Chapter Eleven
“There’s one hell of a storm coming.”
Damon looked up from the foundation stones he’d been examining to find Malcolm squinting at his phone, his frown lines deepening by the second.
The older contractor had become a friend over the past month, teaching Damon traditional stone masonry techniques while apparently ignoring the odd time a stone mysteriously moved itself into a different position.
“How bad is it meant to be?” Redford appeared from inside the castle walls, dusting off his hands.
“Bad enough the weather service is calling it a once-in-a-decade event.” Malcolm scrolled through alerts. “High winds, with gusts reaching gale force, heavy rain, and potential flooding in low-lying areas. They’re recommending everyone secure loose items and stay indoors starting this evening.”
Damon exchanged a look with his mate. They’d made incredible progress on the castle over the past month. There was new scaffolding erected, the foundation was mostly reinforced, and there were tarps protecting exposed areas. All of which could be destroyed if they didn’t act fast.
“We need to secure the site,” Redford said, already moving. “Get the scaffolding tied down, equipment stored, tarps doubled…”
“Aye, I’m thinking the same.” Malcolm pocketed his phone and turned toward the main work area. “If we all pitch in, we can…”
The crack echoed across the courtyard like a gunshot and Damon’s hellhound surged forward, his instincts screaming danger a split second before Malcolm’s yelp of pain reached his ears.
The contractor had stepped on a loose stone near the partially repaired staircase, his foot sliding out from under him.
Malcolm went down hard, his leg twisted at an angle that made Damon’s stomach turn. Not a gunshot. Bone broken.
Redford reached Malcolm first. “Don’t try to stand.”
“Bloody hell.” Malcolm’s face had gone gray, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool air. “My leg…”
“It’s definitely broken,” Damon said, kneeling beside them. He could smell the injury, and Malcolm’s pain was clear to see. Unfortunately, healing or soothing pain wasn’t a hellhound skill. “We need to get you to the hospital.”
“The storm…”
“Is still hours away.” Redford’s voice made it plain he wasn’t going to argue. “Ross,” he called to one of the younger contractors who’d come running at the commotion. “Get the truck. We’re taking Malcolm to the emergency center now.”
“I can drive myself,” Malcolm protested weakly.
“You absolutely can’t.” Damon helped Redford carefully lift the injured man. Malcolm’s weight barely registered, though Damon made sure to grunt appropriately for their human audience. “You’re in danger of going into shock.”
Ross pulled the truck around while Redford grabbed Malcolm’s coat and phone. The other two contractors, Jamie and Thomas, hovered nearby, faces creased with concern.
“What about the site?” Thomas asked. “We can’t just leave it unsecured with the storm coming.”
“You can and you will.” Redford settled Malcolm in the truck’s passenger seat as gently as he could, but Damon could see Malcolm wincing. “All of you are going home to your families. This is exactly the kind of weather where people get hurt trying to be heroes.”
“But weeks of work…”
“Can be repaired.” Damon put a hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “Your safety matters more than any building. Go home, batten down your own houses, and we’ll assess the damage after the storm passes, all right?”
Ross climbed into the driver’s seat. “You two coming?”
“We’ll follow in my car,” Redford said. “Someone needs to drive Ross home from the hospital.”
They made it to the emergency department in record time, although it was plain Ross was driving as carefully as he could, likely so he wouldn’t jostle Malcolm’s leg any more than necessary.
The hospital staff took Malcolm straight through, and Damon settled in to wait with Ross while Redford made phone calls to Malcolm’s wife.
He’ll be fine, Redford sent through their bond. At least it was a clean break, painful but straightforward to set.
I know. Damon watched nurses hurry past, the emergency department humming with pre-storm activity as people rushed to handle injuries before the weather hit. But I hate that he was hurt on our site.
Accidents happen, love. That stone’s been loose since we started - Malcolm’s been after us to fix it for two weeks, and we kept putting it off for more pressing repairs.
Which makes it our fault?
Which makes it no one’s fault. It was an accident. Redford appeared around the corner, phone still in hand. “Malcolm’s wife is on her way. She says to tell you two to stop hovering and go home.”
Ross laughed, which broke the tension. “That sounds like Eileen.”
An hour later, Malcolm was settled with his leg in a temporary cast and enough painkillers to make his speech fuzzy. His wife shooed them away with firm instructions to take care of the castle, not to worry about Malcolm, and to stop looking like kicked puppies.
Damon and Redford drove Ross home, then headed back up the winding road to Duncarrick as the first clouds gathered on the horizon. The moment the SUV was parked, Redford was out of it, surveying the site with a critical eye.
“How long do you think we have?” Damon asked.
“Three hours, maybe four before the worst hits.” Redford turned to face him. “The crew did good work on the foundation, but those tarps won’t hold in high winds, and the scaffolding needs additional reinforcement.”
“So we do it ourselves.”
“Without human eyes watching this time.” Redford’s mouth quirked. “Think you can keep up, hellhound?”
“Try not to fall off anything, gargoyle.”
Without their human audience, and definitely no one around to see them, they were a lot quicker than they might have been otherwise.
Damon translocated supplies from the storage shed - ropes, chains, additional tarps, sandbags - while Redford used his affinity with the stones to sense weak points in their repairs.
Thanks to their bond, they could move like two parts of the same being.
Pass me that chain.
Damon had it in Redford’s hands before the thought finished forming.
The northwest scaffolding is unstable.
Redford was already moving in that direction, climbing the framework in seconds.
They reinforced the scaffolding with additional support beams, using their bare hands and the strength of their arms to drive posts deep into the ground that would’ve required machinery for humans to put in.
Tarps were doubled and tripled, weighted down with sandbags and tied with knots that wouldn’t slip even in hurricane-force winds.
Tools disappeared into locked sheds, loose stones were secured, and drainage channels were cleared to prevent flooding.
The wind was getting worse by the minute, and the clouds were making the skies unusually dark for the time of day. By the time they finished securing the courtyard, the first drops of rain had started to fall.
“The tower,” Redford said, pointing to the partially repaired eastern structure. “We left equipment up there.”
“On it.”
Damon translocated to the tower top in a blink, there was no time left for climbing when the storm was right there.
The wind hit him like someone had slapped two hands on his chest and shoved him – a force strong enough it would’ve knocked any smaller person off balance.
He grabbed the surveying equipment and tools they’d left that morning, securing them in a waterproof container.
Below, he could see Redford checking the tower stones.
The tingle of Redford’s magic felt similar to the electricity in the air.
Translocating back to the courtyard, he met up with Redford as the rain went from drops to buckets in under a minute.
“I think that’s everything,” Redford shouted over the wind. “The rest will either survive, or it won’t.”
They made a final circuit of the site, Damon’s keen eyesight and enhanced senses checking for anything they’d missed while Redford’s magic reinforced what they’d secured.
The rain soaked through their clothes, plastering them against their skin, while lightning cracked across the sky, followed by thunder that shook the ground.
“We’ve done our best. It’s time to go.” Damon grabbed Redford’s hand.
They ran for the cottage as the full fury of the storm hit. Wind screamed through the ruins, tearing at their clothes and hair. Rain came down in torrents, turning the path to mud. By the time they stumbled through the cottage door, they were dripping wet and covered in dirt.
“Fucking hell.” Redford leaned against the closed door, his chest heaving. “That escalated quickly.”
“Understatement.” Damon peeled off his sodden jacket, water pooling on the floor. “Shower?”
“Definitely shower.”
They stripped in the bathroom, leaving a pile of muddy clothes. The hot water felt like heaven after hours of cold wind and rain, and Damon groaned as it sluiced over his aching muscles.
“We make a good team,” Redford said, soaping Damon’s shoulders, his strong hands working out the tightness in his muscles.
“We secured weeks of work in under three hours. I’d say that’s more than good.”
“Malcolm’s crew would’ve needed days to do half of what we managed.” Redford’s hands worked down Damon’s back, finding more knots and kinks and smoothing them away. “Though I suppose super strength and translocation help.”
“Just a little bit.” Damon turned in his mate’s arms, water cascading between them. “Do you think the castle will hold?”
“I think this isn’t the first storm that castle has seen, but as to what we did, then yeah. I’m fairly sure the foundation’s solid now. The scaffolding’s anchored deep enough to survive this. The tarps...” Redford shrugged. “We did everything we could. The rest is up to the Mother.”
Outside, wind howled against the cottage walls. Lightning flashed, illuminating the bathroom in stark white. Thunder followed immediately, close enough to rattle the windows. But Damon was happy to focus on his mate in the shower, the hot water washing away the cold.
They eventually dragged themselves out, dried off, and dressed in warm clothes.
Damon’s hellhound wanted food – he had expended a lot of energy and so had Redford.
He pulled ingredients from the fridge while Redford built up the fire until it roared, pushing back the damp chill that tried to creep through the walls.
“How hungry are we talking?” Redford asked, appearing in the kitchen doorway, his eyebrow quirked at the ingredients Damon was laying out.
“Extremely.”
“So I should make pasta for eight people?”
“Better make it enough for ten.”
They cooked together, comfortable in the small kitchen despite the tight quarters.
Pasta boiled while Damon grilled steaks - three each - and Redford prepared a salad that was more of an afterthought than an actual side dish.
Garlic bread disappeared into the oven, and Damon clicked up a bottle of wine.
By the time they settled at the small table, the storm was in full force. Rain hammered the roof, and wind shook the windows in their frames. But inside the cottage, with food piled high and his mate across from him, Damon had never felt more content.
“Malcolm messaged,” Redford said, checking his phone between bites. “It was a clean break, and he’s got surgery scheduled for tomorrow, but he’s expected to make a full recovery.”
“That’s good news.”
“His wife says he’s already complaining about missing work.” Redford smiled. “Apparently he’s worried we’ll mess up his foundation repairs.”
“We literally reinforced his foundation repairs with magic tonight.”
“I don’t think we should mention that part. Let’s just enjoy our food and then maybe get an early night?” Redford winked and Damon grinned. There were worse ways of spending a night in a storm.