Нора Робертс - Blood Magick

“I know, and that’s a constant miracle to me. This family. You’re my family, Fin, but I don’t have the history with you or Branna the others do, so maybe I can say what the others can’t, or say it in a different way. He used you, what happened between you, to try to get to her. That hurt you as much as her.”

She straightened. “It would be easier to walk away, leave this to the three. But you don’t. You won’t. Part of it’s because of your own need to right a wrong—a wrong done to you. Part’s for family, for your circle, your friends. And all the rest, all the parts of the rest, that’s for Branna.”

He leaned back against the counter, slipped his hands into his pockets. “That’s a lot of parts.”

“There are a lot of parts to you. I didn’t grow up with you, didn’t watch you and Branna fall in love, or go through the pain of what pulled you apart. But I see who you are now, both of you. And from where I’m standing, she’s wrong not to let herself have love, have joy. It makes all the sense in the world, but it’s still wrong. And you’re wrong, Fin. You’re wrong for believing—and deep down you do—she’s doing it to punish you. If that were true, Cabhan couldn’t have used you to hurt her.

“I should go.”

“You’ve such kindness in you.” He pushed off the counter, then cupped her chin, kissed her. “Such light. If you could cook I swear I’d turn Boyle into a mule and steal you away for my own.”

“I’m keeping that in reserve. We’ll have Christmas, we’ll have family. I know you, and Branna, too, would rather move on this dream spell right away. But Connor was right last night. We’ll take our family time, have the holiday with color and light and music. Throw that in his face first.”

“We were outvoted on it, and I can see it from your side.”

“Good.” She reached for the door, turned back. “You need to have a party. This fabulous house begs for it. You should have a party for New Year’s Eve.”

“A party?” The quick switch unbalanced him. “Here?”

“Yes, a party; yes, here. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. Time to sweep out the old, ring in the new. Definitely a New Year’s Eve party. I’ll text Boyle. We’ll help you throw it together.”

“I—”

“Gotta go.”

She shut the door, and quickly, leaving him frowning after her. “Well, Christ, Bugs, it looks like we’re having a party.”

He decided to think about it and all that entailed later. He still wanted that ride. He’d get out, give Baru his head, let Merlin soar and hunt. Give little Bugs the time of his young life.

And on the way home, he’d stop by the stables, and stop again by the falconry school, put some time in each. If there was enough of the day left after all of that, he’d check to see if he could be of use in Branna’s workshop. Though he assumed she’d be as pleased as he to have a full day apart.

Out in the stables while he saddled his big black, he had a conversation with Sean that ranged from horses, a feed order, to women, to football, and back to horses.

He paused as he led Baru out. “It may be I’m having a party for New Year’s Eve.”

Sean blinked, pushed back his cap. “At the big house here?”

“Sure that would be the place.”

“Hah. A party at the big house—fancy-like?”

“Not altogether fancy.” He hadn’t thought of it either way—and supposed he should have consulted Iona since it was her doing. “Just scrape the horse shite off your boots.”

“Hah,” Sean said again. “And would you be having music then?”

Fin blew out a breath. “It seems only right there’d be music. And there’d be food and drink as well before you ask. Nine o’clock seems right.” He scooped Bugs off the ground, swung into the saddle.

“A party at the big house,” Sean said as Fin kicked Baru straight into a gallop.

When Fin glanced back, he saw his longtime stable hand, hands on hips, studying the house as if he’d never seen it before.

Which said, Fin supposed, it was long past time for a party.

Bugs vibrated excited delight as they thundered off, the horse sent out waves of pleasure at the chance to run, and overhead the hawk called out, high and bright, as it circled.

And long past time for this, he realized.

Though part of him yearned for the woods, the smell of them, the song of the trees in the breeze, he headed for open. So he took to the fields, the gentle rise of hill, let the horse run over the green while the hawk soared the blue.

He pulled out, put on his glove. He and Merlin wouldn’t need it, but it was best if someone rambled by. He lifted his arm, lifted his mind. The hawk dived, did a pretty, show-off turn that made Fin laugh, then glided like a feathered god to the glove.

The dog quivered, watched them both.

“We’ve taken to each other, you see. That’s the way of it. So you’re brothers now as well. Will you hunt?” he asked Merlin.

In answer the hawk rose up, calling as he circled the field.

“We’ll walk a bit.” Fin dismounted, set Bugs down.

The dog immediately rolled in the grass, barked for the fun of it.

“He’s young yet.” Fin patted Baru’s neck when the horse gave the hound a pitying glance.

Here’s what he’d needed, Fin thought as he walked with the horse. The open, the air. A cold day for certain, but clear and bright for all that.

The hawk went into the stoop, took its prey.

Fin leaned against Baru, gazing out over the green, the brown, the slim columns of smoke rising from chimneys.

And this, he thought, he missed like a limb when he was off wandering. The country of his blood, of his bone, of his heart and spirit. He missed the green, the undulating hills, the gray of the stone, the rich brown of earth turned for planting.

He would leave it again—he would have to when he’d finished what he needed to finish. But he would always come back, pulled to Ireland, pulled to Branna, pulled . . . Iona had said it. Pulled to family.

“They don’t want you here.”

Fin continued to lean on the horse. He’d felt Cabhan come. Maybe had wanted him to.

“You’re mine. They know it. You know it. You feel it.”

The mark on his shoulder throbbed.

“Since the mark came on me, you’ve tried to lure me, draw me. Save your promises and lies, Cabhan. They bore me, and I’m after some air and some open.”

“You come here.” Cabhan walked across the field on a thin sea of fog, black robes billowing, red stone glowing. “Away from them. You come to me.”

“Not to you. Now or ever.”

“My son—”

“Not that.” Anger he’d managed to tamp down boiled up. “Now or ever.”

“But you are.” Smiling, Cabhan pulled the robe down his shoulder, exposed the mark. “Blood of my blood.”

“How many women did you rape before you planted your seed, a seed that brought you a son?”

“It took only the one destined to bear my child. I gave her pleasure, and took more. I will give Branna to you, if she is what you want. She’ll lie with you again, and as often as you choose. Only come to me, join with me, and she can be yours.”

“She’s not yours to give.”

“She will be.”

“Not while I breathe.” Fin held out a hand, palm forward, brought the power up. “Come to me, Cabhan. Blood to blood, you say. Come to me.”

He felt it, that tug-of-war, felt the heat as his power burned. Saw, as Branna had, a flicker of fear. Cabhan took a lurching step forward.

“You do not summon me!”

Cabhan crossed his arms, wrenched them apart. And broke the spell. “They will betray you, shun you. When you lie cold, your blood on the ground, they will not mourn you.”