“I want to see Lugh,” Sloane demanded, her hands clenched, staring at the spot where Aidan had been seconds before. “Enough is e-fucking-nough.”

To her surprise, Aine didn’t argue, just took her by the hand and walked through the mist that clung to the edges of Sloane’s field. A great hall formed around them as they walked.

Aine dropped her hand then, muttering something as voices became audible up ahead. Sloane was nervous, but as they moved deeper into what had to be an enormous castle, Sloane realized how good it felt to be doing something again. Anything.

Even if it might not do a damn bit of good.

The voices grew louder.

“You can’t hold him forever. Even you’re not that strong, Your Grace.”

“I fucking know that, Dian. If he wanted to escape, he’d already be gone. He’s offered terms . . . I’m trying to decide whether to accept them or not.”

“Then you must make a decision soon. Manannán is showing every sign of incredible strain. He’ll escape if you don’t, and then Danu help us all.”

Another muttered oath. “Of all the bloody stubborn—”

The blond giant from the beach looked up as Sloane entered the room, Aine trailing at her heels. A smaller, decidedly studious-looking man stood at his side.

“Oh. ’Tis you,” the king said.

The sight of him made Sloane’s skin start to prickle and go hot, remembering the sight of Mac being dragged away in chains by this man. “Yes. I am sure my imprisonment slipped your mind. Just who the hell do you—”

Aine hip-checked Sloane so hard she tumbled sideways into a column.

As she picked herself up with a curse, the blue-eyed goddess glided up to the stairs to the throne, her moves so sinuous she didn’t appear to touch the ground at all. Lugh was watching her, a slight smile on his lips as the goddess took a position beside him, one hand on his knee.

“Sloane, I daresay you haven’t been properly introduced, but this is Lugh. The king of the Tuatha de Danaan.” Aine shot her what was unmistakably a warning look. Then grinned roguishly. “He’s also my consort.”

The king blinked. “Your consort? Isn’t it the other way around?” But there was amusement in the Lugh’s rich, golden voice as he looked at Aine. It was a minute before he turned back to Sloane. “Mac has asked that I hold you so long as I am holding him—”

What? Sloane was confused, but she tried not to show it.

“—I am sorry for the inconvenience. Damnably sorry.” The king did appear sincere, so Sloane decided pushing her luck one more time wouldn’t hurt.

“Then prove it,” she interrupted. “Let me see him. Mac.”

Lugh blinked again.

“He raised you, didn’t he?” Sloane pressed. “I remember those stories. Mac was your foster father. Trained you in every weapon there is, made it possible for you to challenge Balor.”

“I don’t need a mortal to remind me of my own history.” Lugh’s voice deepened, rolling down the stairs to rumble at the edges of the room.

Sloane refused to be cowed even as her knees knocked together. “Don’t you?” She raised an eyebrow.

Dian coughed, looking scandalized. Behind Lugh, Sloane saw Aine make a face, but she kept her head high. Instinct told her nothing would impress this Tuatha de Danaan king less than lack of spine. He might punish her for her boldness, but he wouldn’t kill her for it.

Or so she hoped.

“Well, I must say, I see why you appeal to Mac so much. I, too, am fond of contrary females,” his eyes flicked to the woman at his side, “but a touch of diplomacy is a good idea when addressing someone who could end your life with a snap of his fingers.”

If Lugh’s eyes hadn’t been twinkling, Sloane thought she might have pissed herself at the bite in his tone.

“I’ll arrange a visit,” the king continued, “a short one.” Her knees went weak. He gave her a surprisingly sympathetic look. “But once that is over, you must resign yourself to letting him go. One way or the other.”

Must I? thought Sloane, her heart racing. We’ll fucking see about that. But she took Lugh’s own advice and smiled at him instead of telling him to go to hell. From the glint in his eye, he knew exactly what she was thinking, but he laughed anyway.

“Fand,” he called out. “See our prisoner is given leave to visit the mortal for the span of half an hour. No more.”

The fairy queen disappeared with a bright smile, but Sloane’s mood plummeted. Half an hour?

Everyone had left the throne room by the time Mac appeared, Fand at his side. The fairy queen vanished the instant Sloane started toward them.

Mac looked good, much better than he had on that damn beach. He stood irresolute and tall, imposing even in this huge place. Then he smiled and she started to run.

He caught her when she leapt, burying his face in her hair. Sloane felt the shudder than ran through that powerful body. She laughed, even as her eyes started to sting.

“I need to tell you something, in case you’ve forgotten,” she breathed in his ear. “I love you.”

“I’ve known ye loved me since ye saw the stone at Cashtal yn Ard. It weren’t the words tha’ told me the truth, it was you seeing a bit of me tha’ no one else can. Tha’ stone canna be seen by mortal eyes. But you saw it. You saw the real me, even before you knew wha’ ye were seeing.”

“But then…why did you send me away?”

He sighed, pulling her into his arms. “I told ye before, ye had to have a chance to change your mind. But more than that, I had to know it was true, no’ on your part, love, but on mine. I didna trust myself when it came to ye.”

She stared up at him, worrying at her lower lip as she thought of what Aidan had said.

“There’s something else bothering ye,” he guessed. “Wha’ is it?”

“Aidan told me something . . .” Her voice shaking, she laid out her father’s theory on why it had taken Mac so long to find Declan.

“Make ye a vampire?” His voice started low enough before deepening to a rumble of pure outrage and disgust. “Ye think tha’ was my solution?”

Sloane swallowed. “Well, Aidan . . .”

“O’Neill is forever scarred by what my bloody sister did to him. But surely ye, machree, ye didna believe this foul thing?” Mac looked shaken—wounded to his very core. But even so, she couldn’t lie to him, not now, not ever.

“Not really. But I wondered . . . if that is the only way, I wanted you to know I’m okay with it, Mac. I would understand.”

He recoiled, his hands dropping from her arms. “If tha’ was only the way, I’d walk into the sea and never lay eyes on ye again.”

She reached for him, sudden fear freezing the regret teeming inside her. “Mac, I’m sorry, I’m just trying to figure things out here. I didn’t know—”

“Aye. But ye know me. Is tha’ a choice ye could see me making for ye? Letting some foul git like Declan torture and drain ye until yer da had no choice but to change ye? I wouldna do tha’ to O’Neill, let alone to ye.”

She shook her head, reaching for him, tears streaking her face. “No. Of course you wouldn’t. I see that now, but, Mac—”

He put up a hand, avoided hers. “I’ve got to get back to Lugh now.”

“No, Mac, wait,” she pleaded, the tears falling faster now, but he only looked back at her impassively, the storm in his eyes gone, leaving a cool, mirror-like grey that chilled her to the bone.

“Mac!” But he was already gone. The door shut behind him, then the stonework and the throne room faded away. Leaving her back in the awful, familiar field, feeling worse than she had before.

More days passed. Or maybe hours. With no way to tell, Sloane drifted.

When at last Fand appeared, looking oddly pensive, Sloane barely moved. She was too afraid of what the fairy might have to say. “Lugh has said I’m to take you back to Manx. You’re free to go.”

“Where’s Mac?”

The fairy queen gave her an infuriatingly vague look. “I don’t know. Lugh didna say. Only that I was to take you from the Otherworld at once.” She held out a hand, waiting.

With no choice, Sloane got to her feet. As her hand touched Fand’s, the field faded away. Instantly, she seemed to hear bells tolling, a long way off.

The sound of them made her shiver even as the fairy queen’s fingers tightened, pulling her unwilling body back to earth.