Chapter 31 Carwynn #2
“Oooffff!!!!” A whoosh of breath left Pogue’s body, along with a mangled hissing sound.
There were audible gasps and empathetic groans from the onlookers.
Oh, my sweet baby Jesus.
She really fucking went for it, didn’t she? Yup, it was confirmed. The potion was most definitely eating away at her too. So much so, she was resorting to violence now. Specifically, low blows.
Pogue folded over, praying to the floor gods.
Breena unleashed a hysterical, ear-piercing cheer. “Whooo! That’s my girl!”
“By Scurboga’s Gates, perfect form!” Lochlainn snorted, praising.
Keeffe wavered slightly as he watched from the sidelines. He looked utterly stupefied taking in Aine—staring like she was the moon, luring out the Ossory wolf in him with her gravitational pull.
“Souls take me . . .” He clutched his chest. “I think I’m in fucking love!”
Breena completely lost it, choking on laughter.
“How can one woman be such a goddamn legend?” I chuckled, momentarily forgetting the surveying eyes still stalking me from afar.
“Technically, it was supposed to be a punch—” The bartender halted when Aine’s glare all but flashed fangs at him. “But you know what, I’ll accept it.” He shook his head, bemused.
Aine stormed past Keeffe, ignoring his existence entirely.
She was a hurricane unleashed, smacking a hand down on the bar and grabbing the die. After mumbling a string of swears, she launched it upwards.
Red detonated above. I fanned the air in front of my face, attempting to clear the powdery cloud blurring my sight.
“Commander’s Mark!” the bartender announced with a fiery grin. “M’lady, you may choose any one victim to do as you command.”
The room hushed.
I turned to Finley. “So she can make them do anything she wants? And they have to do it?”
He cringed.
Oh, this can’t be good. I sent a silent prayer to whatever gods existed that she didn’t drunkenly murder someone tonight. Not that she’d actually regret it in the morning. But you never know . . .
Finley opened his mouth to answer, but Pogue came into view nearby. There was a strained look on his face, as if fighting back a pained groan with each step.
“They’ll be magically bound to do her bidding,” Pogue grumbled.
Finley side-eyed him.
“Well then. This should be interesting,” I sarcastically replied to hide my nervousness.
Aine’s eyes stalked the crowd like a predator.
There was a brainless, hopeful smile attached to Keeffe’s face. Poor fool.
“Lochlainn!” As if hexing him, she pointed a finger in his face. “Ya will enter Breena and myself into the Eostre Trials!”
“Hah! Yesssss!” Breena jumped up and down, then threw her hands around Aine. “You, my friend, are a genius!” A wet kiss smacked Aine’s cheek, but she swatted Breena away.
Lochlainn cocked an eyebrow. “You didn’t have to waste a good Commander’s Mark on me.” He jerked his head toward Pogue. “That presentation alone was practically your initiation. Consider yourselves nominated.” His face sparkled fiendishly.
Aine swiped up the red shot on the bar and downed it. The glass slapped the stone, near breaking as she slammed it back down.
“No such thing as a waste,” she stated, completely unfazed. “Excuse me, I have to take a piss.”
“Charming.” Lochlainn scrunched his face, trailing her with his gaze.
The crowd parted, clearing a path for Aine. Some onlookers attempted to pat her on the back, passing her compliments, but it was like watching an attempt to bathe a stray cat. Hissing and claws.
Lochlainn leaned into Keeffe’s space, voice dropping. “Should have warned me about that one. She’s a fecking menace.” Then he motioned a hand at Finley, some Luckman signal.
Keeffe, on the other hand, hadn’t heard a word he said, his eyes still super glued to the back of the room where Aine disappeared.
My lips pulled up. A menace, that she was.
Lochlainn caught my amusement and walked over, narrowing his eyes, darting them between Pogue and myself.
“Forgot to ask—how’s training going?”
My eyebrows hit the top of my head. “Training? You mean that thing where Pogue shows up, growls instructions at me, then disappears?” I paused, letting it dramatically hang in the air. “Oh, that? Yeah, that’s going real great!”
Pogue gave me a flat look.
“You’re supposed to be training her!” Lochlainn scolded.
“I am,” Pogue dryly stated. He casually tamed his dark hair, smoothing it back with a hand.
“You tricked me into hiking alone for two freaking hours! I nearly broke an ankle . . . twice!” I tried to sound angry, but the buzz of the drinks was catching up and making my mind soft.
“That was a test. One which you failed.” The corners of his eyes pinched, striking me in place.
“What are you talking about? You left me!” I shot back.
Pogue took a step forward, invading my space.
Midnight. He smelled like a cool, crisp autumn night. I wanted to run my tongue all over that scent—try and taste it. Campfire. Earthen leaves tumbling. Warm hands through a cold breeze . . .
“I was there the whole time.” Those grumbling words snapped me out of my lust-filled daze.
“What?” I said.
“I. Was. There,” he annunciated, belittling.
“I was in the woods flanking you. Trailing your every move. Not once did you tap into your powers to sense me. Let alone, use any survival instincts to look around to notice someone was stalking you!” Angry eyes seared mine.
“It was a test. And you failed . . . miserably.”
Lochlainn scoffed, “Bloody fates, Pogue! This isn’t feckin’ wilderness scouting. Just train the bird!” A glare was fired, loaded with restrained anger that seemed to go beyond what we were talking about. Then, he sauntered away.
He was there? Oh god, he was there.
I was going to die of humiliation. Every time my clumsy footing had me eating dirt, every time I tripped on my own sneakers, almost breaking an ankle, every colorful swear I used to curse Pogue’s name over and over—limp-dick, shadow-sucking, pretty-boy—all crashed back in a wave of embarrassment.
There may have even been a moment after maneuvering over a boulder that I had to readjust my underwear from being sucked up my ass.
Heat flushed my cheeks.
Pogue tilted his head, amused, as if he could smell my humiliation rising.
Then, his scent hit me again. The potion latched hold, boiling my innards with desire.
It was whipping me around like a whirlpool.
I should want to yell. Should want to jab his eyes out for being such a prickly asshole.
But my temperature was rising, heat creeping up my neck.
The ache between my legs worsened with each sweep of his eyes that lingered over my lips.
I was being tortured. Sheer, confusing, hellish torture.
“Kiss or Doom!” The bartender’s voice sounded far away, muffled.
“Finley here, has three minutes to find a lucky pair of lips or else he dooms us all to suffer the consequences!” He maniacally laughed.
“Dance floor splitting? Instantaneous mass illness? Only the magic’ll decide. So I suggest ya pucker up fast!”
Eager, giggling voices shouted in volunteer.
I was too lost in the quicksand of the spell, intensely studying Pogue’s beautiful, cruel face. I’d completely drowned out the background noise.
Curse this blasted Liplock potion. I needed to put an end to it. Now.
I spun around to Pogue, eyes begging and desperate.
His face changed noticing my agony, mouth opening in silent question. But not before I opened mine.
“Pogue, kiss me . . .”