The Stolen: An American Faerie Tale Read Free

silence for several minutes. Brendan just held Áine closer to him.
    â€œYou can’t stay here,” Dante said. “Let me get you out of here.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œBrendan—­”
    â€œIt was me what done it, and I have to account for it,” Brendan said. “I’ll stay here and get what’s bloody well coming to me.”
    â€œThey’ll kill you.”
    â€œAye, but not if you do it first.”
    â€œDon’t ask me to do that.”
    Brendan let his head fall forward, and he buried his face in Áine’s neck. He knew Dante was right. This was Brendan’s to carry, but he had to make sure this could never happen again.
    â€œCan you get it out of me?”
    â€œGet it out—­?”
    â€œCan you get the bleeding deamhan buile out of me?”
    â€œI don’t even know what your parents did to put it there.”
    â€œSo, no, then.”
    â€œI’m sorry.”
    Brendan inhaled Áine’s scent and gritted his teeth. “Can you bind it, then? Chain the bloody thing down at least?”
    Dante sighed. “I don’t know, maybe, depending on how strong it is. Even if I could, there’s no telling what effects it could have on you. It might kill you.”
    Brendan forced a chuckle. He wouldn’t be so lucky. “You do what you have to, then I’m leaving Boston.”
    â€œYou’re not in any shape to make a decision like that!”
    â€œ Dar fia, man,” Brendan said. “Word will spread fast, ­people will know. I have to leave, don’t I? Maybe if I can find some way to make this right—­”
    â€œAnd where will you go?”
    â€œAway.” Brendan took a breath. “I’ll be needing me a horse.”
    â€œI—­”
    â€œWhat else can I do, then?”
    â€œI don’t know, maybe . . .”
    Brendan felt Dante’s eyes on him. He tried to resist meeting the bright green gaze of his friend. He failed, lifted his face, and they stared at each other in silence for several long minutes.
    Dante closed his eyes and bowed his head. “All right, I’ll do it.”

 
    CHAPTER TWO
    B rendan took a final drag from his cigarette and flicked the ash out of his old truck’s open window. Traffic was light on I-­93 as he crossed into New Hampshire.
    Sure, he’d taken the long route, but it kept him far enough away that he didn’t even have to see Boston’s skyline. He’d have gone back more, but the first time he’d risked a visit to Áine’s grave, when he’d heard her friends speaking about the child, their child . . . Well, he still wasn’t ready to face Dante again, not yet.
    He turned his attention away from his current line of thinking, but it was too late. Somewhere inside, something stirred, restless and hungry.
    You can’t keep me locked away forever.
    â€œWe’ll see about that, then,” Brendan said to the empty truck.
    Distantly, he could almost hear laughter.
    Absently, he scratched at the sigils tattooed on his sternum. When he noticed what he was doing, he lit another cigarette and ignored the twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t have the luxury of doubts. There were things to be done.
    A car with Massachusetts plates cut him off, but he didn’t flinch. He just slowed down, and as he did, he noticed the car’s bumper sticker.
    Time heals all wounds.
    (And so does revenge)
    Brendan half smiled. “Aye, we might just be finding the truth of that, then.”
    C aitlin Brady walked out of the Manchester, New Hampshire hospital, her nurse’s scrubs in the bag slung over her shoulder and her daughter Fiona’s small hand in hers. The four-­year-­old girl was skipping and humming a happy tune. She was always like this after a visit with Eddy. Caitlin completely understood. He’d always made her feel better, too. In fact, without him, she