Chapter 18 Croía
The thing is, I’m a little scared. Not of the ugly red fucker, hell no. It’s not his horns or his black-fire eyes that twist my gut. It’s the truth I don’t have yet. The unknown, that’s the monster scratching under my ribs.
With a sharp huff, I lean back against the cold bars, my eyes slipping shut as if pretending to sleep might drag me somewhere safer.
For a heartbeat I let my mind drift, let the dark hum with half-formed thoughts.
Comfort’s a fool’s wish and it lasts all of two seconds before the cage beneath me shudders then vanishes altogether.
My back hits the stone floor with a bone-deep thud that rattles my teeth.
For a moment I just lie still, glaring up at the nothing above me.
My breath knocking out in short, sharp bursts.
Fucking brilliant. Fucking tipiciúil. (Fucking typical.)
My stubbornness holds me in place. I should move, scramble up, get my guard back in place, but I don’t. What’s the point? He’s not here to kill me, not really. If he were, I’d be nothing more than smoke on the wind by now. Maybe death isn’t the threat here, maybe it’s worse than that.
A soft chill curls over my skin where the bars used to be, and somewhere deep in my chest, my fear tastes like iron and stubborn rage tangled together. If he wants to break me, he’s going to have to do a hell of a lot better than dropping me on my ass.
The sound of padded steps slices through the quiet and my blood runs cold. I don’t move at first because I half expect to see those horns again, that smug red bastard come to gloat.
It’s not him.
Níl. Tá sé níos measa. (No. It’s worse.)
A shape stalks out of the shadows. Massive, all muscle and sinew, with fur rippling like smoke. Hellfire burns in its eyes, flickering with every slow breath. A hound. Black as coal. Its paws land silent but heavy, carrying its bulk closer with a predator’s patience.
My breath snags in my throat. Cad é in ainm an ruda mínaofa go léir? (What in the name of all that’s unholy is that?)
Instinct drags me upright and I scramble back so fast my spine cracks against the stone wall. With nowhere left to go my ribs squeeze my lungs, and my pulse thunders as if there’s a drum in my ears. There’s no escape for me, just teeth and a promise of pain.
Shaking, I throw my arms over my head and bury my face in the crook of my elbows. If this monster’s going to rip me apart, I’d rather not watch my own guts hit the floor.
A low, rumbling growl rattles the ground beneath me. I taste acid on my tongue. This is it, this is how I go. Not to death’s hands but his dog’s jaws.
Desperate, I mumble to keep the terror from splitting me open. My voice cracks as I sing Grace by the Wolfetones under my breath. A scrap of Irish rebellion in a tomb of shadows.
Oh Grace, just hold me in your arms…
A hot and damp sensation coats my arm. I flinch when the beast’s breath hits my skin and brace myself for the pain, for agony. All I feel is a shove. Gentle. Almost…
Confused, I risk it and peel my arms away and open one eye through lashes sticky with sweat. The hound stares back. Not snarling just watching me. Its muzzle nudges my forearm again. Testing.
Then he does something that knots my gut tighter than any growl, he sighs. He drops his massive head onto my arm as though he’s been waiting all day to find somewhere warm to rest his skull. Those burning eyes, little mirrors of the diabhal, flicker but don’t blaze.
My heart’s still battering my ribs, however now it’s for a different reason entirely. I can’t help it when my chest convulses with a half-sob, half-laugh.
“Dia diabhalta thú. (God damn you.)” I mutter, staring down at him.
Very gently, I let my hand hover over his head.
My fingers vanish into fur so black it could swallow light whole.
I suck in a ragged breath, forcing my hand to stay steady as I drag my palm down his broad skull and over his thick neck.
I half expect him to snap, to turn on me with those ember eyes and tear my throat out. Thankfully, he doesn’t.
A whimper rumbles from deep inside him. A sound so pitiful and soft it almost guts me more than a snarl would have.
His eyes slip closed, while his breath is slow and heavy against my leg.
He shifts, settling all that hellish weight until his entire head takes over my lap as if I’m his own personal pillow.
I’m still trembling, every muscle coiled to run.
But my hand keeps moving, stroking that silky midnight fur.
Something in me unwinds, not trust exactly, but something that keeps the scream trapped behind my teeth.
Then a voice explodes through the room.
“What the actual fuck, Fionn!”
My head snaps up. There he is… my captor. His eyes flame with living flames flickering hotter than before. A wall of black shadow pouring through the doorway as though a storm is about to break.
Still running my fingers through the hound’s fur, I raise an eyebrow. What else can I do? He looks as though he wants to set the whole room on fire. What’s got his horns in a twist?
He stomps forward, no, stalks. Each step landing like thunder. His shadow swallows the light, and I swear the temperature drops even though his eyes burn hotter with every second.
“FIONN!” he roars, his voice echoing off the stone, all fury in that death snarl.
Fionn doesn’t even flinch. He just huffs a low, bored grunt then opens one eye and rolls it.
Rolls it. A fucking hound with attitude.
I clamp a hand over my mouth to muffle the giggle that bubbles up.
However, the sound slips through my fingers like a traitor.
My captor's burning gaze sharpens to me, and I feel the heat of it sear right through my ribs to my spine.
“Seriously, Fionn?” His tone is halfway between an exasperated father and an apocalypse incarnate. “You were supposed to scare her, not fucking cuddle her.”
Bold with defiance, I lift my chin while keeping my fingers tangled in Fionn’s fur and I meet that molten stare head-on.
“I guess your monster likes me more than you do.” I flash him the sweetest, sharpest smile I can conjure. “You should try scratching behind his ears, it works wonders for loyalty.”