Page 76 of Wine & Warlocks

The salty sting of tears burned behind Ronan’s lids as he closed them and shook his head. “I’m not willing to hear anything you have to say unless it’s that you intend to revive Dove.”

“I can’t.”

“Then go by way of the others. You’re not wanted here.”

“For fuck’s sake, Ronan!Listen to me!”

The sting of the Aether’s frustration could be felt along Ronan’s skin all the way from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes. But he was no stranger to physical pain, or that of the heart, for that matter.

“Jaysus! I don’t fucking care what your excuses are, Aether.” Standing, he stalked toward him. “You bleedin’ well knew the outcome! Youknew!” He threw the useless arrow to the ground and stared in disgust at his newest enemy. “You fucking knew, and ya didn’t say a goddamned thing. Just let her walk into a trap like a lamb to slaughter, yeah?”

Guilt. The lone expression on Damian Dethridge’s perfectly constructed visage.

“Yeah, ya fucking knew. And you should kill me, ya bastard, because you can be sure I’ll kill you if I ever get the chance.”

CHAPTER32

The weather was almost as miserable as Ronan. Bitterly cold rain lashed sideways, obscuring vision and causing those with an ounce of self-preservation to seek shelter. Still, he stayed staring down at Dubheasa’s headstone, and he was empty of anything but an unbearable, unending ache. A desperate need for her light to warm his dark soul.

The service was long over, the mourners scattered to the wind. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. Imagining her body laid to rest in that lonely grave, with no one to keep watch over her, was slowly killing him, so he remained. He didn’t have magic to keep himself warm—he had his hatred for that. Deep, abiding hatred. For Loman. For himself. For his uncle. For the Aether. Mostly for the Aether, who had denied him what he needed more than his next breath of air—Dubheasa.

And though Ronan had sworn his revenge, Damian’s only response was a pitying look.

Remembered rage bubbled inside him, and the only outlet was to strike out. Ronan’s knuckles crunched as they impacted the marble stone, and he felt the bones of his hand splinter. The hurt was welcomed. A mild distraction from the one in his heart.

“Jaysus, Dove,” he whispered raggedly. “I’ll not survive this without you, ya know. And I don’t fucking want to. Why couldn’t you have taken me with you? Why did you leave me here to suffer alone?”

Fatigue swept through him, and Ronan fell to his knees. Mud saturated his dress pants, but he didn’t care. Sleep had been elusive over the last week since the raid on the island. Her unseeing eyes and cold-to-the-touch form haunted him whenever he tried to rest. There were times in the hours he’d been stuck in the cell when he thought he heard her voice, but ghosts weren’t real. She’d never linger when the peace of the Otherworld awaited.

“From the second we met, I felt the spark. The one only you could bring to life,” he said hoarsely. “I’m destined never to see you again, and I can’t bear it, Dove.” He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. “If I can do what I want to, I’m going to kill Dethridge, but I’ll also be consigning myself to hell.”

What Ronan found he couldn’t tell Dubheasa was that Damian’s death would be too easy. His ex-friend needed to suffer first, live in torment like Ronan himself. He should learn what it was like to lose the only good thing in his world. To lose all he loved, before dying by his enemy’s hand.

Curling his legs up to his chest, Ronan rested his head against the headstone and slowly traced the letters of her name. “My dream was to hold you each and every night, Dove. To lay there with your fingers laced with mine as I listened to you tell me all about your day. Maybe one you spent at Lamda, doing your computer thing, or maybe a mission for the Goddess.” He swallowed down a sob. “And the last thing I would see before I closed my eyes to sleep would be your beautiful smile as I declared my love for you. And I do love you. More than life itself.”

His tears tracked down his cheeks and blended with the sheeting rain.

Still, he sat, the rock-hard tombstone his pillow, and the cold permeating his bones.

“We d-didn’t have enough t-time to create mem-mories,” he said through chattering teeth. “I’d have w-welcomed aweanwho l-looked just l-like ya, with your eyes, the c-color ofÉirein spring.”

The rain stopped with a suddenness that jarred him, and the sun parted the clouds, burning hot and causing steam to swirl up from the drenched headstones in the O’Malleys’ private graveyard. Heat infused Ronan’s body, and it instantly angered him. He didn’t want to be warm when his heart was frozen solid. Didn’t want the day to be anything but a dark and dreary wasteland like he suspected the rest of his life would be.

He felt the child’s presence before she spoke.

“Ronan.”

He turned his head from the carved letters and looked at Sabrina.

The perfect tool for his revenge.

In her arms was a puppy too large to hold comfortably, and Ronan had the fleeting thought the thing should be squirming within her grasp. But it stayed eerily still, legs dangling as it watched him with the same curious expression as the girl who held it.

“I brought you a present, Ronan. To keep you company.”

Unable to respond, he watched her and tried to calculate the most expedient means to take her life. He didn’t wantherto suffer, only her father. Murdering her would gain him unimaginable power—greater than that of a Guardian—and the ability to be steps ahead of Damian when the time came. But her death would need to be as clean and painless to her as possible.

For a child who could access his thoughts if she wanted to, she seemed uncaring of her own safety as she moved forward and knelt next to him to place the pup in his lap. The exact one she’d helped Ronan pick out to give Dubheasa.

---