I lifted a hand. “Please stop barking questions at me. You’re not a dog.”
His eyes flared into emerald and gold flames. “What did you just say?” he whispered. It was practically a hiss and it was sinister.
Some of my irritation flagged when I realized that his anger was fueled by his fear. And he was afraid. I could see it in the tightness of his facial muscles and the tension in his body. He was probably flooded with adrenaline.
“I’m sorry,” I stated. His body remained rigid, so I repeated myself. “I’m sorry. When I realized why Rhiannon attacked the shop as she did and why she would stay in the house across the street, I reacted. I didn’t mean to worry you. I only wanted to check my safe and see if she managed to get the book.”
“What book?” Macgrath asked. He was somewhat calmer, but his hands were still fisted.
“Gaius’ grimoire,” I repeated. “The warlock who made Rhys, I had a copy of his grimoire. Or at least a partial copy. I didn’t realize what it was until Rhys explained the whole story of his creation to us a few months ago. When I did, I locked it up in my safe and left it there.”
Macgrath’s face darkened and he stared at me as though I’d lost my mind. “You kept it?”
“Of course,” I replied, frowning at him. “If Rhiannon was ever able to create another being like Rhys and she consumed its power, I would need the knowledge to combat that.”
His shoulders relaxed ever so slightly but Macgrath still appeared enraged.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded.
It was my turn to look at him like he was a few bricks shy of a full load. “Because I wasn’t sure I could trust you with that information.”
“Fuck,” he hissed, turning his back to me as he tore his hands through his short hair. I wasn’t sure if his anger was with me or himself.
For a dizzying moment, I had a flash of him repeating that action, only his hair was much longer and his clothing was rough and old-fashioned. The two images merged and I could have sworn the earth tilted. I felt completely off balance and a ferocious headache seized my temples.
“Ah!” I cried out, lifting my hands to clutch my head.
Instantly, Macgrath’s anger vanished. He spun around and lunged forward, catching me before I could hit the hardwood floor on my knees.
“What is it?” he asked, his voice gentle and full of concern. “Ava, tell me what to do.” He lifted me fully, one arm behind my back and the other beneath my knees.
I couldn’t answer him because I was too busy trying not to puke on his chest. I curled up into a ball, moaning as the piercing pain twisted viciously in my head.
“Carry her to her room,” a voice commanded from the doorway.
It took me a moment to think past the agony and recognize Kerry’s voice.
“What’s happening?” Macgrath demanded. “Did Rhiannon cast a spell on her?”
I couldn’t look up. I feared that if I opened my eyes the dim sunlight filtering through the attic would blind me. Whatever Kerry’s response was, it wasn’t verbal.
“Then what?”
“The curse was cast a very long time ago,” Kerry answered. “Her power is fighting it, trying to protect her. Over centuries, the curse has weakened, but it still has a hold on her mind.” She paused. “Carry her to her room. I can help ease her pain.”
“Can you break the curse?” Macgrath asked as he walked forward.
I sucked in a sharp breath as each step jostled me, causing white-hot spikes of agony to shoot through my entire body. Macgrath’s stride smoothed until he seemed to be floating and I relaxed into him a bit more.
I let myself focus on the warmth of his chest against my side, the mixture of scents created by his skin, soap, and leather jacket, and the steady thump of his heart against my ear. By centering my attention on the external, I was able to suppress the pain just enough to prevent the vile nausea in my stomach from becoming worse.
A few moments later, he stopped walking and slowly lowered me onto a mattress. I knew immediately that I was in my room. I turned on to my side and brought my knees into my chest.
“I’ll be right back,” Kerry muttered. “I need a few things from the kitchen.”
“Hurry,” Macgrath urged, but his tone wasn’t angry any longer. Instead he sounded terrified.
He didn’t speak, likely realizing the sound would make the pounding in my skull worse, but he did sit on the bed next to me. Then he did something else that shocked me, even through the haze of pain.
