Page 5 of Wine & Warlocks

“Why do ya sound like you’re sayin’ goodbye?” Bridget’s tone was sharp, as if she suspected what he hadn’t said.

“It’s time I found Loman and put a stop to his ways. Permanently this time. The Aether and I have a grand plan.”

“Are we to be party to this plan, or is it strictly your secret to keep?” asked a saucy feminine voice from behind Ronan.

Turning, he rested his elbows back on the bar and grinned at Dubheasa, hoping to distract her from the seriousness of what he was about to do. “Sure, and now you’re wanting to know what our future holds, love?”

“I’m not your love, Ronan O’Connor, and answer the fecking question.”

Goddess, she was a sight, every fierce inch of her, with her hands on her hips and flames practically shooting from her bright emerald-colored eyes. He could get lost in those gorgeous, intelligent peepers of hers. There were many instances since they’d first met when he believed she could see into his soul. At first, it had terrified him, but now, he wanted her to see the affection he held for her.

Yet she refused.

Or if she did recognize what it was, she chose to ignore it.

And didn’t that make him sad? These weeks and months wasted because of his necessary deception, though she wouldn’t see it that way. To Dubheasa, a lie was a lie, and there was no getting around that.

“It’s strictly my secret,” he eventually replied, purposefully letting her stew. He couldn’t be a complete pushover. If or when they finally mated, she’d rule the household. The thought made him smile, which appeared to irk her even more, if her narrowed eyes were any indication.

“You’re good at that. Deception. Secrets.” She lifted her chin and sniffed, but Ronan could see the hurt lingering in her eyes. It about broke his damned heart.

“Aye, Dove,” he said in all seriousness. “I am. But not with you. Never again, yeah?” Avoiding her accusatory glare, he downed the last of his pint and carefully set the glass on the counter. “I’ll not be saying anything aloud in a public place where anyone can listen in, or in special cases, scry. If you want to be privy to the plan, we can meet behind warded walls to discuss it.”

Dubheasa shot a glance over her shoulder at the American and sighed.

The regretful sound was a dagger to Ronan’s chest, and it hurt for him to take a deep breath. Another indication she wanted no more to do with him, and another rejection in a long line during his lifetime.

“Your American is a warlock, in case you can’t tell, Dove,” he told her in a low voice in the event any nonmagical mortals were around. “But if he meant ya harm, he wouldn’t be able to cross into this pub, since Damian warded the place after it was rebuilt.”

She gave him a sharp look. “Are you giving me permission to pursue him?”

“No. But then you don’t need my permission, do ya? You’ll be doing what you want, and I’ll be left in the cold, wishin’ I hadn’t fucked up our relationship at the beginning and secretly plotting that fecker’s demise.” With a soft smile, he added, “And, aye, we were on opposing teams when we met, but we’re on the same side now, love. If you could find it in your heart to forgive, I won’t be fucking it up again.”

For a brief moment, she appeared to consider it, but her flash of compassion disappeared just as quickly. After a saucy toss of her long dark hair, she placed her hands on her hips.

Ronan had never wanted her more. His unquenchable desire for her made his bones ache.

“And what about the threat to kill him if we shag?”

“I won’t kill him if we shag.”

Her growl forced Ronan to bite the inside of his cheek to hold back the laughter.

“Not you and me, ya eejit. Trevor and me!”

Trevor.

Ronan’s head shot up, and he looked at the man across the room with a keener eye to detail. “Trevor’s the American’s name? That wouldn’t be Trevor Blane, now, would it?”

“Aye. That’s the name he used.” Suspicion darkened her expression, and a frown drew her brows together. “And how is it that you know him?”

“He’s part of the Aether’s plan,” Ronan replied grimly. “He’s a Death Dealer.”

CHAPTER3

Dubheasa walked with wooden legs back to where Trevor Blane waited for her. Sure, and although the O’Malleys seemed to have regained their magic, their ill luck was still haunting them. What was it, if not bad luck, that the one man who had piqued her interest all these months after Ronan just happened to be the guy they needed to defeat their greatest enemy? Especially when he had to work with her ex-lover to do it?

“Are you a Death Dealer, then?” she asked Trevor when she got to the table.

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