Page 25 of Wine & Warlocks

A crafty smile curled Draven’s mouth, and a wicked gleam entered his eyes. “Ask yourself, friend, will Loman O’Connor be able to resist attendin’ his own son’s weddin’? I think not.”

Dubheasa’s heart jumped up into her throat, and she sputtered an automatic denial. A faux marriage didn’t sit well with her, not for herself and certainly not for any other woman pretending to join Ronan in holy matrimony. But it was the latter that had her the saltiest.

“Draven Masters, you devious delight!” Castor laughed and turned sparkling eyes their way. “There’s no way he doesn’t show to ruin your life, nephew o’ mine. The fucking vain peacock.”

Stomach churning, Dubheasa glanced at the faces around the table as Draven’s plan formed. Anyone not related to her looked like they thought his idea a fecking grand one. Her siblings were going to be harder to convince.

Ronan’s terse “no” caused her to whip her head back toward him.

“Sure, and what’s wrong with it, then?” The question poured out of her mouth before she could prevent it. It wasn’t as if she was enthusiastic about the suggestion, but if he was rejecting her involvement in either the marriage or the trap, he’d be telling her why and soon.

“I’ll not have you be a sitting target, Dove,” he said in a gentle tone. If it weren’t for his troubled eyes, she might’ve chafed under his comment, regardless of how sweetly he said it.

“And I’m not chuffed to be bait, either. But what is the alternative, then? How are we to draw him out?” Damn her own logical hide! Why was she suddenly okay with something she’d planned to object to a minute before?

“What if we use an alternate bride?” Quentin suggested, speaking for the first time since arriving.

Dubheasa glanced in his direction and was taken aback when she registered his resemblance to Ronan. Not in coloring. No, he was quite the opposite, with his twinkling milk-chocolate eyes and his dark mocha hair. But his strong, perfect features were pure Ronan: chiseled jaw, high cheekbones, and full mouth that looked as if he smiled frequently. To say nothing of his large build and shoulders that took up a great deal of real estate in the room.

Quentin appeared happier and more laid back than Ronan, who never quite relaxed, but perhaps Quentin’s peace came from having people who cared about him. Healthy relationships made a world of difference.

As his words sunk in, Dubheasa scowled. “If anyone will be standing up at the altar with Ronan, you can be sure it will be me, yeah?”

Eoin laughed heartily at the same time Cian choked on a biscuit. Bridget remained quiet for the first time in her life, but she didn’t appear surprised by Dubheasa’s emphatic response. Only Carrick remained unaffected, as if he didn’t care if she wanted Ronan for her own.

And she did.

Want him.

A forever kind of want that hadn’t struck her until she heard the word “bride” bandied about.

Standing abruptly, she croaked, “I need air.”

Ronan followedDubheasa as she darted toward the alley between the inn and the pub. He hung back to give her a minute to herself, but it was dangerous for her to be out of his sight. Of course, he hadn’t mentioned it before, but if Loman took one look at her, he’d see those brilliant green eyes of hers and instantly know she was an O’Malley. But Ronan was proud of her fierceness and her willingness to stop his da no matter the cost.

As Dubheasa paced along the cobblestones, muttering to herself, Ronan turned off their mental connection and lounged in the doorway of the Black Cat, allowing her the privacy she needed to work through her thoughts.

Draven’s plan was clever and likely to work, but Ronan’s reticence to involve Dubheasa came from the desire to keep her safe. His father possessed a cunning mind, and the others seemed to forget he wasn’t a dumb animal to fall so easily into a trap. Loman was a strategist and weighed every move before he made it. Yes, the man could be reactive, but he actually listened when others spoke and took things into account.

Until now, Ronan had forgotten exactly how great his da was at these types of war games. And itwaswar. One evil O’Connor remained and was willing to destroy an entire family to get what he wanted. Loman had no conscience and cared not who he hurt to gain the power he craved.

“You’re awfully quiet.”

Dubheasa had stopped in front of him, calmer than when she’d left the kitchen. The cool mid-morning air colored her skin, making her cheeks and nose a berry red. Ronan smiled at the sight.

“You forgot a coat, love.” He straightened and opened his arms. “Come, and I’ll warm ya.”

She grinned. “The first magic I learned from GiGi was to warm myself.”

“Sure, and it was worth a try.” Her laughter made his soul lighter, and Ronan wished he could make her happy every day of their lives. The chances were nil that he could, but he’d give it his best go if he might hold onto this feeling forever.

Dubheasa surprised him when she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his chest. “Why didn’t you attempt to calm me when you entered the alley?”

Taking a moment to shift through his thoughts on the matter and formulate a response, he said, “You didn’t need me to placate ya, Dove. You were after workin’ the problem around, and I was after lettin’ ya.” He drew back and tipped her chin up. “From the moment Anu and Isis told me I was to be a Guardian and you were to be my mate, I wasn’t given a choice. If I wanted my magic back, that was the way it had to be. But you already have abilities, and you deserve to make the decision on your own, yeah?”

“You didn’t want me for a mate?”

Her confused, somewhat-hurt frown tugged at his heartstrings.

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