33. The Lull before the Roar
The Lull before the Roar
T he afternoon stretches beneath a sky streaked with fading light, a storm brewing on the horizon.
A charged stillness hangs in the air as we gather at the harbour’s edge, the briny tang of the sea cutting through the crisp chill.
It feels fitting—this quiet unrest—as we prepare to say our goodbyes.
Bran leans casually against a wooden post, his arms crossed, trying to project an air of nonchalance that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Casey stands a few paces away, hands on his hips, his jaw clenched in what I can only describe as reluctant acceptance.
Finn is unusually quiet, standing beside me, his shoulders stiff.
His gaze remains fixed on the ship that rocks gently in the water—a vessel unlike any I have ever seen.
Even in the last rays of daylight, it glows.
Every line of its design is perfect, from the pristine sails to the gleaming brass fittings.
Tonn Glas is etched into the side. It looks more like a vessel of legend than one meant to ferry Bran and Casey across treacherous waters.
The ship across the dock leaves much to be desired. The contrast between the two vessels couldn’t be more striking. Cairn’s Shadow seems to bear the weight of every storm she’s faced, a testament to resilience rather than grandeur, or so one would hope.
Mannie steps forward, his chiseled features bearing an almost ethereal allure. His tailored coat clings perfectly to his broad shoulders, exuding an effortless confidence. “There she lies,” he intones. “ Tonn Glas . She’ll carry Bran, Casey, and me to Killybegs.”
Casey whistles low, eyes sweeping over the vessel with something between awe and wariness. “She’s bonnie,” he mutters. “Seen nothin’ like her before.”
Mannie smiles knowingly, the echo of pride in his expression. “She is a wonder. Tonn Glas is not merely a ship. She is born of the ocean’s breath and moulded by hands that understand its depths. Treat her well, for she carries not just your hopes but the whispers of tides older than memory.”
Bran tilts his head, skepticism creeping into his expression. “Are we talking about a ship or a woman?”
Mannie chuckles. “In some ways, they are one and the same.”
Bran huffs, crossing his arms. “All right, but seriously—what are you saying? Are we talking about a ship that can think for itself?”
Mannie’s eyes glint with amusement. “In a manner of speaking, she lives as the sea lives, bound to its will. Through me, she feels the currents and the winds. Disrespect her, and you will find yourselves at odds with more than waves—you will meet with the ancient forces that cradle and consume.”
Bran raises a skeptical brow but says nothing, while Casey lets out a low, exasperated snort. “Brilliant,” he mutters, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Just what we needed—an ocean full of temperamental gods. Cannae wait.”
Amelia steps forward, her voice calm but firm. “This isn’t a journey you’re meant to enjoy, Casey. It’s one you’re meant to endure—and to succeed at. Unity will be your greatest weapon. ”
I step closer, unable to keep the worry from my voice. “I want your word. I want to know they’ll be safe with you.”
Mannie’s gaze softens as it lands on me.
“Safe? That word holds little weight upon the open sea. The waters are no sanctuary; they are a mirror, reflecting truths both cruel and kind. Whether they emerge unscathed depends not on fortune but on the strength of their hearts and the bonds they hold. The sea reveals all, and it has no mercy for deceit. But… I give you my word, Little One, that I will not harm any you hold dear. I will guide them as best I can, as I have guided others before them. Yet know this—even my hand cannot shield them from the tides of destiny.”
Casey turns to me, his expression softening. “We’ll make it back, Triona. Ye’ve my word.”
I nod, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat. “That’s all I ask.”
“I will keep this one in line,” Bran says, jerking his thumb toward Casey.
Casey rolls his eyes. “Let’s hope Tonn Glas likes ye more than I do.” But then his expression softens, and before I can react, he steps forward and pulls me into a tight hug. “Take care of yerself, Triona,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “We’ll be together again in no time.”
I cling to him for a moment, fighting back tears. “Better be,” I manage, my voice breaking. “I’m counting on you to keep Bran out of trouble as well.”
Casey chuckles, ruffling my hair like he did when we were younger. “Aye, I’ll do my best, but we both ken how troublesome that tongue of his can be.”
With that, he strides off, leaving just Bran, Finn, and me. Bran smirks, stepping closer. “Oh, come now, Triona. You know I’m the perfect blend of charm and wisdom.”
I roll my eyes, but when he pulls me into a hug, it’s warm, genuine. His voice drops to something softer. “Don’t worry about us. We’ll look out for each other. And when we’re back, we’ll have one hell of a story to tell.”
“I’ll hold you to it.”
Before he can turn away, I grab his collar in a firm grip, pulling him just close enough to hear the steel in my voice. “Whatever’s between you and my brother—if he gets hurt over it, you’ll regret it.”
For a moment, Bran’s smirk falters, his expression caught between amusement and something heavier—a flicker of doubt, maybe even guilt. But it’s gone just as quickly, replaced with that effortless charm .
“Message received, Triona,” he murmurs, pressing a hand to his chest in mock sincerity. “I’ll be a perfect angel—not a hair on his head out of place.”
I loosen my grip on his collar, but my glare lingers just long enough to drive my point home.
Finn steps to my side without hesitation, his arm locking around my waist in a firm, grounding hold.
There’s an unmistakable possessiveness in the way he pulls me closer—as if he’s making a statement all his own.
“Aye, I’d listen to her,” Finn says, his voice carrying a low, steady warning. “She’s not one to make idle threats.”
Bran chuckles, his grin widening. “Oh, I hear her. Loud and clear. Didn’t realise she had you so well in hand already.”
I glance up to find Finn smirking—the kind of smirk that sends warmth curling through my stomach.
“I’m smart enough to know who’s really in charge.
” Finn’s tone is light, but the wicked gleam in his eyes suggests otherwise.
Then, as if repaying Bran for every over shared experience he’s never wanted to hear, he smirks and adds, “She’s got me well in hand.
Has a hold on me in ways ye’d never understand.
Uses that sinful little mouth of hers to work me over until I’m on my knees for her—shakin’, desperate, wrecked.
She’s got this way of wrappin’ her lips around me, draggin’ her tongue so slow it’s torture , makin’ me beg without a single—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake—” Bran interjects. “Keep your filth to yourself.”
Then adds with a dramatic shudder, “I’ll admit you’re a fine enough looking man, but thinking about how poor Triona has to suffer through a roll in the sheets with you? I’ll carry that horror to my grave.”
Finn, unbothered, grabs my chin, his smirk downright sinful as his fingers tilt my face toward his. Then, instead of the quick, teasing kiss I expect, he presses a slow, deliberate kiss to my lips.
Warm. Deep. Possessive. A kiss meant to prove a bloody point and stake a claim.
Bran makes a noise, something between a groan and a prayer. “Oh, come on.”
Finn finally pulls away from the kiss, his breath still warm against my lips. I let the moment linger, then arch a brow, letting a slow smirk spread across my lips. “You’re awfully smug for a man who couldn’t form a coherent sentence last night.”
His chuckle is dark and full of promise.
Bran shifts uncomfortably. “Are you two quite done? ”
Finn exudes the smugness of a man who knows he’s won. With calculating cruelty, he adds, “Now, dinnae think too hard about all that when you get lonely on Tonn Glas. Ye’ve got a long trip ahead.”
Bran levels him with an unimpressed stare. “Aye, real mature of you.”
Finn leans in and brushes a light kiss against my cheek, his lips warm and fleeting.
Bran clears his throat, clearly trying to regain control of the conversation. “I wasn’t prepared for you to lack all shame. Were you always this way, or is this torment just for me?”
His voice carries a mix of discomfort and humour, and it catches me so off guard that a small laugh escapes me. “That was him holding back. He is rather lewd-mouthed in the bedroom.”
At that, Bran lets out a genuine laugh. “Guess I taught him well,” he says with cocksure demure.
“No, Finn has an attitude all his own,” I say smoothly, casting him a sideways glance. “Nothing he could have been taught.” At that, he turns his head just enough to look at me, and the second our eyes meet, heat curls low in my belly.
His gaze is pure desire—dark, heavy-lidded, the kind of look that sets a woman’s resolve on fire.
His smirk is slow, deliberate, and the sly curve of his lips makes my pulse stutter.
He doesn’t have to say a word— that look alone is enough to remind me of every sinful thing he’s done to me.
The way he’s touched me, claimed me, memorised every way I come undone beneath him.
It’s a silent promise, a reminder, and a challenge all at once.
We let the silence stretch, then I tilt my head, my smirk widening. “I’m certain you are the furthest thing from his mind in the bedroom.”
Bran clears his throat loudly. “Aye, well, if you two are done making eyes like you intend to ravish the other on the spot, I’d like to formally request to un-hear this entire conversation.” Finn chuckles—low, dark.
“Request denied. Ye’re hearin’ every bit of it, Mums.”
“Why are you still standing here?” I ask through a giggle.