Page 52 of Cocktails & Cauldrons

And indeed, he hadn’t. Easels and blank canvases were placed strategically at every window. Beside the easels were curved tables with clean brushes in various sizes. Paints of every shade of every color were resting in their labeled bins in a custom holder mounted to the wall.

“Have I died and gone to the Otherworld, then?”

The Aether laughed. “No, Mr. O’Malley. This is very real. I promise.” He paused a moment, then continued on a more serious vein. “Vivian used to have a love of art. Before Sabrina came along, I could always find her in here, happily sketching or painting away. Her preferred medium was watercolor, but she occasionally dabbled in oils or acrylics.”

There was a quality in Damian’s voice that caught Eoin’s notice. He gave the man a sharp glance. “She doesn’t paint anymore?”

With a small shrug and a dismissive smile, Damian changed the subject. “The place is at your disposal while you wait for Brenna. I imagine she’ll be a while yet.”

“Sure, and can I ask ya a question?”

“You just did.”

Eoin snorted. “Another, then.”

“You’d like to know if Brenna will give into the lure of her Siren and possibly turn to a Succubus? I can’t answer that, Eoin. Only time can. But if she’s as alike Doreen as I suspect, she’ll manage just fine.”

“Did all the men in the Sullivan women’s lives meet an early end?”

Damian strolled to the windows and peered out over his estate. “You don’t miss much, do you?”

Eoin remained quiet, awaiting the answer he suspected he already knew and was dreading.

“Most did. In fact, they all did. No one truly knows why.” Damian faced him, his expression curious. “Are you willing to give up what could potentially be a long life for Brenna’s love?”

The Aether’s question rolled about in his mind, and Eoin didn’t have an answer. He cared about Brenna, desired her as he hadn’t any woman before her. But love? He couldn’t say he was there yet. And he certainly couldn’t sentence himself to an earlydemise for a woman he wasn’t one hundred percent committed to.

“Decide before you break her heart, Mr. O’Malley. Brenna has had enough heartache to last her two lifetimes.”

After Damian left him to his own devices, Eoin picked up a piece of charcoal and began to sketch. His mind drifted to Brenna as he’d first seen her, across the gallery, desperate to fit in, but not managing to. She’d hovered on the fringes of the crowd, smiling and nodding shyly at any patrons who bothered to notice her, all the while staying attuned to Odessa, ready to answer every time the woman beckoned. Even then, Eoin was hypnotized by those wide, uncertain aquamarine eyes, the color of the Tenerife Sea where it meets the shore.

“Are you willing to give up what could potentially be a long life for Brenna’s love?”

The Aether’s pointed question haunted him. And with each line drawn, each contour shaded, the answer clarified for Eoin.

Yes.

Yes, he was more than willing to give up a potentially long life for Brenna’s love. Because what was life without someone to share it with? He hadn’t realized he was truly lonely until that exact second. Hadn’t realized the life he led to that point was lacking in any way. He’d had his art, the one thing that always fed the hole in his heart that his parents had left. Bridget had tried to fill the gap, but only creating masterpieces could.

Until Brenna.

Oddly, other than to capture her on canvas, he hadn’t once thought about his artwork or the upcoming project he’d been commissioned to do since he hired her at the gallery opening. He’d been consumed with her, with protecting her, and with the need to get her into his bed.

As the hours passed and he brought her to life with charcoal and a paintbrush, the uncertainty surrounding his feelings cameinto focus. He loved her. And based on the number of sketches he just finished, he’d been obsessed for a long while. Each and every one was based on a specific moment over the last four years, from the first instant he’d met her until now. With each, he could describe in detail what she’d been doing and where.

He loved Brenna.

CHAPTER 21

As Brenna closed the cover of Gran’s journal on her final words, she gave in to the sobs she’d been holding back since she discovered the book was her grandmother’s love letter directly to her. She hugged it to her chest and cried for all she’d lost: Gran, her mother, her father, who by all accounts had been a kind man, and for Eoin, who Brenna knew she had to give up.

It wasn’t as if she truly had him. Desire and love were two totally different beasts. As was the Siren inside her that would kill him the first chance it got. Gran had documented how men cursed to love their kind had shorter life expectancies, confirming what Brenna had already learned. No one could say exactly why, but Gran had her suspicions, which she’d noted. It seemed the Fates always elected to give those poor souls an untimely and grizzly demise.

And Brenna couldn’t sentence Eoin to such a ghastly end. If history was any judge, he’d be lucky to make it to forty, and it would kill Brenna to see so beautiful a soul snuffed out that young. For Eoin, she could be strong. For love, she would sacrifice.

With the edge of her sleeve, she scrubbed her tears from the front cover of the journal, taking the time to polish the soft red leather. Somewhere along the way, while she’d sat engrossed in reading, some thoughtful person had brought her tea and tissues without her being aware, and she used the latter now to dry her eyes and blow her nose.

“I love you, Gran,” she said aloud. “I wish you were here. I miss you so flipping much.”

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