“I’d ask if you want a drink, but I can see you need it,” Charon said as he held out a glass of whisky in front of him. “Laura is worried about you. Truth be told, so am I.”
Phelan accepted the glass and downed the whisky. “I’m fine.”
“Keep telling the lie, and it’ll eventually become truth?” Charon asked. “I tried it. It doesna work.”
“You didna crave the touch of a
“Nay. I craved the touch of Laura who I thought had no magic at all. Which is almost the same.”
Phelan took the bottle of Dreagan scotch from Charon’s hand and poured more into his glass. “I want to forget her.”
“Marcail can take away your emotions if that’ll help.”
It would, but somehow Phelan wasn’t ready to relinquish them. Not to mention he didn’t want to face Quinn’s wrath when Marcail got sick from helping him. “Nay.”
“I knew you’d say that.”
They sat in silence for several minutes drinking.
“You need to talk to her.”
Phelan drew in a deep breath. He wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t know Charon referred to Aisley. “Impossible.”
“It’s no’. I hate to admit it, my friend, but I believe she cared for you.”
“It was an act.”
“How do you know? Let Reaghan go with you. She can look in Aisley’s eyes and determine if she’s telling the truth.”
Phelan chuckled. “I can’t imagine Galen would be happy to put his beloved wife in the same room as a
“There are Druids here who can help. Let them, dammit.”
The frustration lacing Charon’s words was impossible to miss. He knew his friend was just trying to help, but Charon didn’t realize there wasn’t anything anyone could do.
“I can no’.”
Charon leaned forward and shook his head. “Damn, but you’re a stubborn bugger.”
“It’s why you appreciate my friendship.”
Charon didn’t return his smile. Instead, his dark eyes pinned him. “She changed you. For the good, I might add.”
“There’s no use buttering me up,” Phelan said with a forced laugh. “I may be a prince, but I doona have a throne.”
“Joke all you want,” Charon said as he rose and set aside his glass. “You know I speak the truth.”
Phelan watched his friend walk away. The one thing he and Charon always promised each other was the truth, no matter how hard it was to hear.
He knew all too clearly how Aisley had changed him. The armor he’d always worn was stripped from him, leaving him bare and exposed. He felt defenseless.
“Fucking wonderful,” he murmured.
Phelan stood and slowly made his way up the stairs to his room. There wouldn’t be any rest for him, but at least he could wallow in his self-pity without others seeing him.
Maybe then he could face them again with some measure of his armor back in place.
* * *
A moan fell from Aisley’s lips as she came awake. She’d been having the most delicious dream involving Phelan, the Fairy Pool, and the waterfall.
The tingling of her skin from the dream faded abruptly as the discomfort from her numerous injuries brought her fully awake.
She wanted to rub an itch on her nose, but she couldn’t lift her arms, not after Jason had placed dozens of shallow cuts all over her arms, neck, and face.
Blood pooled beneath her cheek from lying on her side. As disgusting as that was, she couldn’t roll over. Even if she could endure the pain from the rest of her body, the welts on her back from the caning would stop her.
How much time had passed? Days or weeks? Being locked in the dark dungeon took away all track of time. Aisley wondered what Phelan was doing at the same time she hoped he would find a way to kill Jason.
“Please, God,” she whispered, then waited to be struck dead for praying. When God didn’t take His wrath out on her, she sent a silent, heartfelt plea to Him for Phelan.
She wasn’t sure He would even listen, but it was worth a shot.
“Why don’t you pray to me?” came a deep, eerie voice from inside her cell.
Aisley’s heart skipped a beat and fear slithered down her spine. “Who are you?”
“Look.”
“If you haven’t noticed, I can’t. My sight was taken.”
The sound of cloth moving reached her. A second later, thick, black-soled biker boots came into view. The man squatted next to her.
The shadows clung to him, but she could tell he was young. He wore dark jeans, a dark shirt, and a black leather jacket. She was able to see his hair was dark and cut short yet she couldn’t see the exact shade. His eyes, however, were easy to see. They were black.
“Does this form please you, Aisley?”
Something about the voice made her blood freeze in her veins. “Why do you care?”
“It’s one of many forms I can take. Tell me what pleases you, and I’ll look the part.”
An image of Phelan entered her mind. Almost instantly the man transformed into Phelan.
She closed her eyes, her chest heaving from the sight of him. “Stop it. You aren’t really him.”
“It’s what you wanted.”
“No. Just … go away.”
There was a pause. “I no longer look like Phelan. Open your eyes.”
Aisley peeked through one eye. When she saw the image of Phelan was gone, she opened her eyes. “Who are you?”
“You already know the answer to that. Wouldn’t you rather ask what I’m doing here?”
“I suppose you’ve come to hurt me like Jason has.”
The man’s chuckle was the most evil sound she’d ever heard. “I’ve come to help you. All you have to do is ask.”
“Jason pledged himself to you. You helped him come back.”
“Actually, I didn’t.” The man ran a finger down her cheek, and as he did, he took the pain with him. “Jason delved into places I didn’t think he had the courage to go. He’s helped himself to magic.”
Aisley took in a deep breath and slowly released it. Without the pain wracking her body she was able to think clearly. She knew the man before her wasn’t a man at all but actually the Devil.
She also knew exactly what he was asking.
“I can restore you, Aisley. I can triple the magic within you. I can help you kill Jason.”
“Why don’t you just take away his power?”
The Devil smiled. “That would be too easy. I have more … finesse than that, my dear.”
“Why me?”
“Because you have that passion inside you just as Deirdre did. The difference between you and her is that you’re smarter. Deirdre grew reckless in her long years of power. She forgot who was really in charge.”
“And I won’t forget?”
“I won’t let you.” He scratched the tip of her nose that itched. “So, Aisley. What’s your answer? Shall I take away all your pain, grant you more magic than you can imagine, and help you kill your cousin?”
CHAPTER
FORTY-SEVEN
