“How is she?” he asked.
Caitlin turned away, her cheeks flushing pink as Liam growled. “Put some damn clothes on.”
As a general rule, wolves didn’t care about being naked. Farren shifted with her pack every full moon, and often times in between. Without the presence of a mating bond, the sight of another’s sky-clad body didn’t do a feckin’ thing for any of them. Outside of an academic appreciation.
Cade was all coiled muscles, always looking like he was about to snap at a moment’s notice. Until he turned away to pull on his jeans. Dozens of scars crossed his shoulder blades and back. Burns from the months he’d spent trapped as his wolf by Mara’s sister, Katerina. The fire elemental had repeatedly tortured him by tossing rotten meat onto a patch of dirt so hot, it seared his skin and his paw pads whenever he tried to touch it. She’d kept him from shifting for so long, when Mara finally broke the charm, he couldn’t speak or move. She’d cared for him, fed him, helped him remember who he was, all without knowing he’d claimed her as his.
“Better?” he asked, hands on his hips. “How. Is. Mara?”
“She’s resting. But tonight...” Caitlin looked from Liam to Farren and back to Cade. “I think we need to get her out into the backyard so she can wield her elements. Both of them. The power’s just building up inside her with nowhere to go.”
“She’snotusing her fire!” With a feral snarl that sounded more like his wolf than the man he was at the moment, Cade started towards the stairs.
Liam followed him, with Caitlin at his heels, and the three argued the entire way to the second floor where their voices faded.
Sinking against the counter, Farren forced a long, slow breath. The next few months were going to be a disaster if she couldn’t find Paddy and get some straight answers out of the man.
After another cup of coffee. Because facing PaddyandEli in one day? That was going to take everything she had in her.
Chapter Four
Farren
In the years since she’d first met Paddy, she’d never known the man to show his face in town before late afternoon. When he’d rescued her from the woods after Fergus had tried to carve that blasted sigil into her side, it had been well after midnight. He’d tended to her wounds and given her some warm broth, but then he’d disappeared until the sun had started its descent again.
At breakfast, Mara’s guilt and shame had cast a pall over the entire group, and Peter, never the most agreeable wolf, had been so restless, at the end of the meal, he’d announced he was heading to Dublin for the week to see a vampire. He’d met the bloke the previous year when Liam had brought the pack to Dublin to hide out.
Farren didn’t hold any hope that the vamp would have a feckin’ clue how to help them, but one less werewolf in the house for a few days? That would be a blessed relief.
Parking her motorcycle on Doolin’s main street, Farren pulled off her helmet and shook out her hair. The mists covered the beach, but she could hear the waves lap against the shore.
She loved this town. This tiny spot of paradise on Ireland’s western coast with its kind people, quiet streets, and lush, green landscapes. But since Fergus had returned and defeating him had drawn the attention of the Thirteen, it hadn’t been the same.
Even though she had no elemental powers, she bore the remnants of their mark, and a part of her feared they’d somehow be able to sense her. Or use the scar she’d have for the rest of her life to control her. When they’d found Colin’s body, it had born a similar—though more complete—mark, and Fergus had all but admitted the Thirteen had compelled Colin to lure Brian away from the house.
It burned from time to time. Like now. Rubbing her side, she tried to will away the ache, but that only made it worse. She should have been faster. Stronger. Maybe then, Colin would still be alive. Maybe she’d still feel like an alpha.
Her anger intensified with every step towards Doolin House, and by the time she pushed through the establishment’s front door, she was about as pissed off as she’d ever been.
Focus. If ya’ scare the poor human away, ya’ won’t find out if the old woman he met was Diedre.
This time of day, the little pub attached to the place was almost empty. Except for a very hung over Eli Escobar. One elbow rested on the table, and he cradled his head in his hand as he stared into a mug of coffee and a plate of eggs and blood sausage.
Poor bastard.
She wasn’t sure where that burst of pity came from. After all, he’d run from her office, purposely consumed enough whiskey to end up shattered, and now probably regretted every single one of his life choices.
Don’t screw this up.
Farren pulled out a chair across from him and sat down. He groaned, blinked hard to focus on her, and then his eyes widened. “Fuck me. I knew I should have left last night.”
“Last night, ya’ were drunk off yer arse.” Farren snatched the mug of coffee away from him and took a healthy sip. “Today, ya’ don’t look much better.”
“Give that here.” Eli held out his hand, his fingers shaking slightly. “Are all werewolves this cruel?”
Farren cringed and glanced around the small space. “Keep yer voice down. Only half of Doolin knows about werewolves.”
“Oh. Onlyhalf?” Eli shoved his plate away and reached for the coffee again. This time, Farren relented. “I don’t want any trouble. As soon as I’m not...impaired, I’m heading back to London.”
