Níl. Tá sé níos measa.(No. It’s worse.)
A shape stalks out of the shadows. Massive, all muscle and sinew, with fur rippling like smoke. Hellfire burns in its eyes, flickering with every slow breath. A hound. Black as coal. Its paws land silent but heavy, carrying its bulk closer with a predator’s patience.
My breath snags in my throat.Cad é in ainm an ruda mínaofa go léir?(What in the name of all that’s unholy is that?)
Instinct drags me upright and I scramble back so fast my spine cracks against the stone wall. With nowhere left to go my ribssqueeze my lungs, and my pulse thunders as if there’s a drum in my ears. There’s no escape for me, just teeth and a promise of pain.
Shaking, I throw my arms over my head and bury my face in the crook of my elbows. If this monster’s going to rip me apart, I’d rather not watch my own guts hit the floor.
A low, rumbling growl rattles the ground beneath me. I taste acid on my tongue. This is it, this is how I go. Not to death’s hands but his dog’s jaws.
Desperate, I mumble to keep the terror from splitting me open. My voice cracks as I sing Grace by the Wolfetones under my breath. A scrap of Irish rebellion in a tomb of shadows.
Oh Grace, just hold me in your arms…
A hot and damp sensation coats my arm. I flinch when the beast’s breath hits my skin and brace myself for the pain, for agony. All I feel is a shove. Gentle. Almost…
Confused, I risk it and peel my arms away and open one eye through lashes sticky with sweat. The hound stares back. Not snarling just watching me. Its muzzle nudges my forearm again. Testing.
Then he does something that knots my gut tighter than any growl, he sighs. He drops his massive head onto my arm as though he’s been waiting all day to find somewhere warm to resthis skull. Those burning eyes, little mirrors of the diabhal, flicker but don’t blaze.
My heart’s still battering my ribs, however now it’s for a different reason entirely. I can’t help it when my chest convulses with a half-sob, half-laugh.
“Dia diabhalta thú.(God damn you.)” I mutter, staring down at him.
Very gently, I let my hand hover over his head. My fingers vanish into fur so black it could swallow light whole. I suck in a ragged breath, forcing my hand to stay steady as I drag my palm down his broad skull and over his thick neck. I half expect him to snap, to turn on me with those ember eyes and tear my throat out. Thankfully, he doesn’t.
A whimper rumbles from deep inside him. A sound so pitiful and soft it almost guts me more than a snarl would have. His eyes slip closed, while his breath is slow and heavy against my leg. He shifts, settling all that hellish weight until his entire head takes over my lap as if I’m his own personal pillow. I’m still trembling, every muscle coiled to run. But my hand keeps moving, stroking that silky midnight fur. Something in me unwinds, not trust exactly, but something that keeps the scream trapped behind my teeth.
Then a voice explodes through the room.
“What the actual fuck, Fionn!”
My head snaps up. There he is… my captor. His eyes flame with living flames flickering hotter than before. A wall of black shadow pouring through the doorway as though a storm is about to break.
Still running my fingers through the hound’s fur, I raise an eyebrow. What else can I do? He looks as though he wants to set the whole room on fire. What’s got his horns in a twist?
He stomps forward,no, stalks.Each step landing like thunder. His shadow swallows the light, and I swear the temperature drops even though his eyes burn hotter with every second.
“FIONN!” he roars, his voice echoing off the stone, all fury in that death snarl.
Fionn doesn’t even flinch. He just huffs a low, bored grunt then opens one eye and rolls it.Rolls it.A fucking hound with attitude. I clamp a hand over my mouth to muffle the giggle that bubbles up. However, the sound slips through my fingers like a traitor. My captor's burning gaze sharpens to me, and I feel the heat of it sear right through my ribs to my spine.
“Seriously, Fionn?” His tone is halfway between an exasperated father and an apocalypse incarnate. “You were supposed to scare her, not fucking cuddle her.”
Bold with defiance, I lift my chin while keeping my fingers tangled in Fionn’s fur and I meet that molten stare head-on.
“I guess your monster likes me more than you do.” I flash him the sweetest, sharpest smile I can conjure. “You should try scratching behind his ears, it works wonders for loyalty.”
I’m lost for words,for the first time in centuries,staring at this infuriating human and my disloyal hellhound.Fealltóir.(Traitor.)
“Fionn. Out!” The snarl rips from my throat like broken glass. He doesn’t move; he just lifts his head and gives me a bored, insubordinate stare. I can practically feel my veins thrum with rage.
“I said out!”
Finally, with an overdramatic huff, Fionn drags his bulk off my banshee’s lap and trudges out, each step a deliberate insult. The betrayal stings more than I’ll admit.
With my claws grazing my scalp, I pace as I drag them through my hair. My heavy hooves echoing in the silence. My human is still sitting on the ground, her legs crossed as if she’s holdingcourt in her own prison cell. The disgust on her face could peel paint from the walls. I halt, loom over her. Waiting for that flicker of fear I feed on. Instead, she opens her mouth and yawns. A slow, bored, jaw-cracking yawn.
