Page 26 of Wine & Warlocks

“When I left you that morning in New York, I felt a crushing guilt for my trick. But I also experienced sadness and a longing to stay.” Lightly brushing her bangs back from her forehead, he said, “When the word ‘mate’ came up, the very first image to come to mind was you. I remembered you sleeping on your stomach with your lovely legs on display as they played peek-a-boo with the sheet. The graceful curve of your lower back was exposed, and I desperately wanted to place my lips there to tease a response from you. To spend one more day in your bed. Forget who and what I was.”

Ronan wove his fingers in the hair at the nape of her neck and tugged her head back so she was focused on him and could see he was one hundred percent serious. “Do I want you for a mate? Aye. But only if you want me in return. Only if you don’t feel pressured into it. Sure, and only if you love me as madly as I love you, Dove.” Releasing her, he set her away from him. “I’ve chased and annoyed ya long enough, and now it’s time for you to figure out what it is you want. You know what’s at stake, but don’t use it to decide. Dig deep and analyze your feelings, decide what you want from life, and then, if it aligns with what the Fates have laid out for us, grand. If it doesn’t, you’ll have your answer, love.”

“You told me I had to make a decision soon.” Her uncertainty was reflected in her voice and troubled eyes.

“Aye. I also told you I’d try to buy you some time with the deities.”

“But we don’t have time, do we?”

“No.”

“Then why were you willing to lose me as a mate forever?”

He grinned at her clever deduction. “Because I love you, and love isn’t selfish. It’s meant to be freely given. Sure, I could’ve badgered you into making a decision, but you’d always wonder if it was the right one, no?”

“Ronan O’Connor, you are much more clever than anyone gives you credit for.” Once again, she hugged him around the middle and rested her ear over the area of his heart. If she listened closely, she’d hear it drumming like mad, ready to fly out of his chest.

“Don’t be spreadin’ the fact, love. It’s lazy, I am, and I don’t want others lighting a fire under me arse or attempting to make me better myself.”

Dubheasa’s laughter was light and airy, the very thing his soul needed.

“I choose you, Ronan.” Her words were so low, he almost didn’t hear them. And when he didn’t immediately react, she tilted her head back and repeated them louder. “I choose you because you’re the only man who’s ever thought about my needs. About giving me a choice for my own future. The only one who’s accepted me for who I am.”

He waited her out, hoping to hear her say she loved him, but the words didn’t cross her lips, and he had to ask himself if he could live with only desire on her part.

When her mouth fell open, as if she were waiting with bated breath for him to kiss her, he suspected he could. “Is that all, love?”

“I don’t know what else I can give you at the moment. Do I desire you? Yes. More than anyone I’ve ever met. The night with you has haunted me for months—in the best of ways. Do I love you? Look, and I don’t know.” Inching back, she shook her head. “I care deeply, to be sure. And I can’t seem to get your smile out of my mind. When I close my eyes, it’s the first thing I see. And I don’t want another woman to have you, all the same. Can that be enough for you for now?”

“Aye, it can.” He touched his mouth to hers in the most tender of kisses. She might not love him yet, but he’d never give up hope that she one day might. “And I choose you, Dubheasa O’Malley. For now. For always.”

Lightning flashed overhead, and the ensuing boom was thunderous, causing them both to jump.

“What do you suppose that means?” she asked shakily.

“Perhaps it was Anu shouting,‘It’s about fecking time!’”

CHAPTER12

As Loman strolled through the derelict prison wing, he sneered at the miserable faces peering out through the bars. Male or female, it didn’t matter. He housed them all in the same area to make them easily accessible for his magic-syphoning needs.

Fortune had smiled down upon him when he discovered this place the first time he returned from the Otherworld. The disappearing island housing the prison was just off the coast of Scotland and fairly easy to get to if one knew where to look. And having worked with the former owners of the hellhole, Loman did.

Previously, the place had been used by an anti-witch group known as the Désorcelers Society to house their victims. Carved over the opening of each cell was an ancient Celtic symbol to suppress abilities. By using the blood of the prisoner and a spell—ironically created by a powerful witch for the express purpose of stealing another’s power—the room could not only contain the victim, but their magic as well. Drawing from their body, it gifted their abilities to the witch who had performed the spell. Or in Loman’s case, warlock.

Next to him, someone moaned and held out a hand beseechingly.

“Feck off!” Loman snarled at the man, delighting when the guy cringed from the venom in his voice. Satisfaction filled him. He was close to achieving his goals. Incredibly close.

After escaping the holding area of the Otherworld and landing in England, he’d begun walking down the lane, and the first person to offer him a ride was a young, fresh-faced witch who had no idea who he was or what he was capable of. Halfway to his destination, he’d slit her throat and used her blood to perform a ceremony he’d long since committed to memory. As he absorbed what remained of her fading magic, his cells had felt alive once more. So he’d done it again and again, until he had enough power to confront the Succubus, Odessa Sullivan.

“Crafty minger,” he muttered.

He’d mistaken her age for weakness, of which, she had little. But he wouldn’t be making that mistake again, all the same. His plan had backfired on his niece Moira, and she’d been burned alive by the Aether.

Loman shuddered. Sure, and for all the times he’d used fire as a weapon, the idea of burning to death was the only thing that gave him nightmares. If Damian Dethridge got ahold of him, he’d not only die in the most excruciating manner possible, his soul would be obliterated to boot.

“And the key is to avoid the Aether until I’ve drained his girl dry,” he murmured. “Then, I’ll be as formidable as that arrogant fecker, I will.”

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