Page 56 of Cocktails & Cauldrons

He said the first thing that popped into his head. “You can be sure if I were to ever lock you away, I’d be in the room with you and we’d be throwing away the key.”

The blush he loved so much tinged her smooth porcelain skin. “What is it you wish to show me?”

He turned away to hide his grin and preceded her to the stairs leading to the art studio. When they arrived at the door, he glanced back at her. “Wait ten seconds, then come into the room.”

At her nod, he entered and positioned himself, perching on the edge of a window seat centered in the room, so he could watch her face when she saw his work and registered what it meant. One look at the plethora of sketches and the single painting he’d created from his favorite memory, and she’d understand what he was trying to tell her.

Her gasp was gratifying, and she pressed her hand to her throat as she moved from easel to easel. She paused in front of the painting for the longest time, but Eoin knew her process. Knew she’d take in every brushstroke, absorb every subtle coloration as it blended into another. Knew she’d come to the proper conclusion. Lifting shimmering eyes, she stared at him, lost for words.

“I see you, Brenna. I always have. You’re mymoose.”

“Oh, Eoin.” Her voice broke, and the tears she’d been holding back trailed one after the other down her smooth-as-silk skin.

“We can find a way to resolve this feckin’ problem together. Please say you will.” Uncaring of the imploring quality of his voice, he stared at her. Afraid to blink for fear she’d disappear. “Say it, love. Say you’ll fight with me, for us.”

“I can’t.” Brenna wrapped her arms around her middle the way she’d done in the past when she was forced to do something she didn’t want. A self-hug, or so he tended to consider it. “I can’t, Eoin. I’m sorry.”

“Youcan.” Straightening to his full height, he dropped his arms to his sides. “Whatever demons are at play here, whatever worries ya have, sure, and they’re for another day.”

“You don’t understand,” she cried. “Even if we were able to be together physically, you run the risk—a high risk!—of an early death. I won’t be responsible for you passing before your time, Eoin. Don’t ask me to. Please.”

“That’s a load of malarky! You don’t control the lifespan of another, Brenna. That’s up to the Goddess Anu and the Fates. If I’m meant to die young, that’s not on you, love.”

Moving her head from side to side, she looked at him as if she wanted to believe. But her doubt tore him up inside. “They all do. All the men who love a Sullivan woman.”

“Give us a chance,” he said, voice hoarse and as raw as his emotions. He’d never begged for anything in his life. Not since the day he’d pleaded with his father not to leave on his last business trip. Nightmares had plagued him, leading up to that fateful day, and he knew he’d never see his da again should he go, and Da hadn’t returned, just like Eoin’s dreams predicted.

But Eoin begged now.

For her.

“Please.”

After what seemed a lifetime, she nodded. “If we can find a way to neutralize what’s affecting us, if Damian can help protect you from my Siren, and if we can ensure you won’t have an aborted lifespan, then yes.”

His knees buckled, and he sat back on the sill, expelling a breath he didn’t know he was holding, sagging in his relief. “Jaysus, Brenna! Ya near gave me a heart attack, ya did!”

“Those are a lot of hurdles,” she reminded him.

“I’m an expert jumper.”

Her response came in the form of a smile, and it lit the room to blinding. He made a mental note to recreate that on canvas, too.

“Sure, and how ’bout we go find the Aether so we can remove this fecking spell and get to shaggin’?”

“I’m down for that,” she replied pertly.

A bark of laughter escaped him. Damn, he loved her saucy side.

But she made no move to leave the room, instead turning back to the portrait he’d painted.

Nerves made his fingers tingle, and he wondered what she saw. “It’s not finished, but I had to show you, all the same.”

“Is this truly how you saw me?”

“Yes.” He studied his own work, an exact replica of what she’d looked like after the first time he kissed her in that New York pub. With her sparkling eyes full of joyous wonder and lips swollen with a hint of glistening moisture highlighting her lower lip, she looked wanton and very much in love. “And I’ve never seen a more beautiful sight.”

“Pfft. I know the Irish enjoy their tall tales, but—”

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