Page 48 of Wine & Warlocks

“No. I’ve witnessed a lot in the two-plus centuries I’ve been alive. I’m numb to most of what I see, but for those closest to me, I feel it would be a disservice to desensitize myself.”

“I’m sorry.”

Damian glanced up and met Castor’s concerned gaze. “Don’t be. I form relationships because I want to experience what normal mortals do. The cycle of life is unrelenting.”

“We’ve never talked about this type of thing before.”

“No.” A smile tugged at Damian’s mouth. “I’m getting maudlin in my old age.”

Alex snorted. “Old is relative for you, isn’t it? You aren’t even middle-aged for an Aether.”

“True.” Damian sighed. “I suppose I should lay out the plan for you to tell the others in the morning. But first, text them and tell them to enjoy a night off. Nothing more needs to be done or decided tonight.”

CHAPTER21

Those who stuck around to await the outcome of the Aether’s vision quest had decided to adjourn and relax for a bit at Lucky O’Malley’s Pub at Ronan’s suggestion. The tension from a day of planning had reached an all-time high, and nothing more was getting done.

Somewhere around Ronan’s third pint, his phone buzzed with an incoming text from Castor.

After reading it, he showed the others gathered around the table. “Sure, and it appears we have the rest of the night off. Everyone is free to make merry until tomorrow mornin’, when we’ll be forced to save the day.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s what we were all doing anyway,” Brenna said dryly as she tapped her glass with Eoin’s.

“Yep, and Castor decided a group text was the way to go.” Trevor sputtered a laugh as Draven replied with a middle-finger emoji. “I guess I don’t have to tell you how much Draven hates group texts.”

“Almost as much as the scut hates mornings,” Fintan replied before taking a long pull of his pint to finish it off. “Can’t say as I blame him.”

Sleep had always been scarce for Ronan, and being neither a morning person nor a night owl, he had no particular opinion either way. His thoughts turned to other pleasurable activities associated with a mattress, and his attention was drawn to the woman he desired to be active with.

Across the pub, Dubheasa loaded a tray to serve up the locals. Ronan’s first instinct was to help her by relieving her of the weight and passing out the drinks himself, but he held back. If she wanted his assistance, she’d let him know in no uncertain terms.

“I’m going to do you a solid, O’Connor,” Trevor said as he rose to his feet. “I’m going to curtail my own fun for the evening and take Dubheasa’s shift. Go steal your woman away and enjoy yourselves while you can.”

Surprised by the kind gesture, Ronan stood and shook his hand. “You have my thanks, Blane.”

“Yeah, get out of here before I change my mind.”

Not needing to be told twice, Ronan crossed to Dubheasa and removed the empty tray from her grasp. After handing it off to Trevor, he pulled her against him and kissed her like he’d been dying to all night. As the passion clouded his brain and swiftly consumed other parts of his anatomy, he drew back and inhaled deep lungsful of air.

When passing out from lack of oxygen was no longer a concern, he tangled his hands in her hair and dove back in. A few of the drunker patrons catcalled and added their encouragement, but Ronan happily ignored them to taste his fill.

Dubheasa was the first to pull away, and her happy, flushed face made him feel ten feet tall.

“Your American is willin’ to assume your shift for the night, Dove. Are ya interested in having dinner with me, then?”

“Dinner? After all that snogging?” The disbelief in Bridget’s tone was laughable. “Sure, and I’m after thinking you’ll be doing more than having a bite to eat.”

Ruairí snorted and passed a fresh-drawn Guinness across the bar to Bridget. “More like a bite of each other. Let me know if you’re after takin’ a page from their book,mo ghrá, yeah? I’ll snog ya proper and make me cousin look like an amateur.”

Bridget grinned as he leered. “You’re a proper eejit, Ruairí O’Connor, but I love ya just the same.”

The dopey, lovesick look he gave her in return was a joy to witness.

“They’re feckin’ adorable,” Dubheasa said loudly, earning a scowl from her sister and a wink from Ruairí.

“Get out of me pub.” Bridget shooed them toward the door. “You’re useless as tits on a bull when ya only have eyes for your man.”

After bussing her sister’s cheek, Dubheasa grabbed Ronan’s hand and led him through the alley, pausing along the way to kiss him again and again. By the time they entered the Black Cat, they were laughing like small children and running for the stairs.

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