Chapter Seven
Eli
He really should have slept. But every time he tried, he found himself thinking about Farren and that kiss. He wasn’t one to sleep around—or kiss women he’d only just met. Though he’d taken several lovers—including a man or two—at university and in the years beyond, the only time he’d ever been this impulsive was a few months before he’d received his degree.
Percy had been a year behind him, but the man had a brilliant eye for art, and they’d met at a traveling Van Gogh exhibit. The attraction had started like a wildfire, but the next morning, they’d gone their separate ways.
Standing on the sidewalk three meters above the beach, he wondered why they hadn’t exchanged numbers and found he couldn’t remember much of their final conversation.
A side effect of the accident that stole his parents from him? Hell, he wished he had even a single memory of them. Of the time before he woke in the hospital.
Because at the moment, he felt untethered and alone, and though he had a few friends back in London, he wasn’t particularly close to anyone. Getting to know someone was hard when any talk about childhoods and the past was only one sided.
He still had a little over an hour before he was due at Farren’s, and his GPS informed him the drive would be less than ten minutes. The weather had turned bright and almost warm, and he took the stairs down to the sand, stripped out of his shoes and socks, and stood barefoot at the edge of the sea.
This stretch of beach was largely protected by a curved berm of land, and the waves died a good fifty meters out, gently lapping at his feet. He dug his toes deeper into the sand, and some of his exhaustion faded. The ocean breezes always refreshed him.
Water started to wick its way up his khakis, and he stepped back, scanning the long strip of beach. There. A piece of driftwood almost as thick as his forearm rested against a gathering of rocks like it was waiting for him.
He had no idea if the Garda would stop him, but he had to create. Had to touch somethingreal.
Lines and curves formed from his efforts. His shoulders ached, his biceps burned, and his mind wandered. He never planned his creations, preferring to rely on his instincts rather than sophisticated CAD programs or even concept drawings.
The driftwood cracked into two pieces, and Eli stepped back to survey his creation.
“Fuck me.”
The wolf stood tall and proud, her paws close to the water and her head only a meter from the rocks. The sand didn’t do her unique silver fur justice, but he’d captured the nap of it, how soft it had felt under his fingers.
Dropping to his knees, he stroked his hand along the top of her head. The ground under him felt like it was rippling, and the longer he knelt there, the stronger the vibrations became.
In minutes, the wolf faded into oblivion, the beach returning to its natural state, and Eli started to shiver. Panic twisted in his stomach. This was the third earthquake he’d experienced in ten days, and he’d felt each down to his soul.
Pushing to his feet, he staggered back against the rocks, wiped his brow, and checked the time. Bollocks. He needed a shower before going to see Farren. And a cup of the strongest tea Doolin House could brew.
* * *
Farren
After the strangest pack meeting she’d ever encountered—video chat wouldn’t be her choice, even with her wolves scattered to the winds—Caitlin and Tierney lingered. “Well, let’s see it, then,” Caitlin said.
Farren dug in her pocket for the velvet pouch, and when she held it in her hand, she could feel the power thrumming through her. “Paddy gave me one of his feckin’ riddles when he saw this. ‘A pretty thing, but not for show. Only whole will power grow. He’s the last, and doesn’t know. Teach him or give in to woe.’”
“And him would be…this Eli bloke?” Tierney asked.
“Hell if I know. But he’ll be here in a few minutes. Ya’ warned Liam, yeah?” The last thing she needed was the two men beating Eli to a bloody pulp.
“He growled a bit. So did Cade.” Caitlin huffed. “Ya’ would think hearin’ Diedre sent him would be enough. But apparently not.”
Farren’s eye roll was almost painful. “They’re both newly mated. That’s the only excuse I’ll give either of them.”
Taking the pendant, Caitlin led them into Farren’s study where she and Tierney had papers spread out over the large antique desk and taped to all four walls.
“Ya’ve turned my office into a feckin’ research library?” She’d been avoiding this room for weeks now, not willing to be reminded of her failures as an alpha. As a werewolf. If she’d been faster when Fergus had attacked them all at Diedre’s, Liam might never have been taken and tortured for more than a day. He might not walk with a permanent limp or have nightmares he hadn’t admitted to anyone. Farren had heard him a time or two.
“We woulda’ used the kitchen, but cookin’ with all this paper around? We’d make a bloody mess of the place,” Tierney said with a shrug of his shoulders. “And ya’ never come in here.”
Farren schooled her features so her devoted young wolf wouldn’t see how much his words stung. He was a good kid. No. A good man.
