Dark Alpha's Caress Read online

  “I’m not answering anything. Especially not to a Dark.”

  Cathal twisted his lips as he nodded. “Fair enough. But if you aren’t going to talk, then that means there’s no use for you.” As he finished speaking, he held out his hand and called his sword to him.

  The Fae lived exceptionally long years. But they could be killed. Especially by a blade forged in the Fires of Erwar.

  The Light held up his hands. “Whoa. Hold on. Let’s not be hasty.”

  “It took too long for you to wake, and you’re making this difficult. My patience is wearing thin. You’ve got one chance to tell me what I want to know, or I’ll end your life.”

  Since Death hadn’t sent Cathal to reap this Fae’s soul, he couldn’t actually kill him. But Cathal kept that tidbit of information to himself.

  “Fine. Ask your questions,” the Light said hastily, his voice laced with exasperation.

  Cathal smiled. “What do you want with the Halfling?”

  The Light let out a loud sigh and relaxed his midsection. “Of course, you’d ask that.”

  “I’m waiting,” Cathal stated.

  “Fine! You want to know who she is?” the Fae asked as he crunched his torso again. “She’s the reason the Fae will begin flocking to this isle over the next few days.”

  Cathal frowned, not liking what he was hearing. “Why?”

  “You’re a Fae!” The Light shook his head in annoyance. “You should know. Look, mate, the bloodline of that family is like a blessing from the gods. If a male can impregnate one of them, that Fae and his family are guaranteed to always be able to return to this realm, even if we’re forced to leave.”

  “You’re full of shite.”

  “I’m not,” he said and shook his head of black hair. “Why do you think she’s a Halfling? The family learned of this long ago, and they do a ritual every year to keep them safe from us. But every female of that family must be involved in the ritual. That Halfling hasn’t done a ritual in ten years. This is the first year she left the safety of her home. And I’m going to be the one to plant my seed in her.”

  Red filled Cathal’s vision. “You’re going to leave Skye. And you’re going to let every Fae know that the Halfling isn’t to be touched.”

  “Because you want her for yourself,” the Light said, his gaze narrowed in anger.

  Cathal brought the blade of his sword against the Fae’s throat. “The only thing you need to be concerned with is getting away from me with your life. If I see you again on this isle or anywhere near that Halfling, I’ll gut you from your nose to your balls. Do you understand me?”

  The Fae nodded quickly. “I understand perfectly.”

  “You better. You don’t want me hunting you down.” Cathal tossed him to the side.

  The Fae rolled before he jumped to his feet. He didn’t look back at Cathal as he teleported away. Cathal immediately veiled himself and jumped to the Halfling’s house, where he found Aisling sitting on the porch, still veiled. The moment she saw him, she rose and walked to him.

  “This isle is crawling with Fae,” she said when she reached him.

  Cathal nodded, his lips flattening. “I found out why.” He then told her what he’d discovered.

  Her red eyes grew large. “What the hell? I’ve never heard of this Halfling’s family or that crock of shite.”

  “Me either,” Cathal said with a shrug. “But someone must know of it. Otherwise, the Fae wouldn’t be coming here.”

  Aisling glanced over her shoulder at the cottage. “I looked all over the outside of the house. I can’t find any symbols that would keep a Fae out.”

  “Nothing kept us out, but the same rules don’t apply to Reapers.”

  “If there are no wards to keep the Fae out, then they can get to her in her cottage.”

  Cathal twisted his lips. “I’m not so sure of that. The Light I spoke with made a point of saying that this was the first time the Halfling had left her property in ten years.”

  Aisling’s face registered shock. “I don’t buy that at all. She’s had to leave at least once a month for supplies.”

  “I don’t know. Even the Halfling made mention of not leaving for a while. Maybe there is something to that.” He glanced around. “Perhaps the property itself is protected. This is the home of the Skye Druids, after all.”

  “Something isn’t adding up, that’s for sure,” Aisling said as she crossed her arms over her chest.

  Cathal couldn’t argue with that. “Looks like we have more information to gather.”

  “I’ll do that. You stay and talk to the Halfling.”

  He frowned. “I’m not sure that’s wise.”

  “She’s not going to want to talk to another Fae. You’ve got some kind of rapport with her. Use it. I don’t think we have time for me or anyone else to get close to her.”

  Cathal had to admit that Aisling was right. He felt as if their time was running out, and he wasn’t even sure why or for what. “Watch your back out there.”

  She laughed and clicked her long red nails. “I dare anyone to fek with me. Have fun with your Halfling.” Then, she was gone.

  Cathal found himself smiling even after Aisling had left. She wasn’t particularly easy to get to know. Then again, none of the Reapers were. Aisling kept to herself, but over the last few months, he had seen her do little things that proved that she was coming to bond with the Reapers. It made it easy on Death’s realm, where no one but the Reapers and their mates lived.

  When Kyran’s mate, River, had birthed their child, everyone had wanted to see the first baby born to a Reaper. None of the men had stepped up to hold the child. But Aisling had. There had been a look on her face that had caught everyone’s attention. Aisling hadn’t seemed to care. She cooed to the infant for a little while before handing her back to River.

  As far as Cathal knew, Aisling hadn’t been back to see the baby. But there was a vase full of different colored flowers outside of the infant’s window every week. Or at least that’s what Kyran told them.

  Cathal’s attention returned to the Halfling and the cottage. Then he moved his gaze around, looking to see if any Fae were near. So far, nothing. But that didn’t mean they wouldn’t come. Is that what had happened to the Halfling’s mother? Had she been cornered and taken advantage of by a Fae?

  The thought made him sick.

  Mortals were drawn to Fae like moths to a flame. There was no getting around it. It wasn’t as if the Fae had made themselves that way. It’s just how it was. Some Fae didn’t like how much attention they got from mortals, so they used glamour to hide their beauty and magic to tone down their appeal.

  However, most Fae gloried in the devotion. Because humans fawned over them like gods. Cathal had seen it many times. Even when the mortals were purposefully drawn to a place like the Dark Palace and kept prisoner to be used sexually, they didn’t seem to care. Their only thought was to feel the pleasure that being in the arms of a Fae guaranteed.

  Even as the soul of the human was being taken from them with every sexual act. They died with a smile on their faces.

  That’s why the Dark Fae—and some Light—didn’t consider draining a mortal murder. They argued that if someone died with a smile, it couldn’t be bad. It was a load of shite. The Dark took great pleasure in taking the humans’ souls. The Light were allowed to sleep with a mortal once, thinking that didn’t do as much damage. The opposite was true. Once a human had sex with a Fae, no other mortal could live up to them—or satisfy the human. The mortal was irrevocably ruined.

  Cathal grimaced. The Halfling clearly didn’t like Fae. He had a sneaking suspicion that it had to do with her lineage. The tears she’d cried earlier most likely had to do with her mother. But the Halfling was in her late twenties at a minimum. So, she hadn’t lost her mother at an early age. Or had she? There were so many unanswered questions. Cathal wished he knew the answers for some of them. Then maybe he’d be able to talk to her.

  He sighed and walked around
the cottage, taking in the flowering bushes, hanging baskets with colored petals draped over the sides, and even windowsill planter boxes with flowers. The house sat atop a hill, looking out in all directions over pastures, mountains, and in the distance, water. A small herb plot rested near the house. Next to it was a vegetable patch. Beyond that, a flower garden.

  The sheer abundance of flowers and plants and how well they grew reminded him of the first time he’d gone to Death’s realm. Erith had a thing for flowers, and the plants seemed to bloom as she neared, as if they were eager for her attention.

  Cathal found himself walking among the flora. There were posies, lavender, hollyhocks, and delphinium. He saw an outside table area that was covered with wisteria, growing all over it to keep it shaded. Then he spotted the rose garden. Cathal couldn’t help but take a closer look. There were blooms of every size and color. This section was twice the size of the other gardens, and the fragrance hung heavy in the air.

  He was just turning away when he happened to see a weathered stick helping to support one of the rose bushes. It was only by chance that he caught what looked like writing on the one-inch thick wood. He leaned closer, but it was so worn that he couldn’t make it out clearly. That’s when he ran his finger over it and traced the small outline of a ward used to keep Fae out.

  It was the first sign of any ward he’d seen. Aisling had searched the property, but she probably hadn’t thought to look in the gardens. He wouldn’t have either. It had been sheer luck that he’d even spotted it.

  He straightened and looked over the plants to the cottage. The marking was old. Very old. It was wearing thin as well, which meant that the ward wasn’t strong. That could allow a powerful Fae to come onto the land. How much would it take to enter the house? Cathal walked around the dwelling again. This time, he looked at inconspicuous places to search for the wards. Unfortunately, he didn’t find any.

  Cathal ran a hand down his face and blew out a breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. When he looked, he found a Fae on the neighboring property, looking at the Halfling’s cottage. Cathal was about to go to the Fae when he realized that he couldn’t take the time to chase each and every Fae away. While he was occupied with one, others could rush the house.

  That left him with only one option.

  He walked to the front of the house and onto the porch. Then he dropped his veil and knocked on the door.

  Chapter Seven

  The last thing Sorcha expected was a knock on her door. She jerked her head up from making tea and stared at the front of the house as if willing herself to see through it and to who wanted to talk to her. She didn’t move. Her ankle was swollen again from her hike at the pools. She just wanted to lay on the couch and pretend that the morning hadn’t happened.

  The knock came again.

  She turned her head. If she ignored whoever it was, maybe they would go away. She knew it wasn’t Rhona, because her cousin would’ve called to let her know that she was here. Whoever had come was a stranger, which meant, Sorcha didn’t want to answer the door and pretend to be nice. And the very last thing she wanted was to invite anyone in.

  Minutes went by with nothing. Sorcha let out a sigh. Finally, something had gone right.

  Then came the knock once more.

  She dropped her chin to her chest. Was this Fate laughing at her? Telling her that it didn’t matter what she wanted, that she had to go to the door?

  Fuck Fate. I’ve had enough. I just want to be left alone.

  “I’m going to keep knocking until you open the door.”

  Her stomach fell to her feet. She knew that voice. It was seared into her brain from the other night, and then just a little while ago at the pools. But what was the Irishman doing at her house? And how the hell had he found her?

  She forgot about wanting to be alone and hobbled her way to the door. Without opening it, she said, “I told you I didn’t want to hear what you had to say.”

  “That no longer matters. The simple fact is, the Fae are interested in you. And they’ll stop at nothing to get you.”

  Sorcha frowned, not liking the feeling his words gave her. “This is Skye. Nothing can happen to me here.”

  A long, drawn-out sigh reached her. “I wish I could say you’re right, but that isn’t the case. You don’t want to see me, and I respect that. But at least let me say my piece. Then, I’ll go.”

  Could it be that easy? She knew it wasn’t. Nothing ever was. People said whatever they needed to get what they wanted. She didn’t trust anyone. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. She trusted Rhona. Partly because she was family, and in part because Sorcha had known Rhona her entire life.

  “My name is Cathal,” he said. “I give you my word that I’m not here to harm you. I could’ve done that in Ireland or a little while ago at the Fairy Pools. I did neither.”

  Sorcha put her forehead against the door, her ankle throbbing. “Well, Cathal, that’s all very nice, but I don’t trust anything you’re saying.”

  “Good,” he replied.

  That made her pause. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Exactly what I said. You shouldn’t trust anyone. I don’t care if you crack a window and we talk through it, but I need to speak with you.”

  “Then talk here.”

  “I’d rather see your face.”

  Sorcha frowned and looked longingly at the chair near the window. She could sit down and prop up her ankle to help with the pain. That’s what she had been making the herbal tea for. She couldn’t listen to him and deal with the agony, not as the throbbing intensified. “Can we do this later? Tomorrow, perhaps?”

  “It needs to be now.”

  If it would get him to go away, then she’d listen to his nonsense. Sorcha used the furniture she passed as a crutch to get to the chair. She opened the window a few inches after she sat. “Cathal,” she called.

  In two strides, he was there, looking down at her with his red eyes. Sorcha realized belatedly that she should be shocked that a Dark Fae was speaking with her. She’d seen one from afar before, but this was her first time speaking with one so close. She knew how dangerous they could be, which made her question her sanity for being so gruff with him. What kind of deranged person intentionally angered a Dark Fae?

  Apparently, she did.

  She inwardly rolled her eyes at herself. It would probably do her a world of good to talk to a therapist. Then again, would it really help to rehash things that only made her want to curl into a ball and pretend that the world around her didn’t exist? Not really.

  Cathal pulled one of the rocking chairs from the porch around and sank onto it. Sorcha waited for the wood to groan in protest at his considerable height, but to her surprise, there was nothing. She watched a lock of hair that escaped his queue dance around his face before tangling in his thick eyelashes. Her fringe never looked like that, even with mascara. Thanks to her auburn locks, her lashes were all but nonexistent.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  She shrugged and shifted to lift her leg. “What is it you want?”

  His gaze looked through the glass to her ankle. “Is that still bothering you?”

  “Naw. I just like to pretend I have an injury.”

  Jesus Christ! What the bloody hell is wrong with you, Sorcha? You’re never this vile to anyone. I wouldn’t blame him at all for punching through the glass and thumping your head.

  She grimaced as she looked away. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “You’ve had a rough morning,” he said calmly.

  Sorcha blinked and looked into his eyes. He didn’t appear miffed with her at all. She had an awful habit of becoming sarcastic and snotty when she was in a foul mood. Still, that didn’t excuse her behavior. “It doesn’t explain my attitude. You didn’t deserve that. I have had a rough morning, and my ankle is killing me, but I know better than to take it out on others. You have, in fact, saved me twice. And I repaid you with attitude. I’m beyo
nd remorseful.”

  “How about you repay me with two things? Listen to what I have to say, and tell me your name.”

  That was an easy request. She found her lips softening into a smile. So many times, she’d said that she hated the Irish accent, but there was something about Cathal’s that sounded nice to her ears. Whether it was the deep timbre or his smooth intonation, she found herself easing back in the chair. “Deal. My name is Sorcha.”

  “Hello, Sorcha,” he said with a grin that made her heart skip a beat.

  She’d always hated her name. Yet, the moment it rolled off his tongue, her blood heated, and she found it difficult to breathe. She blinked, unable to look away from his gorgeous face. It had been easier to attempt to ignore him when it had been raining, when she walked away from him, and when she’d been talking to him through a door. Now, face-to-face, with nothing but glass between them, she felt as if she were drowning in his crimson eyes.

  “You can fix your ankle,” he said.

  She licked her lips and shrugged. “I don’t do magic anymore.”

  He frowned slightly, and his brows drew together. “I’m sorry to hear that. If you’d like, I can fix it. There’s no need for you to be in pain.”

  “Why would you offer that to someone you barely know?”

  “Because it was Fate that our paths crossed. It was Fate that brought me to this isle to find you. Whether our destinies go different ways after today or not, we were meant to meet. You have the ability to heal yourself, and for whatever reason, you choose not to. I respect that. Let me do it.”

  Sorcha didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t look away from his gaze. She was trapped, ensnared. Caught. And she wasn’t too upset about any of it. Maybe she’d spent so much time alone that she had lost the ability to tell if someone was decent or not. Surely, having a conversation with a Dark Fae was the most outrageous, ludicrous thing she’d ever done. And now, he’d offered to heal her. A Dark.

  She knew she should decline, and yet she found herself nodding. Cathal put the tips of his fingers under the edge of the open window and gave her a nod. Sorcha gingerly lifted her injured ankle to the windowsill until his fingers touched her skin. The moment they made contact, chills raced over her. Right on the heels of that, heat seared her veins. All the while, their gazes remained locked.