Chapter 21 Carwynn
CARWYNN
“Piss off!”
Lochlainn yelled from behind the door.
A muffled argument echoed from inside the townhouse—not clear enough to follow, but definitely loud enough to hear.
We waited outside of the gilded front door.
Just like everything else Lochlainn owned, the place was over-the-top luxury, completely ostentatious.
Beautiful gray stone blended in with the rest of the city, but it was the details that set it apart—intricate knotted swirls and shamrock carvings decorated the window trims as ivy cascaded down from the roof like icing glazing a cake.
Sunlight reflected off the arched door, nearly blinding.
“Well, he sounds like a ray of sunshine today,” I muttered.
Finley grunted, raising a fist to pound on the door again.
“Loch, it’s Finley,” he called. “Open up! Someone’s here to see ya.”
Heavy feet thundered. A few metallic tinkering sounds—then the door unlocked with an abrasive snap.
It flew open.
“What is it, ya fucking wank—”
Lochlainn stilled, his words cutting short as his eyes landed on me.
“Carwynn.” His tone immediately changed, disgruntled features smoothing into a grin. “Never would have expected ya to be back at my doorstep so soon. Come in.”
He ran a hand through his ginger beard, stepping aside. He extended an arm in welcome.
The foyer was just as I recalled—breathtaking. A golden spiraling staircase curved up one side of the room. The floors were a creamy marble, delicately outlined in gilded trim. Dark shades of forest green and navy painted the walls where large oil paintings were dispersed throughout.
I wouldn’t be surprised if a few of those paintings led to mini vaults hiding away trinkets. Perhaps some of his collections.
Lochlainn put a palm to the door. A soft, radiant yellow light flooded into it, locking it with an audible clink.
Of course he had to lock it magically. Because apparently, a deadbolt wouldn’t be enough. Or maybe he was just showing off his Lockbinding.
The home was basically a bank vault—extra security around every corner, protecting his most precious treasures. Very cave troll-esque.
A completely uninvited image popped into my head. One where late at night, Lochlainn would sneak into his deluxe basement and giddily roll around in a mound of gold coins—naked. Like a sexy leprechaun needing a power-up, getting off on his skin touching the cold, smooth, glittering surfaces.
A bellowing laugh burst out of me before I could stop it. I really didn’t know if I was my own worst enemy or best friend at times.
Finley and Lochlainn turned around, raising matching eyebrows.
I cleared my throat. “Sorry, it’s nothing.”
But damn, I internally mused, that image really would be something. I bit my lip to tame the brewing giggle fit.
“How about some whiskey?” Lochlainn said over his shoulder, leading us into his large oak study. He perched himself on the edge of the desk, pouring amber liquid into a delicate crystal glass.
No suit jacket today, just a shirt lazily tucked in with multiple buttons undone. How very un-Lochlainn . . .
Movement caught the corner of my vision. I quickly spun.
Pogue. He leaned against a large granite fireplace, whiskey in hand, looking frosty as hell.
Yep. We undoubtedly interrupted some squabble. Great.
“No, I’m all right, thanks,” Finley replied, taking a seat on a red tufted leather sofa. He shot Pogue a small nod. “You all right?”
Pogue responded with a subtle dip of the head. Cold and restrained.
“What about you, love?” Lochlainn reached out a second glass toward me, light caught the swirling amber.
“Pass.” I smiled politely. “But thanks.”
I looked between Lochlainn and Pogue—both standing so stiff you’d think someone shoved broomsticks up their backsides.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to intrude,” I said a bit too sweetly.
Truthfully, I didn’t give a damn about whatever drama they were knee deep in.
I rocked on my feet. “Just wanted to collect on our deal—hoping to get some research done today.”
Lochlainn threw back the amber liquid in one fluid motion. Then slid his tongue over his bottom lip, not breaking eye contact.
“Delicious.” His voice lowered. His eyes dropped, trailing down.
Then, a deep, reverberating chuckle rose.
“Ripped open by one of the most feared Ancients—an inch away from death.” His head shook incredulously. “And yet here ya are, standing in front of me a week later. Unscathed.” Lochlainn’s mouth tilted up. “And still looking ravishing as ever, I might add.”
Of course he’d find this amusing. Him seeing me was probably equivalent to locating his lost gold watch—bummer to lose, but more valuable to have.
I hadn’t heard a peep from him since the attack—except the delivery he’d sent the following day. A small wooden box with a folded note on top that read:
Thinking of you.
Wear it.
-Loch
Inside was a simple, elegant lace choker. Although I really loved it, the gesture felt wildly impersonal. Like saying, sorry you almost died under my watch. Here’s something shiny!
My eyesight must’ve improved this week—because it was getting way too easy to see through bullshit.
“And you’re still kissing my ass, I see,” I quipped.
“Oh no, love. That already happened. Across the hall in the kitchen, on the countertops, if I recall correctly.” A wicked grin appeared, right before he tapped a finger to his chin. “Ah, yes—and then later, on the sofa.” He pointed directly to the spot where Finley now sat.
Heat crept into my cheeks—half embarrassed, half furiously annoyed.
Bastard.
I tried, momentarily, to smother the incoming flashback. Regret knotted my core as I glanced toward Finley. I hoped he didn’t think any less of me.
Flaming grenades spewed from my eyes as I stared at Lochlainn.
Finley stiffened, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, agitation straining his face. Lochlainn seemed pleased, smugly flashing him a provoking smile.
For fuck’s sake! Although one of his men, Finley was still his cousin—his family. I wondered if Lochlainn knew how he felt about me. Because if he did, that made him far more cruel than I had originally thought.
But likely he was just trying to bait me. This was what he did—who he was. He got off on being an asshat. A sneaky trickster who always played games, lining up all the pieces to benefit himself most in the end.
I wasn’t going to fall for it.
I drew in my breath, consciously remembering to keep my cool. He was a dick, and I wanted those archives—
Suddenly, glass shattered. Whiskey and shards sparkled like amber fireworks as they scattered over the polished floor.
Pogue was still propped against the fireplace. Only now, his arm was outstretched, hand open.
“Oops . . .” A chill crept into his tone, face unemotional. “How clumsy of me. Always a shame to break something of high value.”
Lochlainn’s face hardened with anger, eyes sharpening in reprimand.
A suffocating tension rolled through the room. It was apparent Lochlainn and Pogue’s unfinished business was about to start up again, and I had no desire to be part of it.
Cutting through the silence without hesitation, Finley firmly asked, “So are ya giving her access to your collections or not?”
My eyes softened with gratitude at him.
“Well?” I added. “We made a deal. You said I could see them.”
Lochlainn glared back, cocking his head. “The deal was on the condition you spoke to the dead runner. Which, technically, you never actually did. So—deal’s off.”
Excuse me?
I began to see red. This motherfucker was pushing all my buttons.
“That’s fucking horseshit and you know it! You wanted me to find who was behind the killing—which we did! Hence, the fact I almost died!”
Was he really going to do this? Seriously going to fuck me over again? He outed my abilities, broke his promise, and I still had the decency to let it go and help him! Now this bullshit?
Absolutely not.
Something itched under my skin, mental and maddening. It was only getting worse.
I had to see the collection. Maybe I was fixating too much on the relics, but I swear something was drawing me closer to them. No wasn’t an answer I’d accept. I was going to see those collections, one way or another.
Livid, I stalked towards him, hungering to wring my hands around his neck.
The room darkened with my every step, the Hallowborn in me awakening.
“You manipulative, scheming, fuckwit! Is this all a joke to you?”
I shoved him . . . hard. He fell back into the desk with a loud thud, rattling everything on it.
I wasn’t one to get physical. But I’d had enough of the mind games.
Not using my ability frequently had left it coiled tight inside me like raw, pent-up energy, desperate for release.
An amused chuckle rumbled from the fireplace, shocking me out of my blackout fury.
“A sweet fragrant rose, with poison-barbed thorns.” Pogue grinned devilishly, still laughing.
I could only leer at him, confused. Was it mockery? Admiration? From what little I’ve witnessed from Pogue—probably both.
Finley wedged between Lochlainn and me, arms raised, playing peacekeeper. “Loch, that’s a dick move and you know it! Just let her see them!”
Lochlainn didn’t even look at him. The prick just flashed me a cocky, conceded grin as he straightened his shirt.
That was all it took for me to snap . . .
“No, you know what—that’s just fine,” I said with a savage smile.
“It’s funny really, human folklore always painted Leprechauns as selfish, money-grubbing, disgusting little imps who thrived on trickery and greed.
” I laced my words in venom. “I don’t think they were too far off.
” My eyes viciously narrowed. “Sad really. To never know true connection with anyone. Just a life driven by materialism. Easy to be heartless when it’s vaulted away, right?
But tell me, Lochlainn—how much gold does it take to fill that miserable, forsaken void? ”
I heard someone suck in a breath but couldn’t tell which man it came from.
I took a gamble on poking the locked-his-heart-away rumor. But given the unsettling silence, it must’ve been true.
Lochlainn was an unflinching statue. If my words struck him, his face didn’t show it. But those eyes bore into mine with an unnerving calm.
He took a slow step forward.
Finley immediately raised an arm, blocking him from getting any closer.
“Ironic, isn’t it?” Lochlainn said, words cold and demeaning.
“Coming from the girl who didn’t know who the man that raised her really was, or even who her own blood parents are, for that matter.
” He tilted his head with a serrated look.
“Talk about true connections. Tell me, Carwynn—how do you fill that void?”
Shots. Fired.
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words—words are fucking bullets . . .
I held his stare, even as the prickling burn of tears began to pool.
I hated feeling so emotional. Hated that a simple string of words could carve me up from the inside out, hollowing me. I felt like an exposed nerve—too raw and unprotected. My skin had weathered a lifetime of blows. So why wasn’t it any thicker by now?
Maybe I’d been too harsh, but I wasn’t wrong about him. And judging by his cutthroat response, he knew it too. Yet, he wasn’t wrong about me either.
Of course, I did know who my mother was—but he wasn’t going to know that.
Pogue finally migrated away from the fireplace. His shoulders tense, as if sensing something that put him on edge.
A cold shiver crept up my spine.
Light orbs flickered around the room as a soul slipped into my mind.
A fool, that boy. He’ll make right in the end… it whispered.
The voice sounded faintly familiar. Yes—her. The relative Lochlainn had me summon the first time I worked with him—to locate a family heirloom. His grandmother. Though her voice was stronger. No longer distant.
My head began to throb as I felt her sliding in, taking up too much space—pressing, pushing.
I clutched my temples and shut my eyes tight as the tension built behind them.
Get out, get out, get out, get out . . . another voice seethed.
”Get out of my head!”
My eyes shot open. Realizing I’d screamed the last part out loud, looking like I’d completely lost my damned mind. Like I’d completely lost control again. It made me feel weak. Vulnerable.
My chest tightened. I needed to get out of here.
Without a word, I stormed out the room, not daring to look back. I didn’t want to see their faces plastered with whatever judging emotions—pity, horror, concern, irritation.
It didn’t matter. I just needed out, needed air.
The tension in my chest swelled as I strode down the hall. Feeling like I’d stepped on a boobytrap—and now the thick walls of the vault were closing in.
Someone called out my name, begging me to stop. But I ignored it. I tunneled ahead, locking my every focus on getting out.
My hand reached the door. Locked. It was locked.
I twisted the knob desperately, over and over.
No, no, no. I need out! Right. Now.
My lungs constricted, squeezing out the last drops of air. A torrent of anxious weight crashed over me, towing me under, drowning.
Open, goddamn it!
No sooner had the thought crossed my mind, a green vine spiraled out from my hand, coiling around the knob. Just as before, a bud spouted—blooming into that beautiful, hummingbird-shaped flower.
Bird of Paradise.
Then, it vanished, fading into the metal knob. An intense flash of light sparked as the flower burst. The door was left hissing, metal now molten red, broken.
It tinkered once. Then— Click!
It unlocked, creaking open.
Yelling echoed through the hall behind me. Finley’s deep voice spewing furiously. “For luck’s sake, Lochlainn! What’s going on here?”
I didn’t wait. I flew down the front steps of the townhouse, determined to get as far away as possible. Needing air. Needing to surface, to emerge from my depths.