Malevolent Hearts (Heirs of Emerald Isle #1)
Chapter 1
One
Beibhinn
The Present
I heard sounds from heaven; and I heard sounds from hell!
Listen! Listen, and I will tell you how it happened.
—Edgar Allan Poe
What in the fuck happened last night?
Bright light assaults my face, forcing my eyelids to clamp shut as I fight against the blinding beams that threaten to burn my eyes from their sockets.
How much did I drink?
With a sandpaper tongue, I dampen the roof of my mouth. My stomach revolts against the acid churning in its depths, and I mentally curse the strawberry daiquiri gods for the worst hangover I’ve ever had. It’s not like me to drink myself unconscious. Normally, I’m more sensible when it comes to my alcohol consumption, preferring to remain somewhat aware of my surroundings, especially when I’m keeping syndicate company. Fuck knows the original Kings aren’t exactly known for their chivalry, and as a female initiate—one who has heard more than her fair share of sordid tales—it’s wise to be cautious.
But… if the steady unbearable thrumming through my skull is anything to go by, last night I had other priorities. I opted for shitfaced drunk and lost all recollection of how I got home, out of my dress, and into the comfort of my bed.
Jesus, Mary, and her gullible husband Joseph, what in the name of “there’s no such thing as an immaculate conception” were in those cocktails?
Every muscle in my body aches, and even though I can’t comprehend moving my heavy limbs, I know the second I make an attempt I’ll regret it.
Caffeine… I need all the caffeine. Maybe then I won’t feel like death warmed up on a banjaxed toaster.
My neck is stiff as I fail to evict my head from the softness of the mattress beneath me. Choosing a different tactic, my foggy brain sends a signal to my legs, but once again… nothing. Defeat washes through me. That’s it, I’m never drinking again.
Alarm bells join the pounding in my head. I fight through the smog clouding my memory until snippets of last night’s party come crashing to the forefront of my mind. One person in particular stars in the lead role.
Something terrifying claws at my skin, and I know I’m missing crucial pieces of a puzzle. As if I’ve plummeted into a pool of ice-cold water, my body finally catches up to my mind, accompanied by a burning pain that sears my skin. Unfamiliar weight tugs at my wrists and ankles, followed by an excruciating tightness ricocheting across my shoulder blades.
The reason I can’t move hits me like a freight train as I struggle against the resistance. How wrong I was! I’m not wrapped in the softness of my bed. Nor am I sinking into the plumpness of my familiar mattress. I’m tied up… and not in a fucking sexy, fun kind of way.
Ignoring the burn from the sun that streams through a wall of windows surrounding me, my eyes spring open. It takes me a few seconds to solidify my bearings, but when I do, I know exactly where I am, and why light bleeds in from every direction. The lighthouse.
Overcome by a rich oriental woody fragrance, I can’t ignore the magnetic pull that reminds me of some of the best and worst times of my life. Unbidden, I seek him out.
Sitting hunched forward on an armchair with a glass of whiskey in his hand, Cadden is a shadow of his former self. There’s a haunted look etched across his hardened features, one most people would cower away from, but not me. Fear is not in my vocabulary, and Cadden James Connelly knows me well enough to know, I never back down.
His heterochromatic gaze is fixed on my face with the precision of a sniper. Unfortunately, I’ve always found his eyes hypnotic. The left iris is the colour of a beautiful summer’s day, while the right is a deeper shade of blue, like a sapphire-coloured winter’s night—an outward reflection of his multidimensional persona. A poet and a mastermind.
Light and dark.
Good versus evil.
Saint and sinner.
He’s a man with two faces, the one he shows the world and the one only those closest to him see . He’s a concertmaster, manipulating my strings with the finesse of a professional violinist. I should have known I was being played. He captured me with a building crescendo, hypnotising me with a haiku of beautiful notes before bringing our haunting symphony to a screeching halt, snapping the daydream with the sharpness of a broken string.
In all the years I’ve known Cadden, I have never seen him so… rumpled. Normally, he is pristinely put-together, looking as though he’s been plucked straight from the 1950s. He’s an enigma, with classic good looks and an artisan style that reminds you of those sepia-toned photographs of your grandfather leaning against a vintage motorcycle. The kind of photograph that makes you question your morals because instead of the grandfather you remember, you’re staring at a man who looks finer than a cast member of Peaky Blinders.
“Good morning, Bev,” he greets with a sneer. His Southern brogue rolls off his tongue in a seductive drawl I’ve fallen victim to far too many times. In this moment, I outwardly despise my future husband, but there is no denying how fucking unfairly gorgeous the devil carved him, either.
I hate him, but I love how he bends my body with his touch. He’s a picture-perfect image of sin, with dirty-blond hair streaked with lighter strands, a straight, narrow nose, high cheekbones that frame the hollows of his cheeks and accentuate his sharp jawline—not to mention the two small beauty marks dotting the left side of his face, right below his eye. Even though they should be considered imperfections, they only add to his mysterious charm.
Cadden James Connelly is temptation wrapped in mischief, and unfortunately, that’s my favourite kind. A fine line separates love and hate, and I walk it like a professional tightrope walker. One wrong move and the fall would destroy me.
He leans forward in the armchair, and I note the claw marks along his neck. A flash of last night infiltrates my mind. Snapshots of my dress pushed up around my waist, back bowed over the classic seat of his 1964 Impala El Diablo. Memories of my lust-filled cries. Visions of his hand gripped around my throat while he trailed his tongue over my hardened nipples before feasting on my pussy as if it were his last supper. A wave of heat contracts between my thighs as I recall us tangled together, him worshipping my body with his fingers, his mouth, his dick. I may hate him now, but I loved every second he begged me to cry out his name. I always have.
Confusion settles along my brow… what happened between then and now? How the fuck did I go from the throes of pleasure to tied up in the watchtower of a lighthouse along the Ring of Kerry, three hours from home?
My gaze swings back to his, and I’m sure he can read the unspoken question running through my mind. Unfazed, he draws the crystal to his lips, swigging back a mouthful of amber before swiping his bottom lip with the tip of his ring-clad thumb. “Sorry about the ropes, Sleeping Beauty. But desperate times and all that.”
I may be tied to this bed like a torture victim, but there is one thing wrong with my future husband’s assessment. Fuck being the helpless princess in need of a prince. I may have trusted a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but there isn’t a chance in syndicate hell I’ll become his victim.
Fury like no other licks my skin as I fight against the restraints confining me to the four-poster bed at the top of Dingle’s cliffside lighthouse.
I tug on the ropes around my wrists, cutting him with a devious look of my own as I clamp down on my teeth. “Hello, Cadden.” My snark appears as my lips tip to the side, unwilling to give him a shred of satisfaction. “It seems you have my character arc a little twisted. Don’t insult me by making me appear weak. Aurora needed a man to save her. I can save myself.”
“S’pose you’re right, snowflake. You could never be the victim. You may be a Killybegs princess, but I know you better than that. Maybe Maleficent would be more fitting, am I right?”
“Betrayed by the one who she thought loved her, only to seek revenge by burning his kingdom to the ground? I dunno, Cadden… does that sound like something I would do?” Sarcasm drips past my lips as a new-found fire courses through my veins.
“You don’t know the half of it, and honestly, B, when you figure out how much damage has been done, I’d be shocked if you didn’t fight back. After all, your fire is what made me fall in love with you in the first place.”
“Don’t patronise me. This isn’t love, Cadden. It never was.”
“Lies.” His gaze bores into mine, and for a split second, I want to believe there is remorse shining back at me from the eyes I know so well. His free hand dives into the longer strands of hair on the top of his head, tugging with something that resembles frustration. “Loving you gave him the power to destroy me, and that’s exactly what he did. I was given a task, Mal, and I made a choice, even though I knew it would dismantle the one thing I would kill for.”
“What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”
“You’ll see. And when you do, you won’t need to pretend you hate me anymore. Those lies you tell yourself will be redundant. Hating me won’t be our twisted version of foreplay, instead, it will be our reality.”
Panic weaves its way up my throat, but instead of showing weakness, I do what I do best, I fight. Pulling on the restraints keeping me bound to the bed, I thrash, using every ounce of strength I have, but it’s no use. “Untie me, Cadden,” I hiss through clenched teeth.
He bows his head, muttering under his breath. “I wish I could, but it’s for your own good.”
This is my fault. I lowered my guard and allowed him to waltz right in, past the boundaries I use to keep myself safe. I have no idea why I am here, but I can guarantee whatever the reason, I won’t like it. Suddenly, I start to drift off again, and another memory from last night takes over.
Liam called my phone.
Worry laced his tone when he told me to stay home after I lied to him about my whereabouts.
“Just be careful. I have a bad feeling.”
“I’ll be fine, Liam. See you back at the house.”
“Love ya, B.”
“Love you too, brother.”
Every word he spoke was gritty, the gravel embedded in his authoritative tone before he hung up. He told me something was off. He was worried for my safety, and I told him a bald-faced lie. I should have heeded his warning. I should have told him the truth, maybe then I wouldn’t be fucking tied up against my will. Stupid fucking Beibhinn.
I recall the moment everything went black. Piece by piece, the puzzle forms.
I’d been standing on the side of the road, fixing my dress after Cadden had fucked me until I saw stars, screaming at him because he wouldn’t take me back to Kill Castle, to where my internal twin senses told me I needed to be.
Cadden paced frantically as he urged me to get back in the car.
I’d known something was wrong, but I didn’t know what. Then the sky exploded, and when I turned to find flames licking the horizon, my knees buckled beneath me as a roar ripped from my throat.
The memories all flood back now.
Cadden wrapping his arms around me, stopping me from falling to the asphalt as I prayed everyone I loved was safe from whatever caused that explosion. My back against his chest, he cradled me closer, before… ramming a needle into my neck, stealing my senses.
I’m snapped from the memory when realisation dawns. “You,” I start, but my words slur as sleep drags me under. “What did you…”
There is a cost for being so flippant with my trust, and unfortunately, foolish girls pay with fragile hearts. Here’s hoping I’m strong enough to withstand the break.