Chapter 23
This is the last thing I fucking need. Saoirse unhinged and on the hunt.
She’s been clawing for the banshee crown for years, the same way she did with my father.
He warned me with blood in his throat that she’s poison dressed in silk.
I’ve let her slip between my sheets, but that’s where her power ends.
I’d rather set the world on fire than let her wear the mantle meant for death itself.
Nothing will ever explain what came over me the day I gave the power of the banshee to that fragile little human.
It wasn’t reason. It was something primal, something ancient.
The moment our eyes met, it was as though the power inside me stirred, howling for her.
I fought it, but it was as if I was trying to cage a storm.
Somewhere in my bones, I knew she wasn’t just meant to hold that power…
she was the power. Once it chose her, there was no turning back.
Saoirse is a cunning and conniving Dearg Due.
(Female vampire.) A true monster cloaked in allure.
Beneath her beauty lies something ancient and cruel, a hunger for power matched only by her thirst for blood.
There is no limit to the torment she’ll unleash on my little banshee for carrying what she believes is rightfully hers.
I know her too well though, she won’t kill her, not unless she wants the power to fall straight back into my hands. However, she won’t take this lying down either. No, her wrath will be cold, calculated… and entirely focused on the human.
My job now is to protect my little banshee and the power that burns inside her. I can’t, I won’t, let Saoirse sink her claws into either. If she gets hold of it, she won’t just destroy my little human… she’ll burn the realms to ash.
Seething, I lift Fionn’s body from the floor. Blood crusts the fur around his mouth and his breathing is shallow but steady. He’ll live. He’s tougher than most, he always has been. But, seeing him like this, broken and silent, coils something violent inside me.
Careful not to disturb him, I carry him into his room and lay him down on the bed. He doesn’t stir. Not even a twitch. That alone makes my jaw clench.
His room smells faintly of smoke and iron.
The walls are dark stone, streaked with soot and the faint glow of embers from the hearth, throws restless shadows across the floor.
Chains hang near his bed; they were once meant for restraint.
Now they are draped with charms and talismans meant to soothe what still burns inside him.
It’s not much of a sanctuary, but it’s his. A place to lay his head and rest.
Fionn was brought into this world to guard what mattered. Seeing him like this, beaten, discarded as if he were nothing, it hurts more than I’ll ever admit.
As I clean the blood from his muzzle, I make a silent promise. She’s going to pay for this. Saoirse has made a lot of enemies in her time, and now she’s mine. I don’t forget. She laid her hands on what’s mine. Fionn, my banshee. All of it. For that, I will destroy her piece by piece if I have to.
Lig di teacht. Beidh mé réidh. (Let her come. I’ll be ready.)
The castle feels colder now. Not from the wind or stone, from the shift in me.
I step out of Fionn’s room, shutting the door softly behind me.
He needs time to heal. Even though time is something we no longer have.
Not with Saoirse loose and furious. I can feel her rage slithering through the walls like smoke, waiting for its chance to strike.
She won’t stop until she’s torn my little banshee apart, and I won’t stop until Saoirse is nothing but dust in the wind.
If it’s a fight she wants, then it’s a war she’ll get. This time, it won’t just be a fight for magic or power. It’ll be blood.
Mine if I must.
Aici, gan cheist. (Hers, without question.)