him if not for the woman’s blood on his knife.

“What have you done?” I shook my head, eyes burning. “Why did you…? She was an old lady!”

“An old lady?” He snorted a mirthless laugh. “Look more closely at the rocks beneath your feet.”

“What the hells have the rocks got to do…?” The silt gave way to uneven ground, with stones piled around the rock the washerwoman had sat upon.

Except, this pale stone was long and thin, with a curved notch at one end.

Not stone, but bone.

And that next to it, another—the curved shape of a rib with several more piled beneath it. The tiny pebbles I’d squashed into the silt as I’d fought to keep some weight on my toes—they were finger bones.

Thin lines scraped the surface of each and every one, and I frowned, not understanding until Faolán spoke again, his voice soft. “They’ve been gnawed. The beast, that was a kelpie. It crunches right through bone, eats it all until there’s nothing but shards left. But the bean-nighe gnaw on the ends and suck out the marrow.”

My stomach turned, making my whole body flinch away from the sight and the knowledge.

Nose wrinkling, he snatched the top garment from her washing basket—a grey skirt with a narrow waist and rust-red smears down the front. “She washes the blood from her clothes so her victims aren’t scared off.”

He turned to me, brows pulling tight together, and a light of desperation entered his eyes, as though he needed me to believe he wasn’t some monster who murdered old women. “She can’t kill on her own, so she lures folk in, close enough for the kelpie to strike. And in return, he shares his kills with her.” His teeth bared in a snarling smile. “Quite the team.”

She was just as much to blame as the kelpie. Just as murderous. Just as monstrous. And I’d almost died in their trap.

I nodded at last. “Thank you.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise.

“For saving me.” I sank against him, giving in to the trembling and the weakness that spread through me with the pain, clinging to him with my uninjured arm. “Thank you,” I whispered against his chest.

“You never need to thank me for that.” His body tensed. “Especially not when I was almost too late. I’m so sorry.” He pulled back, holding me upright and meeting my gaze, again with that air of desperation. “Please forgive me.”

I snorted and leant into his hold. “I’ll forgive you for being so ridiculous. Too late would mean I wasn’t breathing. Your timing was impeccable.” I gave him a reassuring grin, even though I had to suppress a yawn to do so.

His shoulders sank on an exhale that might’ve been relief, but the lines of his neck were still too tight for that. “Hmm. This isn’t over yet. Let’s get you inside. I need to find something to clean and treat those cuts.”

Tenderly, careful not to jostle my wounds, he lifted me and held me against the broad expanse of his chest. The hairs tickled my cheek and neck.

It helped to focus on that rather than the way pain throbbed through my arm with every heartbeat.

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