A Shift in the Air Page 4
Whirling, Liam let his wolf loose. “What the bloody hell is wrong with you? I get that I’m not the easiest bloke to live with this time of the year, but can ya blame me? I’m a good beta the rest of the time, yeah?”
“Hardly.” Peter shot up. “Look at me.” He stripped off the rumpled t-shirt and tossed the material aside. “Take a good, hard look. Did you even know I fell down the stairs two days ago? Every time I head to the basement, I’m terrified my leg’s going to give out.”
A dark, purple bruise bloomed on Peter’s left side. Ropes of thick, angry burn scars drew a map on his right arm and down his chest. The twisted mess of his ear gave way to a spider web of burns on his cheek. His former bulk—pounds upon pounds of solid muscle—had withered, leaving him a shadow of his previous self. His fingers clenched at his sides, and he challenged Liam’s gaze with bright, whiskey-colored eyes, all trace of his brown irises obscured.
“No one told me.”
“Had you pulled your head out of your ass, no one would’ve had to. You didn’t notice me popping the aspirin? How hard it was for me to get that wiring done on the Ballard job?”
“No.” Shame crawled up Liam’s spine, intensifying the throbbing behind his eyes. Had he been so blind since the fire? So wrapped up in his own shite he hadn’t noticed how much pain his brother—his closest friend in the pack, save Cade—carried with him every day? Liam’d kept them all safe for months in Ireland, but he hadn’t been there—not emotionally. Being back in the land of his birth—the land where he’d lost Caitlin—did nothing for his mood. He’d spent most days in brooding silence or running with another small pack led by a female alpha he’d known in his youth.
“What can I do?” Liam snagged Peter’s shirt and passed it back to the scarred wolf. “Ya want to hit the bars tonight? Or stay in and get a couple of pizzas? Ya need a few days off of work? I can hold things down for a bit. I know I lost myself in the pain—too often as of late. It’s been hard seein’ Cade and Mara so in love. But that’s no excuse.”
“It’s not. We depend on you, Liam. Cade’s a good alpha. Strong, fair, hands-on. But he’s got Mara now, and she comes first. You need to be here. And I don’t just mean physically. Christine’s dating someone. She won’t tell us who. Ollie’s had some problems at work—they’re threatening to make him take a night shift.”
Peter knew more about the pack than Liam did. Realization hunched his shoulders, and he shoved his hands into his pockets so he wouldn’t punch the wall. “And what about you? Have ya thought about finding yourself a mate?”
A low growl rumbled in Peter’s throat. “I’ve tried dating. Signed up for two of those fucking online match sites. Once the women see my picture, I never hear from them again. I’m a goddamned ogre, and I can’t even run like I used to.”
Each word landed with a deeper, sharper sting, and Liam fought the urge to look away. “Ye’re not an ogre.” As the denial hung between them, Peter snorted.
“You try living with this face for a week and see if you still believe that.”
“Online is hard, yeah? Come out with me tonight.” Liam held up his hand when Peter’s eyes glowed brighter. “No more anonymous women. I…think I’m done with that. But we’ll find a pretty young thing for ya to chat up, and ye’ll see. Ya have a good soul, Peter. Ye’ll find someone who’ll see past your scars.”
***
“Ye’re so beautiful.” Soothing words floated from far away. Chilled, she tried to draw the blankets closer, but her arms were lead weights at her sides. A dull ache pulsed at her temple, and a hand cupped her cheek. “Mine. Always. We’re meant for each other, yeah? Closer than any two people have ever been. I’ll take care of ya, always.”
She wanted that. “Help me.”
“I am helpin’, my sweet girl. Ye’ll see. Ya learned a lesson today, yeah? I’ll always come for ya.”
The warm hand pulled away, and a sticky, coppery scent infused the stale air. A hot tear rolled down her cheek, all the way to her lips, and she licked them, the scream welling up inside of her before she could stop it. Not a tear.
Blood.
Forcing her hand up, she touched trembling fingers to her cheek, her eyelid, and her temple. Pain drew a hiss from her lips, and she stared down at the blood staining her palm.
His face shifted in and out of focus, and as his hand flew towards her once more, his name died on her tongue.
Fergus.
Bella screamed in her bed, struggled against the sheets that wound around her legs, and toppled onto the floor with a bone-jarring thud. The nightmare felt so real.
Scuffed walls spun around her, and her neighbor’s hip-hop music vibrated inside her skull. Why couldn’t the kid appreciate silence?
She rose in stages. First to her knees. One hand on the mattress, then two. As she stood, still bent over, she almost fell a second time, but a few deep breaths stilled the swirling room and allowed her to straighten.
The bedside clock read eleven, and she thanked whatever god or goddess was up there that she’d had the foresight to take the day off of work.
April nineteenth was never a good day for her; she always managed to fuck up something in her life on that date. One year, a fender-bender. Another, she’d broken a finger. The next, she’d left the door of Flaming Objects unlocked, and they’d been robbed. And this year, she’d almost gotten fired. Screwing up a client’s airline reservations could have been the end of her job as an entry-level representative at Wings over the Needle. Luckily, she’d managed to rebook the flight just in time.
And last night…she’d slept with a werewolf. A handsome, kind, sexy werewolf. Liam’s scent lingered—a heady mix of wood and the ocean and a spicy hint of aftershave. A long-ago memory of another place, far away, nudged. A sense of calm and safety. Home.
The thought faded as the dream replayed in her mind’s eye. Fergus. She knew that name. But how? Bella stroked the crystal at her throat. She missed Katerina—missed her home in Phoenix, though without Katerina there, the city held only empty memories. For all the woman’s issues—and there’d been many: her temper, her tendency to jump to conclusions, and her insane vendetta—Katerina had loved her like a sister. Mara’s absence and rejection had left a void in Katerina’s life, one Bella had tried to fill. And Katerina had offered the same: a safe place to call home and shelter from a past Bella couldn’t—and didn’t want to—remember.
Fergus. Was he part of that past? If she and Katerina had been honest with one another, their shared pain had never been enough to hold them together, but for years, they’d tried. Who was she now that Katerina could no longer protect her? The crystal at her throat warmed, a bit of Katerina’s fire element pulling Bella from her tumultuous memories.
The belch tasted of shame, and she barely made it to the toilet before heaving up bile. Never again. Bourbon didn’t solve anything—except for quelling the darkness that hovered around the two words that played on repeat through her mind.
Caitlin. Fergus.
She brushed her teeth and scowled at the dark circles under her eyes and the mussed curls that must have dried against her pillow. A vague memory of Liam—naked, wet, and kneeling at her feet—warmed her belly. What had she done the previous night? The bourbon-soaked brain cells didn’t want to fire. Oatmeal would help. And coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.
Going through the motions of grinding the beans centered her, the rich, sweet scent surrounding her like a warm embrace, and while the oats simmered on the stove, she sat down with her laptop, intending to watch something on Netflix. To the right of the computer, a white rectangle with black lettering drew her gaze.
Liam O’Sullivan
Owner
O’Sullivan and Shea Construction Services
“Shit.” On the back, his handwritten note brought snatches of the night flooding back. Oh God. Had she made a total fool of herself? Had she told him her name? If so, would he associate Bella Pond with the woman who’d helped kidnap his alpha’s mate?
The bowl of oatmeal slipped from her hands, splattering all over her bare feet. “Fuck!”
College.
Hot grain burned her tender skin, and she cursed and hopped and tried not to cry as she cleaned up the mess. For years, she’d ignored the faded, blurry images that occasionally flashed through her mind, but this memory was as clear—clearer—than Liam’s face from the previous night.
She’d been young. A leather jacket. Sneakers. Super-sweet coffee. Sights and sounds came back at a dizzying pace. Her professor’s heavy brogue ordering her up to the stage. Taxes. They’d debated taxes. Her partner, a cute boy named Aiden, had a shy smile and long, blond hair.
Winning. Applause. Her professor shaking her hand. He was a small man. Round. Bald. And then a pub. Beers. Kissing Aiden. She’d been free then. Where did that thought come from? So odd. A pub in Dublin.
The words Liam had said the night before—mo chuisle, mo chroí...
She knew what they meant now.
***
The day passed in an agonizingly slow dance that never quite found a rhythm. Bella couldn’t stay in her apartment alone—every thud on the stairs, every slammed door snapped another nerve—so she headed into the office a little after noon, booked another two cruise packages, helped an elderly woman get an accessible room for her grandson’s college graduation, and lied to her boss about having a client on the hook for a whirlwind tour of Ireland so she could look at photos of the country, hoping to stir more memories. The landscape reminded her of the Washington countryside, though greener and with more castles. Only a few photos brought memories with them, usually of faceless boys and girls, laughing, occasionally slipping into Gaelic, but mostly speaking in rapid, heavily accented English.
Often, she twirled the business card Liam had left the night before between her fingers, and once, she even picked up the phone to call him. But apprehension twisted her stomach into an icy knot, and she hung up before she finished dialing. That kiss in the alley behind the bar sent stars exploding behind her eyes, and there’d been a familiarity to him that she’d written off as the bourbon. But when she stumbled across a tourism site for Doolin, a tiny town in County Clare, she let herself accept what she’d probably known all day. She’d been there. She could picture herself walking down the central street with the man from her nightmare. The silent movie streamed by; she could see his lips moving but couldn’t hear the words. All she knew for certain was that the man hurt her—badly—more than once. Fear prickled along her skin, and a gust of wind knocked over a stack of paperwork on the desk next to her. “Shit!”
She had to get out of here. Glancing up at her boss’s darkened office, she scowled. The woman left early on Fridays. Snapping the laptop shut and tossing her cell phone into her purse, she escaped before her air element could do any more damage. A run would clear her head. And if it didn’t, at least she’d be outside where her unstable emotions couldn’t do much more than toss leaves upon the wind.
Chapter Five
Taking a seat at the only empty table left in the bar, Liam waited for Peter to grab two pints of stout.
“You want to tell me about last night? This isn’t your usual haunt.” Peter set the beers down, and his face tightened in pain for a brief second before he relaxed into the wood chair.
“Never going back to Teddy’s.” The ice-cold beer soothed his rough words. “The lass I took to bed…shite. I can’t stop thinking about her.”
“And you never got her name?”
“She didn’t want names. I tried.” Liam rubbed the back of his neck and scanned the room. The bartender slung pints and spun bottles of amber liquid in a dizzying, mesmerizing dance. “She reminded me of Caitlin.”
“What?” Peter leaned closer. “Who?”
“Caitlin.” He had to force the word out through the pain that choked his throat. All day he’d tried to forget her, but every breeze reminded him of his air elemental. Every nail he pounded deep into the wood pierced his heart, and the rough angles he sanded exposed layers upon layers of grief. His wolf had wanted to mate with her, and though they’d never consummated their relationship and sealed the mating, he’d vowed to never love another.
“Liam, you’ve been gone over that woman as long as I’ve known you. Come on, man. You have to move on.” Peter’s gaze landed on a high-top table a few feet away. Two women laughed, and one raised a glass in a toast. “Speaking of which…those two look promising.”
“I don’t want to move on,” Liam muttered. Fine. He’d promised to be a good wingman for the night, though he wanted to be anywhere but here—or perhaps one place other than here. He wanted to go see the nameless woman with the chestnut locks and sad smile. But Peter needed him tonight. “Let me find a bit of lively music, and then we’ll chat those two up.”
As Peter downed a pint for courage, Liam flipped through the old-fashioned jukebox in the corner of the bar. “Brilliant.” He fed a bill into the machine and called up Dropkick Murphys’ most iconic song. As the fiddles blared, he turned to smile at the women. The brunette raised her pint in his direction, while the raven-haired beauty giggled at something her companion said.
“Ladies, can my friend and I buy ya the next round? No strings. I swear it.” He purposely thickened his brogue, and the brunette’s blush deepened.
“I suppose. What’s your name, handsome?”
“Liam. This is Peter. He owns the construction company working on the condos down the street.”
“You do?” the brunette squealed. Peter flushed beet red.
“I’ll take care of the pints.” Liam escaped quickly, grinning when Peter took a seat on one of the empty stools.
By the time he returned with pints for the women, the brunette had her hand on Peter’s arm. If he could get the nameless woman out of his head, perhaps he and Peter would both have a good time tonight.
***
Bella paced her apartment. The run hadn’t calmed her nerves. If anything, the time she’d had to think left her even more confused, panicked, and jittery. On her laptop screen, a grainy newspaper photo taunted her. The man who terrorized her dreams stood with his hands in the pockets of a long black coat, staring out over the sea. Two hours of searching yielded the first mention of him, and since then, a dozen more articles surfaced. The caption sent her to the fridge for a beer, despite the bourbon headache that lingered.
Fergus Tharp mourns the loss of his love, Caitlin Brannigan. The young woman jumped off the Cliffs of Moher three days ago. Inclement weather made the recovery of the body impossible. According to one witness, Ms. Brannigan was crying as she jumped. Tharp maintains that they were happy. No investigation is pending.
The article featured a second photo, and she’d burst into tears when she’d scrolled down. Caitlin Brannigan stared back at her, with Bella’s eyes, lips, and hair. Twins, to anyone looking on, but Bella knew otherwise.
> The Gaelic words Liam whispered the night before, her violent dreams, and his admission that he’d loved a woman named Caitlin…all pieces to the puzzle of her life. The red crystal warmed against her skin. Whenever the stress threatened to drown her, the crystal threw her a life preserver. Katerina’s love, her protection, kept Bella safe. But alone, terrified, and with only fragments of memories from the time before she washed up on a beach in Mexico, injured and alone, the crystal wouldn’t solve her problems now.
She pulled out Liam’s card and ran her fingers over the embossed letters. Liam O’Sullivan. The name resonated in her memories like a warm, comforting embrace. She’d known him in another life. Why couldn’t she remember? Clearly she’d jumped off the Cliffs of Moher, but how had she gotten all the way to Mexico?
More research—this time about Liam. There were dozens of photos of the man, including one accompanying an article about his “death” in Bellingham after the fire Katerina set to capture Cade. The obituary linked to another article, and another. “Oh shit.” Boisterous revelers filled the photo, most wearing green and gold sports jerseys of some sort after a rugby championship. Liam smiled from right of center, younger, a short beard darkening his jaw, with his arm around Caitlin.
She reached for her phone, then paused. No. This conversation had to take place in person.
***
If he didn’t pound something soon, his wolf would snap. The beast clawed and growled under his skin, cursing the moon and the woman he’d been unable to evict from his thoughts all day.
Why? They’d had a connection. Something more than a simple fuck. Why the hell did she have to look like Caitlin? Throwing open the door to the pack’s house, he inhaled deeply. Dinner. Some pasta dish. Remnants of popcorn. He cocked his head and listened. Nothing but the creaks of old construction, the sounds of slumber—Ollie snoring down the hall, Christine’s white noise machine.