Page 70 of The Seer

With a sardonic smile, he set her on her feet. “This grotto neutralizes my voice’s ability to control others when I wish. We can speak freely without you worrying about death.La petite mortor otherwise.”

“I wasn’t worried,” she muttered, avoiding direct eye contact.

He chuckled.

“Oh-kaaay. So!” She clapped her hands together, wincing when the over-loud noise resounded. “Sorry. Um, can someone tell me why an uber-powerful Siren needs my magic in a dark cave in the middle of the night?”

“It’s quarter seven in the mornin’, and it takes two of ya to light the sigils,” Peter said.

A glance showed they were already lit. “Uh, Peter…”

“They won’t stay illuminated if you leave, love.” Ardghal tipped up her chin and smiled in the face of her confusion. “Long ago, I brought you here to bury important artifacts. Together, we locked them beneath the earth’s surface, hiding them from others who would use them for nefarious reasons.”

Annndddd she was back to believing him insane. Great.

“I hate to break it to you, Ari, but I’ve never met you before yesterday. And I certainly haven’t?—”

He silenced her with a finger on her lips. “You were born again. What you would call re-in-car?—”

She shoved his hand away. “Reincarnation, and I know what it means. But you’re a few Froot Loops shy of a full bowl, buddy.”

Tilting his head, as if studying her for a way to get his point across, Ardghal watched her.

“You might not know what that means. How about a few threads short of a sweater? No? Don’t have all your dogs on one leash?”

He raised his brows.

“Older saying might be better. Let’s try no grain in the silo.” She tapped her temple and gave him a commiserating look.

His lips twitched, but he remained silent.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Who do you believe I was?”

“Your name was Elizabeth, and you were my wife.”

Wife? Did Sirens take brides? Was that something else she needed to worry about in addition to his “mine” bullshit? Nope, nope. All the nopes. She was going to need an adultier adult than either of them. Preferrably one that didn’t reside at Batshit Manor.

His expression darkened, and Taryn had an oh-fuck moment, having momentarily forgotten he could hear ever damned thought in her head—mental brick wall or no.

“Youaremine. Were. First.”

“And what about Fintan?” she snapped. “You keep conveniently forgetting about him.”

“I could kill him if that would make you feel better,” he replied silkily, with menace in his narrowed eyes.

Her knees went weak.

Sensing her distress, Ardghal sighed and guided her to a nearby boulder, then eased her down with a hand on her shoulder. “Apologies, love.”

He squatted in front of her and wiped away a rogue tear. His fingertips on her skin shouldn’t have felt so soft, so tender, and yet, they matched the sweet look he gave her.

“You recognized me, there in that pub, Taryn,” he said. “My voice.”

“No, it was Fintan. He was the one on stage, not you.”

“We are the same. His music, his voice, it’s mine.”

Shaking her head, she scrunched her eyes closed and covered her ears. The idiotic movement was laughable. With direct access to people’s minds, Ardghal didn’t require uncovered ears. But Taryn didn’t want to hear any more of this nonsense. Yes, she believed in reincarnation, but it was Fintan’s soul that hers had recognized, not Ardghal’s.

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