Earth's Blood (Earth Reclaimed) Read Free

would be aye.”
    The air thickened as Gwydion drew magic to open a portal. Blessedly numb inside, Fionn added his own to the mix, buried a hand in Rune’s neck ruff, and stepped through.

    After they returned to Marta’s house in the ruins of Ely, Nevada, Fionn spent the next hour rattling through it, looking for clues that might help them. He started in the bedroom, but Aislinn’s scent, a mix of honey and musk, clung to everything and nearly undid him. When he caught himself pulling her pillow to his nose, he threw it against the wall and stormed out of the room they’d shared.
    The rest of the house hadn’t yielded anything. Fionn didn’t bother going up to the attic. Marta’s parents were there, trapped in a state of suspended animation by a strong spell. Best leave them to their rest since they held the gates between the worlds open.
    Because there wasn’t anything else to do, he settled at the kitchen table with a bottle of mead and nearly emptied it. The anesthetic effect he hoped for hadn’t happened, though. At least not yet.
    “Would ye like to talk about it?” Gwydion’s melodic voice interrupted Fionn’s bleak thoughts.
    He swiveled his head to look at the mage standing in the doorway, flanked by Rune and Bella. Dirt clung to his robes; Fionn wondered where he’d been. Gwydion had told him where he was going, but Fionn hadn’t paid much attention.
    Hmph. Even the animals deserted me.
    I’d have deserted me, too , a different inner voice inserted dryly. The way I banged around in here wanting to kill something—anything—if only it would bring Aislinn back to me. Fionn understood at a level beyond reckoning that if he ever laid eyes on Travis again, the Hunter would be dead before he saw what hit him.
    He tipped the bottle in Gwydion’s direction. “Not sure what there is to say,” Fionn mumbled.
    “Och, and there is much to be said between us.” Gwydion clomped to the table, hooked a chair out with one of his perpetually bare feet, and sat heavily. “For example, we havena ever truly talked about Tara—”
    “With good reason,” Fionn snapped.
    Gwydion shook his head. “Ye doona trust me. I sense your hesitation. We must clear the air.”
    Fionn opened his mouth, but Gwydion shook his head. “Hear me out. That empty place inside you? The one ye’re trying your damnedest to ignore—or drown with spirits? ’Tis akin to how I felt when Tara fled Ireland to escape having to choose you or me. She wanted me, but the ancient bond demanded she wed you.”
    “I know all that. I still doona see—”
    “For the love of the goddess, would ye stop interrupting?” Gwydion’s blue eyes flashed dangerously.
    Fionn subsided against the back of his seat.
    “’Twas no skin off your ass when the lass left Ireland, yet I mourned her loss every day. It’s been years, but I miss her still. ’Twas a gift to see her once again in the tunnels under Slototh’s lair—even if she was already dead.”
    Something in Gwydion’s words penetrated the desolation surrounding Fionn. He’d known Gwydion cared for Tara, but he’d never appreciated the extent of his loss. Truth hit home, and shame washed over him. When Gwydion waved it in front of his nose—no, make that shoved his nose right in it—Fionn recognized kindred pain. He drew his brows together. “Why were ye not angrier at me? We had words, but it seemed we made things up soon enough.”
    “Nay, I simply buried my resentment. What would have been the point in holding a grudge? I tracked Tara to America. By then, she’d wed another and made it painfully clear she wanted nothing to do with you or me—or the dragon—ever again.”
    “At least part of that was my fault. I could have—”
    A bitter laugh bubbled past the close-cropped red-blond beard on Gwydion’s face. “Aye, ye see it now. Ye dinna see it then. All ye could see then was that she was the MacLochlainn. Your MacLochlainn.”
    Fionn looked at his hands. What Gwydion said was