Dark Magic, page 12
part #3 of Hunted Shifters Legacy Series
“Is this our honeymoon?” she mused. She could feel the excitement in the air as the crowd watched the two people inside the ring: pale Irishmen with light blond hair, both muscled with different body types—tall and lanky versus short and bulky.
“Sort of. I need to fight.”
She raised a brow. “Now?”
“Yeah. It’ll catch a relative’s attention.”
Oh.
“Where…?”
“All you need to do is sit there and cheer for me.” He grinned wickedly, making her squeeze her legs together at the electricity that zinged there. “Can you do that, sweetheart?”
She couldn’t tell if it was a role or just Ovie being playful, but Leila decided to play with him. Tiptoeing, she placed her hands on his shoulders, watching awareness enter his expression and feeling satisfied at the reaction. Then she placed her lips on his cheek, pressing softly and keeping the kiss light.
“I’ll cheer for you. Do me proud, babe.”
The muscle there ticked, right before he relaxed. He gave her a lazy smile, one that made hers disappear.
“I always do, especially in bed.”
Oh, the little fiend.
Ovie strutted away, gait confident as he approached someone up front and they discussed terms of his fighting. Leila went to the bleachers and sat down, refusing to blush. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and affected calm, sticking to her comfortable stance this time: regal, confident, unbothered. In a way, it worked, as no one approached her. She might have felt glances from time to time because of her aloofness and the expensive clothes she was wearing—Chanel, thank the Lord—but mostly everyone stayed out of her way.
Good.
Two more fights came on, but he didn’t return to her. Finally, it was his turn, and she watched as the announcer yelled out his underground name and called up his opponent: a heavyweight, bearded man who reminded her so much of Malcolm that it jarred her.
She inhaled quietly, then let out the air. She kept repeating this as she trained her eyes on the ring, noting one different thing about the opponent this time. Unlike the previous one Ovie had, this one didn’t say a word, keeping his silence as much as Ovie did and seemingly keeping his energy contained, too. The two only had eyes for each other, ready for any sudden movement. It made her restless, considering how she’d have already moved if that were her.
But Ovie’s patience was limitless, as it was the quiet, broader man who moved first. He rushed forward, swinging a fist and trying to get a hit in between Ovie’s blocks. Ovie managed to hold him off, but one swing was strong enough to connect and threw Ovie’s back against the metal chain, rattling it.
Her body remained perfectly still as he pushed himself off it and charged the man, ducking at the next swing and elbowing the other in the stomach. It connected, making the man grunt as he stumbled before rolling to a crouching position. Then they both went on the offense, charging each other and getting as many hits in as possible. The movements were fast, experienced.
The crowd was on its feet in no time.
Leila joined that crowd, though she didn’t jump like the rest of them. Instead, she crossed her arms over her stomach, watching serenely and pretending it didn’t affect her when it did—every hit, every disadvantage against Ovie making her worry, making her want to jump in there and defend. But that wasn’t the only thing she watched, as her eyes couldn’t seem to tear away from the sight of glistening sweat and muscles contracting and bunching whenever he moved. Ovie’s movements were a combination of grace and power, the precise control back and making a ball of heat curl in her stomach.
She pressed her arms tighter over it, reluctant to let it flourish. Afraid of where it would lead. Then the idea that she was afraid of it—when she was mostly never afraid of anything—set her teeth on edge, and that was enough to break her out of her trance.
As subtly as she could, she glanced around but kept her head firmly forward. She spotted a few quiet onlookers, too, amid the screaming crowd, but no one familiar or standing out. Perhaps she was the one standing out.
Leila glanced back at the ring just in time, as Ovie lifted the broad man by his shoulders and heaved him down. The smackdown was forceful, taking the composure away from the man as Ovie rolled him around and locked his legs around the man’s neck. Mr. Opponent gripped Ovie’s ankles, but he didn’t budge, close to choking him.
The man lifted his hands in surrender. Ovie’s grip loosened as they stood up and separated, his gray eyes filled with victory and a deep fire. He turned in her direction, then let out a wide, unbelievably charming grin.
Insides fluttering, she grinned back.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a woman in a simple brown coat approaching him.
Chapter 16
“I don’t get it. If she was one of your aunts, why are we traveling in a cramped, rented car instead of just accepting her offer to travel in her car?” The words were asked matter-of-factly, but with a hint of annoyance in Leila’s tone. “She approached you, and she invited you to dinner at her home. That means she wants to see you, and that means she has no ill will…oh.”
Amusement danced in his body, but he stifled the smile. “Oh?”
“This is a getaway car,” she concluded. “In case things go wrong.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you thought of it. You always think ahead. I should’ve known.”
“So do you,” he drawled, giving her coat a pointed glance. Ovie knew enough to know it was one of her branded ones, but not only that. “Don’t tell me those daggers and vials you have in there are just for display.”
The annoyance left her face, and she gave him a very smug grin. “Don’t forget my luggage in the trunk. It’s my first time bringing as many weapons as clothes and makeup.”
He raised a brow, then focused on his driving. The afternoon sun was bright, the weather a direct contrast from the flight. The road they were on was bumpy and twisted, and it was as familiar as the back of his hand.
“We’re an hour or two away from the house, since my relatives don’t live in the city proper. They might ask us to stay the night there, depending on how things go.”
“It’s so beautiful here,” she whispered, wide eyes swinging from side to side. The fascination was clear in her tone. “I’m a city girl, but this…this is untouched. Like the realm, but safe. Well, safer.”
“It depends on the area. You’ve probably heard the Irish folklore of the mountains singing with magic, of the untouched fields ripe with it. Some of it is true, while others are made up to confuse those wanting a hand in it. It’s closely tied with Celtic mythology.”
“So fairies, pixies, leprechauns?”
“Not in the human world. But there are uncharted pockets here, for sure.”
They passed by twin mountains looming from both sides, which opened up to a narrower road and the glittering ocean on one side. Then, more fields, filled with lush flowers and odd rock formations. He turned the car a corner, squeezing it between two more flat, mountain edges before rolling up a mountain pass—up, up, circling and avoiding the edge of the road. Leila, who was directly on that side, merely kept looking around, unfazed by the height.
Finally, they passed by a village perched on the mountainside, the cottages small and the people outside doing domestic chores: laundry, sheep-herding, the likes. These people ogled at the car until the village disappeared from sight, after which Ovie finally floored the pedal to park the car beside a twisted, white tree.
There were a few more cars there, housed under wooden stilts and a straw roof. They got out and peered ahead, eyeing the lone cottage a few meters away.
“Is this where you lived?”
“Yes.”
“It’s lovely.”
“It’s simple,” he returned, then motioned for them to keep moving. The sun would be setting soon, and the moon would be out in a few hours. Up at this great height, it made him itch, but he ignored that.
As they neared, the front door to the cottage opened, stirring the planted flowers in the front yard. The older woman from the underground ring earlier gave him a smile, then eyed Leila in surprise.
“My wife,” was all he said, keeping it casual.
Silence.
Then Mary Fitzgerald motioned for them to follow her to the back.
* * *
“They sure are…hospitable.”
Leila’s careful words made his mouth quirk because he was sure she had more opinions that she kept to herself.
“They are.”
“Are they always like this?”
Ovie shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”
She lifted the saucer holding the porcelain cup offered to her earlier, inhaling the light green liquid inside. Delight shone in her eyes.
“Mint,” she stated in awe. “With hints of floral and honey. I don’t think I’ve tried that combination yet.”
“You’re British,” he pointed out.
“I live in New York,” she shot back. “They hate their tea, unless it’s that milk tea craze. Which is surprisingly good, but not as good as coffee. Anyway, I do know my tea etiquette.” Smoothly, she lifted the cup to her lips, taking quiet little sips. Her eyes lit up now, and she softly groaned at the back of her throat. Her gaze strayed to him. “Your aunt wouldn’t happen to be open to the idea of sharing whatever she’s mixed in here, would she?”
“Go ask her.”
“Maybe later.”
The backyard was filled with more flowers, closed in with a fence of white wood. Ahead, the cliff met the perfect view below: the road they traveled on, and the lush fields stretching on for miles before meeting other looming mountains. He saw other villages dotted here and there like ants on the field, but nothing like the crowded city. They were all small, compact, somewhat private.
He sipped on his tea, understanding what made her react when the hot concoction slithered into his senses. It was warm and soothing, and he supposed there were some ingredients here meant just for that. Maybe some potion drops. Ovie was sure they wouldn’t kill him, but helping Leila was another matter entirely.
“They probably saw us earlier, driving here,” she said in observation. He nodded. “Creepy.”
“Like you don’t keep tabs of everyone that arrives in our home.”
“True,” she reluctantly agreed.
The conversation was light, with an underlying tension as they awaited dinner. Aunt Mary hadn’t said much, only that they were preparing for that dinner in the kitchen and insisting for the two to stay here and relax. She’d been a young aunt when he’d left with Edward, but now she was older and less friendly than when they’d last met.
He understood the wariness, of course. He wouldn’t have liked to deal with the young, wild version of himself, either.
The smell of stew permeated the air, decidedly stronger than the one in the pub. A gust of wind danced across the scattered flowers. Leila stilled, while he did his best not to. On the outside, they both stayed relaxed.
The back door of the cottage opened a second or two later.
“Either of you two want to help in the kitchen?”
The familiar voice had him standing up, then turning to face the door. An older version of Aunt Mary met his gaze, gray eyes lighter than his with hints of blue. Her face had crags and creases, especially around those eyes, and her pale, yellow-white teeth came out when she smiled at him.
Ovie’s heart dropped—then he was striding over, stopping short just inches away when he remembered his leaving and wondered if he was as welcome as before. But the smile remained, and her arms came out to pull him in. The embrace was so unexpected—and so familiar that it staggered him. He hugged her back, tightening it a bit without hurting before she gently tugged him off her.
At arm’s length, Marie Fitzgerald studied him with a critical eye, seemingly approving whatever it was she saw.
“Perhaps I should help in the kitchen, and you can catch up,” Leila said lightly, but with no room for arguments. She fell in step with Aunt Mary, who frowned at her but reluctantly took her inside. The sight of the two women side-by-side—one dressed in a silk violet dress under her coat, the other dressed in a plain cotton blouse and jeans—was a relatively odd one, but no one seemed to care.
When they were out of sight, Aunt Marie ushered him back to the seats, where she observed him. She’d brought out a pot of tea this time, pouring a second cup for him and a first for her.
“So. You’re married.”
Ovie nodded, careful not to lie. “Yes. Just recently.”
“Are you still an animal?”
The difference in term wasn’t lost on him. “Yes.”
“Wild?”
“I can control it better.”
“And the man who took you? Is he still the big, bad wolf who’d charm you before blowing your house down?”
The description of Edward made him smile.
“Panther. And yeah, I suppose he is.”
There was some break in the conversation as Aunt Marie sipped on her tea, sharp eyes on the roads and fields below.
“Your wife looks like him.”
“You miss nothing, do you?”
She scoffed into her tea. “Never, not even in old age.”
This time, he smirked. “And this is the part where I tell you you’re not old and you’re still very beautiful, and you tell me to shush it.”
Aunt Marie beamed, extremely pleased. “You haven’t forgotten a thing.”
“I tend not to.”
“And you’re as cheeky as ever. Is she able to keep up with that cheekiness?”
Ovie sipped his tea, hiding another smile. “She’s worse than me, Aunt Marie. Got a mouth that spits fire.”
“Sounds interesting.” Boldly, she peered up at him. “What are you really here for?”
“Is everyone coming for dinner?”
“That depends. You didn’t exactly announce your arrival, but we did inform those we could. How long are you staying here for?”
“It depends on how warm the welcome is,” he admitted softly.
“Oh, Oliver. You already know my stance on that. I guess we’ll see what the others think.”
Her honesty was candid and raw, stirring emotions in him that he thought he’d buried long ago. Aunt Marie had always been the one to take care of him, and she’d been devastated when he had to leave.
But everyone had moved on.
“I guess we will.”
“You haven’t answered my question, you know.”
“Like I said, it depends on the welcome.”
Aunt Marie shot him a look as if he didn’t fool her for a second. The steel in her eyes reminded him he had a purpose here, and this wasn’t just some casual visit.
“Clever boy,” she muttered, finishing her drink. She placed the cup back on the saucer with a loud clink, then harrumphed. “I’ll get it out of you one way or another.”
“You always do, Aunt Marie.”
Whatever she’d been about to say was cut off when the door opened again, and Aunt Mary told them that dinner was ready.
The sun disappeared behind the other looming mountains, and the moon was just starting to glow. This would’ve been a good place to shift, with its privacy and wide fields—but he kept that opinion to himself.
When Ovie stepped inside the cottage, the first thing he heard was someone ordering Leila to help in bringing the food to the table. That was followed by him seeing the kitchen, where he found an array of food in portions larger than he’d expected. He glanced at Aunt Marie, who shrugged.
He then glanced at Leila, noting down the pleasant lines on her face and realizing she didn’t mind being ordered about. In fact, she and Aunt Mary seemed to have gotten to some kind of camaraderie, going back and forth with arranging the table and finally deeming it set.
Someone came down from the stairs, footsteps thumping awkwardly. When Ovie saw the spark of red, he paused, watching as the figure finally appeared in the hallway connecting the kitchen and dining room. Leila passed by at the same time…and she did a mild double-take.
“You!” she commented, shoulders straightening.
“Yes, him,” Aunt Mary clipped out firmly. “My husband. He had to take a hot bath to get rid of the kinks and bruises.”
Those bruises were still there, of course, and Ovie knew they would turn swollen in a few days’ time.
“Pretty large kinks and bruises, which I haven’t gotten in a while,” the man replied. His accent was thicker than Ovie’s relatives’, clueing him into the fact that the man must not live in the city. A hand was lifted towards Ovie. “That was a good fight. You’re different from the other fighters I’ve been up against.”
“How different?”
“Just more precise, with a more diverse set of techniques. Have you ever thought about becoming a boxer? Those punches are crazy.”
Ovie smiled slightly. “Maybe I just got lucky.”
“Bull. If luck ever played a role in fighting, it’s with those drunkards fighting in alleys. I’m Patrick, by the way. Patrick Monroe.”
“Oliver Fitzgerald.”
Blue eyes studied Ovie openly. “I would love to challenge you to another fight, but I have a feeling you’d just use it as fuel. You have that fire in your eyes.”
This time, Ovie smirked. “It doesn’t hurt trying.”
“Pat, come help out, too,” Aunt Mary called firmly, putting an end to the conversation. Leila was just taking off her apron, cotton brown such a contrast to her silk dress that Ovie could only stare. More footsteps thundered down from the stairs, materializing into gangly kids that had Mary’s intense stare and Patrick’s hair color. The eldest, who was probably around twelve, had Patrick’s bulk and looked like he wouldn’t stop growing anytime soon.
When the front door opened, they were bombarded with a sight that had Ovie overwhelmed, though he tried his best to hide it. He greeted a few more aunts and cousins, then stepped back to let them enter. Someone from the back beelined their way to the front, and instantly there was a small, willowy woman smiling at him brightly. A jolt of recognition came, making him realize that while she was older, she looked pretty much the same.
