Page 39 of Cocktails & Cauldrons

His dark brows shot to his hairline. “You’re not?”

“No. You helped me get away from a life I didn’t want and that didn’t serve me. From a woman who might be using me for more than my administrative skills.” She grimaced her disgust at her own naiveté. “You’ve shown me that I need to learn to stand on my own two feet, Eoin. I’ll be forever indebted to you.”

“I don’t want you to feel indebted. I want you to feel liberated, love.” He drained his glass, set it on the table, and stood. A fierce light shone in his eyes as he stared down at her. “I want you to be who you were born to be, Brenna Sullivan. You owe me nothing because I’ve done nothing to earn your gratitude and respect, yeah? I dragged you away from the only home you’ve known, triggered a curse that burns the flesh from your bones, and now, I’ve embroiled you with Alastair Thorne and the Aether, who might view you as a serious threat.”

“Alastair seems like a good man,” she protested.

“Aye, and he is. But he also doesn’t deal with fools, and he’s no tolerance for anything that might hurt his family. That would be you and me, love, whether we want to or not.”

She rose to her feet, desperate to touch him, to prove to him he had nothing to feel bad about. But she crossed her arms, not certain she wouldn’t be burned alive should she do so. “How would you hurt them? You’re not responsible for what I’ve conjured!”

He scoffed.

“You’re not, Eoin,” she insisted. “Whatever tried to come through those walls was from my subconscious, according to the others. You didn’t cast the spell to awaken those monsters.”

“But I kissed you, love. More than once, and we developed a bond that teleported your cloned self an ocean away. This”—he gestured between them—“whatever this is, has sparked your magic, and ya can’t tell me it didn’t.”

“Martin said it could just be the lack of Aunt Odessa’s influence,” she said, desperate that he not shoulder the responsibility of her actions. “Not you, Eoin. Never you.”

“Aye, but—”

“Stop!”she screeched, closing her eyes and cupping her hands over her ears. She couldn’t take any more of his self-recriminations. He was too good. Too kind. And he’d only ever had her best interests at heart.

When she opened her eyes at the silence, it was to see everyone frozen in place. The only sound was the rhythmic tick from the mantle clock, echoing loudly in the room. Eoin’s face was changing color, turning a purplish shade, as if he lacked air. She looked at Martin only to discover his face had an unhealthy bluish tinge.

A panicked glance at each person’s chest showednoneof them were breathing. “Holy cheese whiz! Okay, don’t anyone freak. I’ve got this.” She held up her hands, closed her eyes, and visualized them all healthy and hearty. With a deep breath of her own, she hummed a low C on the musical scale, and in a sing-song voice, she said, “Breathe, gang!”

Gasps and ragged inhales emboldened her to lift her lids. Two of the four stared at her with terror, guns clutched to their heaving chests. Martin and Eoin were a little less horror-stricken, but still wore looks of extreme wariness—no more than she herself was feeling!—as they sucked in lungsful of air. Reeling from what she could accomplish with a single word ortwo, she shook her head. She really needed to learn to control her power, and the sooner, the better. If not, she’d probably kill someone.

Careful to moderate her tone and distance her voice from her feelings, she said, “I’m so sorry.” She let her regretful gaze say what she couldn’t verbalize. The two terrified guards looked to Martin for guidance.

“Stand down,” he ordered them, chest still rising and falling like he’d run a marathon. The expression he turned on her wasn’t as friendly as it had been moments before. “I’m going to ask that you zip it until Mr. Thorne returns, Ms. Sullivan. No offense, but I’d hate a repeat performance of that.”

She nodded, not daring to speak.

“Brenna.”

The compassionate way Eoin said her name cemented her love for him on the spot. He could’ve gotten angry, stormed from the room, washed his hands of her forever, but the tender look he graced her with said none of that would be happening.

Compressing her lips against the urge to profess her love, she simply nodded.

“Thank you,”she said, hoping their silent communication was still an open channel.

“Like Martin said, your intent wasn’t to hurt anyone. And your recovery was grand, love.”

She snorted a laugh and covered her mouth with her hand, cognizant of every sound she made.

He winked, and she knew she was forgiven.

If there wasanything tonight had taught Eoin, it was that Brenna was out of her element when it came to her new abilities. He understood the feeling. But what shedidhave was grace under pressure. In the last hours, her entire life had been turnedon its ear, and she’d found out she was a Siren with untold power. For many, there would be an arrogance attached to that knowledge. They might not care who was hurt in their quest for learning and amassing more power.

Case in point one: Loman O’Connor.

Case in point two: Odessa Sullivan.

But Brenna had been mortified tonight when she was told about the havoc she’d conjured. And when Eoin had tried to take the blame on himself, she begged him to stop. It was obvious in her reaction that she didn’t want to listen to him beat himself up for his part in all of it. All her angst had been collected in one shouted word. While her ability was at fault for stopping their body functions, the incidenthadbeen an accident. Eoin was sure of it. Then, realizing her mistake and with a clear head, she’d rectified the situation immediately.

Yes, he was cautious of her, as any person in their right mind would be, but the quicksilver emotions continually flashing on her face with each new event drew him in and tempted the artist to recreate what he’d witnessed on canvas.

---