“Wait—you think he sent the Dullahan after you?”
I dipped my head in confirmation, watching an ember of realization light his face.
“Shit.” He removed the hand that’d snuck down to my neckand nervously combed it through his hair. “You said your father isn’t confirmed. But wouldn’t he be?—”
“No,” I cut him off. “Well, I mean, technically yes—there could be a chance he is. But David was my mom’s best friend. He’s adamant she did everything in her power to make sure hewasn’tmy father.”
Finley shook his head. “If he sent the Ancient, if he’s after you—” The veins in his forearms surged underneath the rolled-up sleeves.
An unwelcome voice pierced my ears, joining our conversation.
“I suspected the bony bastard sent it as well,” Lochlainn added smugly.
I immediately lifted my hand, ready to crack it across his face when—a hand shot up, quick as a whip. It locked around my wrist, holding my open palm hostage.
Lochlainntsked, drawing my attention to the flecks of gold in his eyes.
“Now, now. None of that, love.” He half-smirked, regretfully. My hand was released. “Look. Truly, I didn’t know. I suspected the Dullahan wasn’t there for us. Being an ancient and all—only someone with significant power can summon one, like a ruler. There was no feckin’ chance Faelad did it, nor did I think your own Da would. So I put two and two together. Figured it were you he was after. Just didn’t know why.” His lips pressed together, holding back the unspoken. “I took a gamble asking ya tonight. Didn’t think I’d actually get any answers.” An incredulous laugh escaped him. “But,fuck!Talk about unexpected! A princess of Hallow Land. Or is itbastardprincess?” Lochlainn cackled.
I hated him. I hated him so much. And right now, he’d never had a more punchable mug. Every smile line, everywrinkle that lifted his ginger beard up in amusement made me want to high-five his face . . .hard.
“Lochlainn,” I said sternly. “With all due disrespect, get fucked.”
“I second that.” Finley gave Lochlainn a look of contempt.
A roar of laughter from the crowd swallowed us whole.
Peering over Finley’s shoulder, I saw a dagger twinkle, clattering to the ground.
He missed.
“So who gets the lucky honors of slugging Pogue here?” the bartender mused.
Drunk cheering erupted, hands shooting skyward.
Lochlainn beamed, raising his arm like a giddy schoolboy.
“I do!” A voice commanded, slicing the air like a blade. I was taken by surprise.
Loose golden curls elegantly swayed as Aine walked up to Pogue, showcasing a devilish grin. She rolled her shoulders three times and then stilled.
The room fell silent, the taste of anticipation thickening on our tongues.
Pogue’s mouth twitched. “You sure about this, Goldie?”
Aine shook out her arms, then got into fighting stance.
“Why? You’d prefer someone with softer hands?” she taunted. “Lucky for you, I have a lot of pent-upenergyright now.”
Pogue started to laugh when?—
Both of Aine’s hands smacked down on his shoulders, gripping for leverage. Rearing back, she forcefully launched a knee right into his groin.
“Oooffff!!!!” A whoosh of breath left Pogue’s body, along with a mangled hissing sound.
There were audible gasps and empathetic groans from the onlookers.
Oh, my sweet baby Jesus.
