Page 32 of Beer & Broomsticks
Ruairí wantednothing more than to see Bridget secure in her home behind a wall of wards that even Loman, with his disturbingly powerful abilities couldn’t breach. But he stayed behind in case he needed to buy her time to escape.
“Where’s my son?” Loman growled the question at Castor. “I know he’s here because I scryed using my own blood.”
“And you’re too stupid to realize a spell utilizing your blood might bring you to me?” Alexander taunted.
How Loman kept his cool in the face of his brother’s taunt would be a riddle Ruairí wasn’t likely to solve. The man had never been one to keep his temper in check, as anyone on the receiving end of his fists knew.
“I’ve his hair.”
With a careless shrug, Castor leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. “Hmm, okay, so maybe you aren’t as dumb as I thought.”
Appearing to recognize the tactic to expose his back, Loman shifted and glanced behind him, immediately zeroing in on Ruairí standing next to Quentin. The wide grin of delight was belied by the hatred in his eyes. “Hello, boyo. No hug for your Uncle Loman, then?”
“I’m saving them all for me new Uncle Alex,” he said with a devil-may-care attitude and a buff of his nails on his dust-covered apron. “I like him best, I do.”
Castor laughed in genuine amusement as a scarlet flush climbed his twin’s neck. “Poor Loman. You always were a terrible sport about your toys.”
“I will kill you for real this time, Antoin—”
“You can call me Alex.”
Loman’s skin was the color of crushed mulberries, and he looked like he’d have apoplexy at any moment. Ruairí prayed it would be what took the fucker out. Perhaps ol’ Uncle Alex knew what he was about.
“Ronan!” Loman roared. “Yeah, and you’d better show yourself, son. I’ll not have you siding with traitors and pantywaists.”
“I’d rather side with them than you, all the same,” Ronan said coolly as he sauntered around the corner from the hallway to the main room.
“You’ll give me the Sword of Goibhniu, or I’ll kill ya. Simple as that.”
“I don’t have it to give you,” Ronan said with a shrug. “You’ve taken back that miserable pile of rocks, yeah? Have a search for it and see if you can’t find it there.”
Within the span of a blink, Loman had thrown a ball of fire straight at Ronan’s handsome face. With no time to duck, Ronan would’ve been fried to a crisp had time not stopped.
The only ones frozen were Ronan and Loman.
“How… what…. Did you just freeze the two of them?” Ruairí asked in a choked voice. Never had he seen time stand still, manipulated by one’s whim.
“Yes,” Castor said with a wide grin. “Be a sport and move your cousin out of the line of fire, won’t you?”
Unsure how much time he had, Ruairí practically tackled Ronan at Castor’s request, knocking his cousin out of the way to avoid the fireball.
“I owe you this one, you fucker,” Alexander said savagely as he punched his twin square in the nose.
Time snapped back with a pop, and the fire exploded against the wall as Loman hit the floor from the force of his brother’s blow. Before Ruairí could scramble up to extinguish the blaze, Quentin had snuffed out all the flames, both the one from Loman, and the one crawling along the ceiling, searching for material unprotected by Ruairí’s earlier charm.
He sagged back against a stool, happy he didn’t have to tell Bridget her beloved business had burned to the ground.
“So, this is the infamous Loman O’Connor, then?”
The surprise of another behind him threatened Ruairí’s bladder control. He was becoming too jumpy by far.
Cian strolled in, hands fisted and shoved into the pockets of his jeans and a deceptively curious expression on his face. The casualness was all a ruse, and he was actually in hisI’m about to throw your arse out of me pubstate.
Stopping five feet away, Cian’s gaze swept up and down Loman as the other man climbed to his feet and spat blood on the floor. With an arctic glare for Castor, Loman worked his jaw.
“I swear on our dear departed mother’s soul, I’ll kill you,Alex,” he promised as he swiped the back of his wrist across his bleeding mouth. “You can take that to the bank, ya can.”
“I’m quaking in my boots,” Alexander deadpanned. “Don’t come back here, Loman. You’ve done enough to those present.”
