Page 67 of Wine & Warlocks

She had only one choice—thrust her arm through the opening to retrieve it before Loman could get free. And by the looks of her rescuer’s seared limbs, it wouldn’t be long. Her current predicament would require her to burn her own skin to retrieve the controller.

Chancing one last glance at the prisoner, she met his agonized moss-green eyes.

Her heart stuttered.

She knew those eyes.

“Da?”

“I can’t hold him for long, love. Get the bracelet, yeah?”

Her mind raced with the why and how of his presence here, but she was out of time. Her father’s skin had begun to smoke, and the sheer torment on his face tore at her soul. Just as she would’ve reached through the bars for the band, Reggie’s hand closed around it, and his gaze locked with hers.

“Go,” he mouthed.

With a barely discernible nod, she scrambled to her feet. But she only made it the distance of one cell when a hand fisted in her hair and threw her to the floor. The force of the attack sent her across the expanse of aisle, and she collided with the bars containing her father.

The smell of his charred flesh triggered her gag reflex, and she valiantly fought to hold back the vomit. If he could endure, so could she.

“I’m sorry, Da,” she whispered achingly.

The left side of his mouth twitched as if he intended to give her the standard half smile he always graced her with when she was a small child. After he disappeared from her life, she’d come to remember that small gesture as his silent way of telling her everything was going to be all right, although it never was.

The resonant clank of disengaging locks reverberated throughout the building, and to her shock, the cell in front of her opened. Wasting no time, she dove toward her father and cradled his head in her lap. Yes, she should’ve gotten the hell out of Loman’s reach, but the man was in full-rage mode and any attempt to escape would likely see her dead at his hands.

“You’re a pathetic mouse of a girl, ya are. Not fit to be the mate of my son,” Loman said with a look of hatred. “He’ll be well rid of ya, to be sure.”

“He loves her, Uncle.” Directly behind Loman, standing in the center of the corridor, was Reggie. Cradled within his arms was a crossbow, loaded and ready for bear. “And if you want him to kill you for good this time, then go ahead and hurt her. But I know Ronan—far better than you ever could hope to—and I can promise you he’ll tear you limb from limb.”

“Bah! Stop plaguing me with your blatherin’, boy!” Loman snapped without turning. To Dubheasa, he said, “He makes me feckin’ brain ache with all his dire predictions, he does.”

Reggie’s truth might’ve hurt her chances of survival, adding the nail to her coffin, so to speak. As much as Loman hated all O’Malleys, he seemed to despise her more than most. Perhaps the reason was that she held Ronan’s affections, where his father never could.

Ronan didn’t love lightly, and with good reason. Using fists and ugly insults, Loman had tried to mold his son into an unfeeling machine. A clone of himself. Ronan’s abusive childhood had made him reticent and suspicious of everyone’s motives, and yet, he’d offered Dubheasa unconditional love. Trusting her to keep his heart whole as she had put her trust in him.

She looked down into her father’s tortured eyes.

He, too, knew the truth of it. One way or another, Dubheasa would be Loman O’Connor’s next victim.

Holding her gaze, her father opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound left him. Again and again, he repeated a single word, but she had no idea what he was trying to say. His body began to shudder as if he were freezing, which was at direct odds with the burning hot skin of his arms and the side of his face he’d pressed to the bars. Dubheasa only prayed he could hold out long enough for a healer to arrive, but her stomach clenched as she noted the rapid graying of his features.

“It’s going to be all right, Da. I promise ya it will.”

“You’re a fool, girl. He’s a dead man.” The small hairs on her arms rose at the vehemence in Loman’s tone.

Rising to a standing position, she faced him. Although her magic was bound, she hadn’t come empty-handed, and she eased her hand close to her waistband, hoping to reach the knife there before Loman struck.

Reggie must’ve been warned by Loman’s tone, and he raised the crossbow to his shoulder to take aim. “Back away from her, old man. I’ll not tell you twice.”

Loman did turn then. Hands raised to his shoulders as if he intended to surrender, he faced his nephew. “Are ya man enough to pull the trigger again, boyo? When I return, I won’t be as kind to ya as I was this time, I won’t.”

There was no doubt or hesitation in Reggie’s expression, and the thwack of the arrow hitting its target was overly loud to Dubheasa’s ears.

As was Ronan’s disbelieving bellow as it filled the cellblock.

It seemed to take a lifetime for her to glance down at her chest, possibly because of the dread of what she’d find. There was no real pain, just what felt like a forceful punch to her breast, clear through to her back. The clatter of the crossbow caught her attention as she dropped to her knees, barely registering the sharp pain of contacting with the stone.

Lifting her head, she met Reggie’s dismayed gaze. In the depths of his eyes, she witnessed his remorse and the resignation that his life was over along with hers. His fear that Ronan wouldn’t question why he had shot her, and the conviction that his cousin would kill him regardless.

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