Chapter Twenty
Her legs jelly-like, ready to give way, Lassi repeated the words the voice had uttered through the phone. “Follow the stones. Should I head for the grave?”
She didn’t want to. She longed to pay for a good house cleaner, find a new realtor and get the hell out of Ballynagaul. But, she’d never left a good challenge unfinished, no matter how terrified she was of dealing with it.
Even though her fingers trembled like leaves in a hurricane, she managed to get dressed in warm clothes—jeans, jumper, and a long-sleeved undershirt. Figuring she’d need some light for the return journey, she grabbed Roberta’s old flashlight before making her way down to the beach. Even walking proved difficult, her limbs shook so hard, buffeted by fear. And, to add to the difficult but short journey, darkness—as dark as the sin on her soul for consorting with a priest—would soon strangle the landscape. Shadows stretched in long, taffy-like shapes, obscuring the trail.
The wind seemed to scream at her. It battered her in short, angry bursts as she stumbled along the trail.
When she arrived at the relentlessly pounding shore, Cillian, Conway, and Mary huddled around the gravesite.
They stood around the vandalized hole, looking as morose as if the poor dear occupant had died last night.
Strangely, the sky had cleared somewhat, and the clouds were tinged with crimson hues—a welcome contrast to their typical bloated gray.
Lassi blinked a few times. When was the last time any color appeared in this bloody sky?
“Okay, fun time is over.” Standing near the onlookers, she had to yell to be heard over the wind. “You’ve spooked me half to death. Is this some sort of Ballynagaul initiation practice to recruit a new villager? ‘Oh, let’s terrify the nurse and fill her head with nonsense so she can’t go home and do her job and be forced to stay here.’ Is that it?”
She wrapped one arm tight around her chest and clutched her shoulder. The other grasped the flashlight. She flicked it off and on with her thumb, finally deciding to leave it on. She pointed it at them like a weapon. Her hand shook so hard, the light flickered like a strobe on their faces.
Cillian regarded her with soft compassion—at least from what she could tell through the light show.
“Lassi, love.” He stepped toward her and put his arm around her, pulling her into him.
Fecking sexy bastard. Her posture grew rigid. What’s going on here? She cast a suspicious, narrow-eyed glance at Conway and Mary. No one seemed to be bothered by Cillian’s display of affection.
“I’m fine,” she said to him through chattering teeth. “I don’t need consolation.”
“Oh, you’re far more than fine, Lasairfhíona.” His amazing heat flowed through her body, unwinding the knots in her muscles and the tension in her limbs. He leaned over and kissed the top of her head.
The kiss sent a wave of warmth cascading through her head and neck.
She let out a long sigh.
“You’d best tell her the truth before it’s too late to tell, lad,” Mary called, hugging herself tightly. “Nightfall is coming.” The wind blew her short hair around her head, lending her a Troll doll appearance. “We’ve only got an hour, at best, and, presently, we have no great plans.”
Lassi could barely hear her over the screeching wind. “This isn’t the best place to tell me something, Cillian. This wind—it’s fecking awful.”
“I’m going to take her back behind the stones there,” Cillian called to Mary. His voice sounded clear and calm, holding a tone Lassi hadn’t heard before. He seemed to radiate power, confidence and a potent sexuality—the kind she’d only glimpsed.
“All right, man, but you’d better make it quick.” Conway looked in every direction. “She could return at any second.”
A shiver shook Lassi’s bones. “Who could return? Penny? Siobhan? Is this a widow exacting revenge kind of thing?”
Cillian regarded her with a dark, somber expression. “No, love. Not Penny or Siobhan. The one who lives in this grave. She’s the one exacting revenge. And, Ryan’s right. We don’t have much time.”
He flicked his gaze at the ball of light behind the clouds as it plummeted toward the horizon.
Her knees turned to jelly. “Oh, my God.” The phrase emerged like a pleading moan. “You’re scaring me again, Cillian. I’m so fecking freaked out right now I can barely stand.”
“You might be even more freaked by what I’m about to tell you, but I’m afraid it can’t be helped at this point.” He guided her toward the standing stones.
She huddled into him. “You’re not exactly soothing me, Cillian.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be scaring you. But I hope you’ll understand why I didn’t want to tell you, as well as why it’s now time to share.” He took her hand and led her through an opening in the rocks.
Lassi’s gaze swept the small enclosure. “I never thought to look in here. Who must have built this?”
The stones pressed tightly together, forming a circle. No roof stood over their heads allowing the waning light to illuminate the space.
She and Cillian had barely enough room between them, but at least the wind didn’t howl.
“I did. I spend a lot of time here and the wind is horrid company.”
“Right. Somehow I don’t believe you.” Her face crumpled in a frown. “These stones are huge.”
His expression became unreadable.
She pursed her lips, considering. “Okay, so talk to me.”
With his back to one of the stones, he tipped her chin up toward him. “I need to taste you. You might not want me after you hear my story. At least grant me one last kiss.”
Without waiting for an answer, he plundered her lips, as if he was a dying man.
Whatever protests she might have had evaporated as she yielded to the kiss. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. This thing between them—whatever it was—simply couldn’t be denied.
His hand wrapped around the back of her neck, while his other snaked around her ass, grinding her into his fat, throbbing cock.
When he pulled away, the only thing she could think to say was, “Cillian.”
“Yes, love?” His eyes were darkly shadowed.
“I don’t want to hear anything. I don’t want to know what you want to tell me. I’d rather head home in ignorance, than deal with the fact you’re a murderer.”
He stroked her cheek with his fingers. “Oh, Lassi. You’ve got to stay open. Can you do that for me?”
His sea-green gaze searched her face.
She met his eyes. Then she took a long, deep breath. “I’ll try. I don’t know what you’re going to tell me but I’ll at least try.”
He nodded. Then, he slid down the stone to sit, tugging her to do the same.
Once she’d landed in the sand, her only option in the small space was to drape her legs over his thighs until she nearly straddled him. Her back rested against one of the stones.
His expression grew guarded. His eyes appeared hooded and mysterious. “All right. Here goes.” He cast his gaze up as if seeking guidance. When he brought his attention back to her face, he seemed resolved. “I’m...I’m older than you think.”
She chuckled. “What? You’re in your thirties instead of your twenties?”
He shook his head. “I’m two-hundred and fifty years old.”
Her chuckle turned into a laugh. “Good one.”
His focused, steady gaze made her stop laughing.
“What do you mean you’re two-hundred and fifty? That’s a joke or a metaphor, right?”
“It’s no joke, Lassi, love. I’m no longer human. At least some of the times I’m not.”
Her skin iced over with fear. She wanted to back away but there was no place to go. “Oh, no. You’re not going to tell me you’re some sort of vampire and the Dearg-Due is your lover, are you?”
“No. But I’m responsible for keeping her grave stacked with stones to prevent her from exiting and doing what she does.”
She began to pant in quick bursts of air. “What are you saying? What, exactly, is a dead person capable of doing?’
“She murders. I’m certain she’s responsible for all the recent deaths. Mutilation is her calling card.”
“Oh, come on,” she said in a high-pitched voice.
He nodded somberly. “It’s true. And, she’s methodical. Calculating. Her love was destroyed eons ago. She was forced to marry an ass. He abused her. Perhaps he killed her. Perhaps she took her own life. But ever since—she’s the mistress of revenge. No doubt she ripped out Dylan’s tongue because he was lying to himself and to his wife. He wanted Ailis. When Siobhan told me ‘vows in a marriage are to be taken seriously’ I had no doubt she felt deeply betrayed by her husband. Poor thing. And, in a similar fashion, the Dearg-Due undoubtedly tore the lips from Ailis’s face since she kissed Dylan.”
Spikes of horror pounded through Lassi’s brain. She shoved against Cillian’s chest. It proved as effective as striking the massive stones around her. “Are you insane? How can you be speaking in such a manner? We live on a civilized planet. We don’t have zombies and vampires and several hundred-year-old men patrolling the planet.”
He took her hands in his and kissed her fingertips. “In Ballynagaul we do. Well...no zombies as far as I know.” He gave her a clear, direct gaze indicating he was either a convincing psychopath liar, or...possessed over two-hundred years of wisdom.
She refused to even entertain the latter possibility. He’s got to be a psychopath. One of my patients was married to a psychopath. He could tell you to your face your name wasn’t your name and you’d believe him. Her eyes narrowed. Play this carefully, Lassi, girl. You don’t know what Cillian is capable of yet. She drew from her nursing training, calming her beating heart.
“I see,” she said, putting her most-composed nurse face on. You’ve got to let him think you believe him. “So, this vampire girl comes up out of her grave and murders one or more people, using her own moral compass to do nasty things to the bodies.”
“Yes!” He seemed pleased she understood him.
“How many does she kill before she gets her fill?”
“She’ll go on and on until I stack stones on her grave. That’s my job.” His expression transformed into boyish delight.
“I see. How can you lift such heavy stones?” She cast her gaze at the ginormous slabs of granite surrounding her.
“I get them from the bottom of the sea.”
She nodded. “So, you’re a super swimmer, is that it? The water’s deep out there. How do you manage? I’d think you’d burst a lung when you surfaced. Wait. Are you a scuba diver? Or, do you have one of those cool little ROVs that can patrol the sea floor?”
He shook his head. “I don’t use scuba or an ROV. I swim.”
“To the bottom of the ocean.”
This guy’s a fecking lunatic. Maybe all of them are. Maybe Ballynagaul is a place where the crazy reside.
He nodded vigorously.
“You do seem rather ripped. That makes sense.”
“Ripped?” His eyebrows drew together.
“Muscular.” She reached out and squeezed his huge biceps.
He glanced at her hand. “Oh, that. I used to be a blacksmith.”
Lassi’s brow furrowed. “Right. In the 1700s.”
“1796 to be exact. I was a blacksmith’s apprentice.” He chuckled. “Back then, I was a ladies’ man. They said I ‘cleaned up damn well and sported a clean cravat and linen shirt in a way that made women flip their petticoats in less than two shakes of a lamb’s tail.’”
Oh, I could so see that. Amusement pushed its way through Lassi’s brain. She could almost picture him as a ladies’ man blacksmith. Stop it! Stop believing his lies.
“But no lass would ever ankle shackle me, no sir.”
She pasted on a smile. “Go on. No one could tie Cillian Ward down.”
“Not until I met Rosalie Burns. I wanted her badly.” His expression grew sorrowful. “But, she was the first lass to ever say no to me. There might have been one other, but I had been eight and she seven at the time, and I may have bopped her over the head with my lunch pail when she burst into tears when I tried to kiss her. It’s not an incident I like to remember.”
Lassi held back a giggle. This is the stuff of fiction. I never dreamed he had such a fanciful imagination.
“Anyway, Rosalie Burns was so unlike anyone else. Beautiful, with black hair and flashing black eyes, red lips, pink cheeks, and the loveliest set of peaches ever to be hidden under a fichu.”
“Fichu?”
“Sorry, it’s a woman’s shawl.” Cillian flashed a small smile. “But, more than that, she was quiet and kind without any falsity or wearisome righteousness. In fact, Rosalie was extremely clever and possessed a wicked sense of humor, much as yourself. If ever there was a prize to be won, it was Rosalie Burns...until she stopped being a prize and started being the only one I wanted...for the rest of my life. I knew in my soul she was the one.”
Cillian sounded so convincing as he wove this tale, pitchforks of jealousy stabbed at her insides. Stop it! He’s making up utter nonsense. Don’t fall for his fuckery. Still, the sharp prongs of jealous rage continued to lance her heart.
“Fate is a funny thing.” He shook his head. “When I stopped chasing her, she gently and sweetly came to me and invited me to meet her at her father’s stables at midnight. Her family manor was at the edge of town. There was a pretty little meadow at the foot of a hill near the stables, and it would be lovely in the moonlight...” He lifted his head to meet her gaze. “I couldn’t believe my luck. It never occurred to me to refuse or to wait for the sanctity of marriage. I was a man who took what I wanted and thought it stupid to refuse anything offered in this hard-scrabble life of mine.”
Lassi found herself sucked into the story. “So, you agreed to meet her and fuck her.”
His head jerked and his gaze darkened. “I wanted to bed her, not fuck her.”
“Excuse me. You wanted to make love to her, am I right?”
He shook his head. “Not even that. I know it sounds quaint and provincial but that’s what it was like back then. I didn’t use the word ‘fuck’ often.”
“Plow?” Lassi snorted.
What could only be pure delight softened Cillian’s face. “Oh, sweet, Lassi. I wanted to stroke my fiddle bow into her Venus’s honeypot. Or slip the cat’s meat into her cock-trap. Or, plug my sugar stick into her crinkum crankum. Much as I’d like to do with you now.”
“Crinkum crankum?” Lassi let out a guffaw. Her face grew hot. She drew back her hands and folded them —only it turned out to be sort of a tangle of her fingers directed toward her vajim-jam with her forefingers pointing straight at Cillian’s “sugar stick.” She placed her palms on her thighs and tried to clear her mind of lusty thoughts, remembering what Cillian’s sugar stick felt like in her mouth. “Get back to the story.”
“I’d much rather thrust my bayonet into your mossy treasure.” He bore an expression of mischief.
She’d never seen him so playful. “Stop,” she said, grinning, while batting his chest. “The story, remember?”
He nodded and his face grew grim. “At eleven o’clock, I chickened out. I couldn’t defile her. I only wanted to treat her with respect, not sully her reputation. To cool my lust, I accepted the advances of Bree O’Connor, despite the fact her fanny had been hammered more times than a smithy’s anvil.” His eyebrows drew together, pulling his face into shadows. “I was an idiot back then. When I arrived at the stables at two o’clock in the morning, rehearsing the various excuses and apologies I would make, I found...nothing, except a gold ring. No Rosalie. The horses, though, were whinnying uneasily and there was something in the darkness that made my flesh crawl.”
Lassi shuddered and pulled her coat tight. A memory popped into her brain. “Wait a minute. Gold ring? You’ve got a gold ring embedded in a man-made waterfall in the yard of the rectory. Is that...was that hers?” Her fingers itched remembering the sparks she’d experienced when touching it.
“Yes. And the waterfall...well—we’ll get to the water part.” He balled his hands into fists before continuing. “I was consumed with worry and remorse. I called out for Rosalie, but no one answered. The horses became more agitated, and I began to search the stables, hoping she had perhaps simply fallen asleep. When I found her in the hayloft, lying on her side with her back to me and nestled against the prickly piles, I tried to feel relieved. But, the unnatural angle of her neck told me what I didn’t want to acknowledge.” He swallowed hard. When he resumed speaking, his voice cracked with pain. “I took a step toward her, but my boot didn’t make the straw crackle and snap. I stopped and lowered my lantern to the ground. Blood. Everywhere. Soaking the straw. Staining my boots. It was...” He wiped his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “It was Rosalie’s blood...or what was left of it.
“Rosalie had been attacked by the Dearg-Due, her throat nearly ripped out from the ferocity of the feeding on her blood. But, the worst horror was yet to come. Numb with shock, I raised my lantern to look around, as if the creature was still hiding in the loft and could answer for its crimes. Instead, resting on the hay bale above Rosalie’s body were two eyeballs. Rosalie’s flashing black eyes had been ripped from her head and were staring at me—not with accusation, because that would mean she was alive to accuse. But with...nothing. Simply blank, emotionless dead orbs. Dead.”
Lassi’s eyes widened. “How horrible,” she said in a whisper. “Did the...did she...did the Dearg-Due do that because she wanted you to feel accused of betraying your lover?”
“Reason would have it.”
For a moment, Lassi forgot this was nothing but a fanciful tale. “There’s nothing reasonable about what you said. What did you...how did you react?”
His mouth pulled down in a frown. “I don’t remember. I must have screamed or cried out in anguish because people came running. And I was convicted of murder. They thought I killed her because she refused me. Nothing could be further from the truth. I tried to save her from me by fucking...” His lip curled in a sneer. “I tried to save from me by fucking Bree O’Connor.”
Lassi wanted to comfort him. Her eyes grew moist. Wait. He’s a psychopath. This is nothing but a tall tale. She shook the sympathy from her brain. You’re letting yourself believe his lies. What kind of a sick man would make up a story like that? She drew from her medical training once more, and steeled herself from believing him. “Okay, so you’re accused of murder, it’s 1796—then, what happened?”
“I felt so guilty I didn’t try to defend myself.” A humorless chuckle left his throat. “How wicked is it, that had I plundered her milky shores I would have lived an ordinary life and not been responsible for trapping the Dearg-Due each year for the rest of my days?” His gaze appeared hollow. Fathomless. Without hope.
But then he focused, letting his gaze linger on hers. “Beloved, Lasairfhíona. If that would have happened, I would never have met you. Perhaps my penance is complete.”
Torn between believing him and falling for his endearments, and running far away, she willed herself to stay neutral, be a professional and let him think she believed him. “So, what happened next?”
“The magistrate sentenced me to be hung from the neck until dead. He addressed some severe remarks to me from the bench about seducing young ladies of good breeding above my station in life. I fancied myself a gentleman. But in his eyes, I was nothing but a blacksmith.” He sneered. “The magistrate’s clerk was more than happy to sell a copy of the remarks to an enterprising young reporter from Dublin. The magistrate was highly gratified to see them in print and kept a copy of the paper casually on display in the parlor for years to come.”
A chill snaked up Lassi’s spine. What if this is some way to trap me and add me to the list of murders? What if this is the sick game he plays with all his victims? He tells them lies, wooing them into feeling sorry for him, then he strikes. She tried to draw away from him as surreptitiously as she could.
His hand shot out and seized her jaw.
She yelped, struggling ineffectually from of his iron grip.
“I know you’ve been humoring me, Miss Finn. This whole time. Talking to me in soothing tones like a good little nurse.”
Her gaze skittered about like marbles on linoleum. “No, I...” She had difficulty speaking since her jaw was being held by unyielding power.
“Liar. I’ve had to live with my freakazoid self for nearly three centuries. That’s more than anyone’s fair share of human interactions. Think I don’t know how to spot a lie?”
His words struck like a sharp-fanged serpent. She longed to slap him, wriggle out of the stones, and race away. But, clasped in his rigid fingers, all she could do was stare at him for a few terrifying seconds, letting the pain of his grip force her to deal with reality. He’s a murderer. A killer and a psychopath. Her gaze darted toward the opening. I need to escape. I can leave everything—the cottage, my Barbados dreams, fecking Ballyna-nowhere, and bury myself in my Dublin life again.
Her heart clattered about in her chest, begging her to choose another way. Good Christ, it’s gone too far. I need to know the truth. If whatever happened between us isn’t real, I can deal. I might hate myself for a while, for having been fooled, but I can deal.
If it is real and he’s telling me the truth and I leave him, the heartache I’ll feel will be devastating. I’ll never find a love like this again. She let out a shuddering lungful of air.
His fingers relaxed. He drew his hand away, leaving her cheeks stinging.
“Okay. Tell me the rest. How did you end up living past your time?” She fingered her jaw, hoping no visible bruise formed.
“No more pretending to believe me?” he asked.
“No more manhandling me?”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I needed you to stop pretending to believe me.”
“Thank you.” She nodded. “But if you ever do that again to me I’ll kick your ‘nads into your throat.”
He touched his groin and winced. “Understood.”
“Good.” She nodded again. “This is unquestioningly the most screwed-up story I’ve ever heard. But, I’m suspending skepticism until you get to the end.”
He nodded. “All right. I can prove it to you once I’m done.”
“Oh, boy. Not sure I want to see, but… So, you’re sentenced to death by hanging.” She fingered her throat.
Outside the stones, the wind whistled and shrieked. The waves continued their furious assault on the rocky, sandy shore. Lassi lifted her gaze overhead. As the sun descended, it painted the clouds with blood-colored light.
“Yes. It’s the least they could do to me. I lost the will to live. I hadn’t eaten for days. I refused all food or drink since my sentencing. I would have refused before, but I was force-fed on the warden’s orders—they didn’t want me dying before I could face justice for Rosalie. My days and nights consisted of trying to block out the nightmare of Rosalie’s eyes.” Deep rings of sorrow pooled beneath his eyes, giving him a vacant, horrified expression. “The night before my execution, I received a visit from Father Quinn, the prison chaplain. He came in my cell and sat with me. Simply sat. I’d grown catatonic. After a time, he said he knew I was innocent. That made me take a breath at least.”
Lassi gasped, recalling her outrage at being arrested for murder. When Mary and Ryan Conway released them both, she’d been relieved, too. She couldn’t imagine what it would have been like if she’d been sentenced to die for a crime she didn’t do. She took Cillian’s hand in hers and squeezed.
He looked up from his nightmares and let the slightest of smiles curve his lips. “Thank you.”
“Then what happened?” she said softly.
“Father Quinn went on to say he knew Rosalie Burns was killed by the Dearg-Due. I managed to blink at him so he knew I was listening. But I was as skeptical as you are. I thought it utter nonsense. The stuff of fairy tales designed to frighten.” Cillian let out a laugh. “That poor priest. I’m certain I smelled like a shite-storm and looked a mess. I lay in dried vomit, piss, and excrement. My body was covered in scabs and scars. I used rocks and pebbles to scrape my skin then I’d pick at them so I wouldn’t heal. It was my way of atoning for my sins against Rosalie.” He trained his haunted gaze on her. “He went on to tell the true story of Maggie Strongbow from a hundred years prior, and how she became the Dearg-Due. You know bits of the legend, right?”
She wriggled her legs. They’d grown numb from sitting in such a cramped position. “Only as much as Aengus recalled.”
Cillian nodded. “Father Quinn told me that for more than 100 years, the Dearg-Due had been hunting in Waterford City on the anniversary night of her death—July 15. He had young men pile stones on her grave every year to keep her there, but the one night she couldn’t be stopped was the night of her death. At first, I didn’t believe this, but when Father Quinn rattled off the deaths of people who were drained of blood every July 15 for the past ten years, I had to accept the truth.”
“The murders began on July 15th. That’s the day I...” She couldn’t finish the sentence as she pictured herself cleaning up the grave site. Whispery shivers crawled up her skin, like a nest of spiders had been born in her shirt. “Can’t she be stopped?” Her voice came out trembling.
“No. The Dearg-Due is unstoppable. However, Father Quinn told me of an ancient secret that might work to contain her. Might, being the key word. It required a sacrifice, through—me. At that point, I’d have let him plunge a dagger into my chest while I lay on a bloody stone altar. It might have felt more righteous. But, no. Father Quinn explained the sacrifice was not death...but life. Eternal life.”
Lassi scoffed. She squeezed her fingers into fists to keep from reaching over, pulling up his lip, and checking for fangs. “I thought you assured me you’re not a vampire? You’ll have to forgive me if I suspend belief at this point. I mean, I was rolling with the story, but...”
Cillian leaned forward and shushed her protest with a searing kiss. He pulled away, leaving her panting. “Shut up, Lassi, and let me finish. This is hard enough.”
“I can see that,” she said with a smirk, eying the bulge in his trousers.
His sharp, reprimanding gaze stung as if he’d slapped her. “I wouldn’t get me started. If I were to do to you what I want so badly to do, you could all—every one of you—be dead tonight, ripped apart by the Dearg-due. Torn to bits.”
Her hand flew to her mouth.
“And I’d be left bereft. I don’t think I can cope with that kind of heartbreak again.” His eyes moistened.
Lassi shifted uncomfortably.
“So.” Cillian adjusted his trousers. “Father Quinn had a plan based on the ancient pagan information he had uncovered. Basically, it was this—they needed to dig up the Dearg-Due first thing in the morning and move her coffin to some little fishing village.”
“And the village was Ballynagaul, right?”
“Exactly. There are ley lines in this village—deep veins of magic running through it. The grave needed to be right next to the beach. Only stones and rocks from the deepest part of the ocean could keep the Dearg-Due from rising, and only one creature was supposed to be capable of calling forth such rocks and stones—the Leviathan.”
Lassi’s nose wrinkled. “A whale? He turned you into a whale?”
Cillian scoffed. “Not exactly. You’ll see soon enough.”
She stared at him open-mouthed. “What, exactly, will I see?”
“Wait and let me explain. I sat in disbelief, not understanding what this had to do with me. You think you’re skeptical? When Father Quinn continued he told me he had the power to transform me into a Leviathan—the great monster of the sea—but not a full-time monster. I thought he’d lost his fecking mind. Never in a million years would I have believed him. He said I would live as a human and have control over my ability to transform. I could make sure the ocean rocks stayed in place and guard the grave of the Dearg-Due...for all time.” Cillian let out a laugh. “The only thing I could think to ask was, ‘wouldn’t people notice I wasn’t getting older or dying?’ I mean, time was ticking and the thought of having my neck sliced sounded like a worse fate compared to being turned into some sort of freak monster. But all I cared about was whether or not someone would notice.”
Both Lassi and he rubbed their necks at the same time.
“Father Quinn explained that the ancient magic would sort of blank out the minds of people when their thoughts went in that direction. Anyone who came within the village boundary and questioned my existence would instantly forget it was an anomaly. The easiest way for me to live permanently in the village would be for me to become the parish priest. Father Quinn would have done it, but he was too old. To survive the transformation to the Leviathan, the sacrificial man must be young and strong. I was both of those—when I was eating, that is. I was scared beyond my wits.” One of his big shoulders rose and fell. “So, I let myself be eternally damned and willingly embraced a celibate existence as a half-monster living only to guard a murderous creature who took the life of his true love because I had to be an idiot and fuck around. It sounded good. It sounded like the kind of penance that would make me feel worth living. It appealed as the kind of sad, miserable life that could ease the horror of Rosalie’s eyes after, say, oh, a few centuries.” A bitter laugh escaped his lips.
Another shudder crawled across her skin. “How did he do it? Father Quinn, that is? How did he transform you?”
“He worked some confessional blackmail magic on the warden, magistrate, and guards, and the next morning, instead of meeting the hangman, I sneaked from the prison, shouldered a shovel and went to Strongbow’s Tree to dig up the Dearg-Due. There was a wild, punishing race with a wagon and a double-team of horses to get to Ballynagaul before sundown so we could rebury her and perform the ritual to transform me.”
Lassi shifted uncomfortably. “What was the ritual like?”
“Like something I don’t care to recall. There were a lot of chants, fires, waving of intoxicating smoke-filled urns and so on. It was extraordinarily painful, but I welcomed the pain, feeling it my due.” He lifted his raincoat, his suit jacket, and his undershirt, revealing a scar running from his waistband to his throat. It glowed faintly with a blue-green light.
Lassi gasped and patted her mouth several times, trying to keep her reaction inside. Then, she extended her hand and trailed her forefinger along the scar. Her hand pulsed with heat, like pushing her hand through a bolt of liquid electricity.
“That feels nice.” His eyes fell closed. “This is the first time I’ve felt anything but searing pain or numbness there.” He took her hand, brought it to his lips and kissed her fingertips. “It starts at the base of my cock. They made a wicked slice from here to here.” He touched his groin and the delicate hollow at the base of his neck. “We didn’t have anesthesia in the 18th century. Well, we had chloroform but not where the ritual was performed. I was taken to a crypt in a graveyard. It was all hush-hush secret.”
“Oh, Cillian!”
“Right. You can see why I would want to forget such a thing.” He let his garments fall back over his belly. Then, he tucked his shirt back inside his waistband. “We buried Maggie Strongbow by the ocean, right over there...” He pointed outside the stones in the direction of the vandalized grave-site.
Lassi vigorously rubbed her arms with her palms.
“And, as the Leviathan, I call forth rocks of all sizes, from pebbles to boulders, from the depth of the ocean to cover her grave. The first time I did it, I felt like a conquering hero. I got the job done not a moment too soon, because right as the sun was setting, the earth around her grave began to vibrate. But she couldn’t escape, thanks to me.”
“I see,” she said.
They both grew silent.
Lassi mulled over his words, iciness working its way inside her skin. She kept brushing her arms and massaging her biceps.
The wind continued to lash overhead.
Cillian studied her, maybe waiting for her to process and say something meaningful, or freak out and run away.
She stared at her jean-clad legs...and his priestly garb. “So, you’re not really a priest,” she said, her head bowed.
“Not really, no.”
“That’s at least something,” she said, keeping her eyes pointed toward the sand.
He reached out his hand and cupped her face.
She pressed into it like a cat.
“You’re connected in all this, too, love.”
She stopped pushing into his caress and lifted her gaze to his. “How so?” she whispered.
“You’re a Finn. You’re magic. You’re extremely powerful from what I’ve seen.”
There’s that magic declaration again. She scowled. “What if I don’t want to be magic?”
“You can hide from it, but you’ll no doubt get sick. Why do you think your mother and grandmother died so young?”
She shrugged. “Genetics, I guess.”
He chuckled. “Of a sort, I guess. The Finn women have cared for me since this whole thing began. After I got settled in the rectory, Mairead Finn came to work for me. For some reason, the magical fuzziness preventing people from knowing I don’t age didn’t take with motherly Mairead. She confronted me one day and I had to tell her the whole story.”
“Mairead? Which one is she?”
“The first of several. Your great-grandmother Roberta was the last.”
“Why would I not be told she was my grandmother?”
Cillian shrugged. “Your mother wanted you to stay far from the truth while letting you know you still had relatives in this town, is my guess. Or, maybe she wanted to keep you away from a life of forced labor. But, I assure you I’m easy to work for.” He winked.
Lassi stiffened, suspicion forcing her thoughts in a downward spiral. “Oh, no. I’m not going to move in and be your bloody housemaid, Cillian Ward, if that’s what you’re thinking. All this seducing bullshit. For a second I almost bought the tale. I was all ‘poor, Cillian, such a fate.’ But this is merely a ploy to get me to clean your fecking rectory.”
A horrifying thought pricked her mind. “Tell me you didn’t fuck Roberta.”
His head jerked back. “No! I’ve been celibate, Lassi. That means no sex, in case you didn’t know.”
She scoffed and tried to wriggle her way to standing but he caught her hips.
“Sit down.” His voice came out as a command.
“Why should I?” She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Because if you don’t, the Dearg-Due will strike again. We’ve got less than an hour now to stop her.”
She threw up her hands. “So, what are we doing all cozy in here with you telling me tales? Why aren’t you simply stacking stones on her grave?”
“You need to know what you’re dealing with. And, I can’t find her.” A sheepish expression crossed his face. His gaze slid to the side.
“What? What do you mean, you can’t find her?”
“She hasn’t returned to her grave at night for rest.”
Lassi’s scalp prickled. “Holy monkey balls, this is worse than awful.”
“It is. I need your help. But first, I need you to know everything.” He shook his head. “You’re just like Mairead. You’ve got the same sharp-tongued attitude. She pointed out someone needed to know about the Dearg-Due, in case something happened to me. So, she worked some magic on the Finn women so that they’d continue to work in the rectory, keeping the Dearg-due secret in case I was killed or something. They’d be drawn here. I told her she had enslaved all the future generations of Finn women to serve me and I wasn’t okay with that. She shrugged and retorted everyone has a purpose. Sometimes you choose it, sometimes it’s given to you...and rather than stand there Daffin’ about Free Will, she had supper to get on with, unless I’d rather eat righteousness and drink rectitude. I think this is one of those things that’s given to you, Lassi Finn.”
“You mean forced upon me, like a noose.” Her lips curled into a pout. “I apparently didn’t come here of my free will, and, if what you’re saying is true, I won’t be able to return to Dublin.”
He let out an exasperated groan. “Forced, given, it’s yours. Do what you will.” He flicked his fingers at her. “I can’t be sitting here arguing with you for much longer. I’ve got to do my job.”
“Oh, right, play the hero while the idiot human over here struggles to process.” She plopped back down in the sand, drawing her knees up to her chest.
“Goddamn it, Lassi. I have no choice. You do. You seem to be the one woman who can go against the Finn spell.”
“Can I? I’m here, aren’t I?” She sucked in a lungful of breath, affording him a side-eyed glance.
“You are. But, I don’t think you had to come here. But you did for reasons of your own. I hoped you arrived to be with me, as my companion, of your own free will. For nearly three centuries, I’ve been alone. I’ve lived with despair and loneliness. And I’ve been as lustful as the day I found Rosalie.”
“Have you fucked anyone?” Lassi snapped, unsure why she asked.
“Finn women are extraordinarily beautiful.”
She lifted her chin in defiance. “You didn’t answer the question. Have you fucked anybody in the last two-hundred and fifty years?”
“Why does it matter?”
“Because you’re supposed to be a priest,” she said, heat rising in her neck.
“But I’m not, am I?” Sharp lines appeared on his face, making him look angry. “I’m nothing but a freak.”
“Have you fucked anyone?” She rocked onto her knees and stabbed her finger into his chest.
As quick as a viper, he seized her hand and pulled her to him in a searching, scorching kiss.
She put her palms on his chest and shoved away. “Answer the question.”
“I just did.” He clutched her wrists and pressed them against her bosom. His eyes flashed fire. “As tempted as I’ve been, no, Lasairfhíona. Ever since I was turned, I’ve never fucked, plowed, or been with a woman. I’ve been sorely tempted. But never as much as when I met you. I’ve only done one thing—keep Ballynagaul safe from the Dearg-Due. You destroyed everything. You, with your good intentions to honor a dead woman, broke the seal on the grave. She’s loose now. She hasn’t been loose since 1796.”
Lassi stared at him, panting.
He stared at her, matching her ragged breaths.
Silence stretched between them.
“Cillian! Lassi!” Conway called.
“What is it?” Cillian said, his head whipping to the side.
“You’ve been in there a while. Mother and I are getting a bit nervous. The sky—it’s an ominous blood red. She’s out there. Mother can feel her. We don’t want anyone to be her next victim.”
“We’re coming. Give me two seconds.” Still clutching Lassi’s wrists, he wrestled them up to standing. Then, he reached down and adjusted his pants, making room for his erection. “You’ve bewitched me like no other, Lassi.”
He placed his hands on either side of her cheeks and gave her another soulful kiss.
This one she didn’t resist.
When they pulled away from one another, she studied him. Her head jerked back. “What’s happened? Your eyes are...” She lifted her hand and pointed.
His sea-green eyes now bore a distinct bio-luminescence. Pale yellow light outlined his black irises, like jagged lightning bolts. “Quiet. I’m trying to sense something.”
“What?” She stammered. “What are you looking for?”
He placed a finger over her lips.
“Shhh.” He blinked and it looked like a camera shutter. “One hundred years ago I put up a safety net of sorts in case something like this happened. In my Leviathan form, I brought large ocean rocks onto the beach and then hired the nearby stonemason’s men to cart the boulders to the four corners of the parish. That established a boundary. Irene and I used old magic to call the four corners and beat the bounds into place. The Dearg-Due can’t pass the perimeter.” He cocked his head, appearing to listen. Then, he nodded. “Good. They’re still in place.”
“Okay, so...” She drew out the word in a hiss. “That means we’re trapped with her. Can we leave?”
“You can go. I can’t. I must stay and do my job.” He gripped her shoulders and lowered his forehead to hers.
“No! This is all my fault.” She grabbed his wrists.
“You didn’t know what you were doing,” he said, as if absolving her.
“So, what do we do now?” She considered his strangely hypnotic eyes.
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve got to know! You’ve been doing this for centuries.” She threw back her head, brushing against the stone. “I always do this. I always get into more trouble than I care to mention.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, love.”
“Cillian!” Conway’s voice sounded shaky.
“We’re coming.” He started to guide her from the stones.
“Wait!” she said, stopping, one leg inside the circle, one being whipped by sand and wind.
“What?”
“Before I came down, I got a phone call. On the phone that doesn’t work.”
“You did?” He looked at her eagerly.
“I did.”
“Did anyone say anything?”
“Yes! They told me to follow the stones. So...” Her shoulders bunched around her ears. “Let’s find them, whatever they may be, and follow them.”