Hell Hound's Revenge (Fae 0f The North Shore Book 1) Page 3

  Sweet Danu, what was he thinking?

  He worked alone. Always alone. He could not succumb to any contrary impulse, and the last thing he needed was to drag a human girl along with him wherever he went. It was preposterous.

  “Agh!” He whirled and headed back toward the clinic. Christ, he was making himself dizzy.

  “What are you doing?” yelled an already familiar voice—so familiar the sound pierced straight to his heart. Cormac jerked to a stop, and his head shot up.

  Meghan.

  She was standing on the pavement in front of the clinic with her suitcase in one hand and a small paper sack in the other. “You’re going to wear a groove in the sidewalk if you keep that up.”

  He met her eyes. Fuck, they stole his breath, they were so beautiful. Her thin camisole barely concealed the effects of the cool breeze. Her dark curls fell over her flannel-clad shoulders, so stunning she could have been a faerie herself.

  It only took a few seconds for him to close most of the gap that separated them, though he stayed far enough away to resist touching. His gaze dropped to the paper sack. “Did the doctor give ye something to feel better?”

  She gave a little self-deprecating laugh. “For the rash maybe. I don’t think anything is going to cure me of crazy. I swear to God, I was telling the truth when I said I’m not on any drugs, but at first I thought I saw…” She glanced up, as if looking into a tree. “Um… And then I thought I saw you turn into a…”

  She paused and her cheeks flushed.

  Cormac frowned. She might only be a pádraig, but he didn’t like her questioning her sanity.

  “Well. Never mind.” She held up the bag from the clinic’s pharmacy. “I’m guessing you paid for this, am I right? No one ever asked me for money.”

  Cormac had done exactly that, but he let his silence be his confirmation. He got the strong sense she didn’t like being in debt to anyone.

  She confirmed his suspicion when she blurted out, “I can’t pay you back right away, but I will.”

  He shrugged. “I was happy to do it.” And he’d be happy to do a lot more. She was too skinny. There was barely anything in her suitcase, and he suspected her wallet was empty.

  “Well…thanks.” She raised her hand and turned to go. “For everything. You’ve been really nice.”

  “Meghan!” he said sharply, reaching for her wrist but not actually grabbing it. “Wait.”

  Wait for what? Let her go.

  No! Make her stay. Keep her.

  No, not keep her.

  Great. Now his brain was stutter stepping just like his feet. He’d never felt so confused in his whole damn life.

  “You know,” she said, “I never did get your name.”

  He looked up. Surprised. During the fifteen-mile run, he’d come to feel like he knew Meghan Walsh. Knew her very well. It was a lie, of course. He didn’t know her. But here she didn’t even know his name?

  “It’s Cormac. Cormac MacConall.”

  There was a flash of surprise in her eyes, then a self-satisfied smile spread across her lips. “Anyone ever call you Mack?”

  “No,” he said, confused by her question. Then he added, “Are you going to start?”

  She shook her head. “Thanks again for helping me. I didn’t expect—”

  “It was no trouble.” But wasn’t that the most colossal lie? The mere sight of her had his heart raging in his chest, his instinctive urges driving him toward madness. And he had no choice but to push it all down. She was the very definition of “trouble.”

  Still, a little trouble would be worth it if she could get him closer to his goal.

  He could get her some food. Make sure her head was on straight, then make his proposition and let the cards fall where they may. If she said, “no,” then so be it. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

  “I’m sure you had somewhere to go today,” she went on, “someone to see. I won’t hold you up any longer.” Her goodbye was interrupted by the sound of her belly growling.

  The hound in him leapt forward with only one thought on its mind. Protect!

  “You’re hungry,” Cormac said. “I’ll buy ye dinner.”

  Her lips parted and her eyes flashed with grateful relief. But then, just as quickly, her happy expression faltered. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Thank you again. I meant it. But I’m good from here.”

  “Then just a drink,” he said quickly.

  She let out a small breathy laugh and rolled her eyes. “And here we go…”

  “What does that mean? We can find a bar. We can…talk.” Cormac did a little internal head shake. He didn’t talk. In fact, sometimes days went by without him uttering a word.

  “Oh, right,” she said. “Talk.” She made air quotes around the word.

  He tipped his head to the side and tried to make sense of her attitude. “Are ye always this cynical?”

  Her eyes jerked up to his. “Of course.”

  Well, he thought, at least that will help keep her safe.

  The breeze picked up a long curl and blew it across the top of her head, dropping it on the opposite side. Cormac resisted the temptation to move it back.

  His eyes left her hair and settled on hers. “Regardless, let me buy ye dinner.”

  “I didn’t say yes to a drink yet, and now it’s back to dinner?”

  Cormac stepped closer though there were still a couple feet between them. “Have dinner with me,” he said his voice going low. “Hear me out on something. If you’re not into it, we’ll say goodbye.”

  Meghan still hesitated, but when her stomach growled again, he knew she’d give in. A wave of satisfaction washed over him when she said, “Okay, then. But just dinner.”

  Chapter Five

  MEGHAN

  The bar was small and dark. The stylized signage had to be at least sixty years old, and most of the patrons—whose only style said “north woods”—looked like they’d been there just as long. An old man with bushy white eyebrows stood behind the bar. Straight-backed wooden booths lined the sides of the room, and a dozen tables were set evenly across the floor. The place was nearly full.

  Meghan suggested a table by the door, but instead Cormac led her toward the most private spot—a booth in the back corner. She was instantly on alert, but like an idiot, she followed.

  When they reached it, he sat on the side facing the door. Meghan set her suitcase on the opposite bench and sat down but still found it difficult to look at him directly. He was too good looking for his own good. For her own good. Like, seriously. What kind of masochist was she? If she wasn’t careful, she was going to let her body make decisions that she should really leave up to her brain. Her very sober brain.

  A waitress, arguably older than the bartender himself, limped over and set square paper napkins on the table. “Welcome,” she said, then her eyes landed on Meghan’s suitcase. “Traveling through?”

  “Aye, and whiskey,” Cormac said, apparently not one for civilities. “No ice. And one of each of those things written on the board.” Then he jerked his chin in Meghan’s direction. “Whiskey for her, too.”

  “I can order for myself, thank you.”

  The corners of his smooth lips twitched, and he nodded at her to go ahead. She immediately felt a flush of heat in her cheeks when the waitress turned to her.

  “Ginger ale, please,” she said.

  The waitress nodded and hobbled away.

  Meghan watched the old woman go, then she turned toward Cormac and leaned into the table. “You could be more polite.”

  “Would ye like that?” he asked, as if he sincerely cared what she’d like.

  She settled back against the booth. “Is this your usual spot?”

  “I think my da used to come here, but I’ve never been. Other than the cottage I’ve been renting the last couple days, I’m rarely anywhere more than once.”

  Before Meghan could process the information he’d shared, she was distracted by a family at a nearby table. The parents wer
e trying to wrestle their toddler back onto his seat. All he wanted to do was stand on the chair.

  Cormac caught her watching. “Ye like kids?”

  “I don’t really know,” she said, turning toward him. “I didn’t have any brothers or sisters. Not even many friends growing up. I know I like to watch them, though. Do you? Like kids, that is.”

  Cormac’s gaze left Meghan’s face and drifted over to the family. The little boy had leaned over too far, and his chair toppled. The father caught him before his head cracked on the table.

  “Aye. I like kids. That little guy reminds me of my youngest brother, Madigan. He was always doing stupid shit like that.” The corners of his mouth had been tipped up with reminiscence, but then his expression quickly darkened.

  The waitress returned with their drinks. Meghan took a sip, then choked when she saw that Cormac’s glass was poured nearly to the brim with straight whiskey. No ice.

  He didn’t seem to notice her reaction, but rather seemed to be concentrating on keeping their conversation going. “No brothers or sisters, huh? I can’t imagine what that would be like.”

  Meghan was grateful that he was willing to lead. She had driven for hours in silence with the douchebag who’d agreed to take her to Canada.

  “My dad left when I was four. I don’t really remember much about him, except for how he smelled. Sometimes I’ll pass someone who uses the same kind of aftershave, and I’ll remember him, but like I said, not much. My mom died a year after he did. I remember her.”

  A sincere look of pain crossed his face. Not pity, but pain. “I’m so sorry. How did she die?”

  Meghan stared into his beautiful gray eyes for a long beat, then checked herself. “I’m not exactly sure. OD’d I think. My aunt and uncle never really explained. Probably thought I was too young to understand, and by the time I got older… Well, it didn’t really matter how it happened. She was gone, and the details weren’t going to change anything.”

  “Ye miss her,” he said, and he sounded like he understood.

  “Every day.”

  “Is that who raised ye, then—your aunt and uncle? They must have been good people to take care of ye.”

  Meghan felt her lips twitch. She could find the humor in his question, but only because she’d put enough distance between that time of her life and now.

  When she didn’t answer right away, Cormac’s eyebrows drew together.

  “Sure,” she said, trying to diffuse his look of concern. “My uncle didn’t talk to me much. He smoked two packs a day and watched a lot of the Blackhawks. And the Cubs and the Bears for that matter… He barely left his recliner, except for when he and my aunt went to their weekly meeting. It was like a social club for history buffs."

  God, why was she telling him all this? He couldn’t really care. She was going to bore him to death.

  But…he was looking at her expectantly, silently encouraging her to go on. Maybe?

  Oh, well. In for a penny, in for a pound.

  “My Aunt Darlene, on the other hand, she hovered. And I mean hovered. I swear she’d go rooting through my underwear drawer whenever I was at school, looking for drugs, I suppose. Like mother like daughter, right? I think she’d already decided how I was going to turn out. It was like every morning she got up and thought, This is the day Meghan flunks out of school, or comes stumbling home drunk…or pregnant…”

  She held up her hand before he got any ideas. “None of which happened, by the way.”

  Then she noticed the intense way he was still staring at her. “Sorry. I’m talking too much. How about you? Parents?”

  “Mine both died when I was young, though I wasn’t as young as you were.”

  Meghan swallowed and nodded her head, taking that in. “What was your mother like?”

  He shrugged and looked away. “On Sunday nights, she’d make us s’mores in the fireplace, but she made them with peanut butter cups, instead of plain chocolate.”

  The corners of Meghan’s mouth tipped up. “I get the feeling she had a bit of a sweet tooth.”

  Cormac’s face lit up with a grin, the likes of which she’d yet to see on him. He turned back toward her, and she thought there might even be some extra moisture in his eyes. “Aye,” he said. “That’s exactly right.”

  A beat of silence passed between them. And then another. Finally, she said, “Sometimes life sucks.”

  He raised his glass and tipped it toward her. She raised hers and they clinked them together. “That it does,” he said.

  She set her glass down, stared at it for a long second, then cleared her throat. “Okay, shoot.”

  “Shoot?”

  “You said there was something you wanted to talk about.”

  Cormac shook his head then leaned in. “First, I feed ye.”

  His insistence gave Meghan a warm, safe feeling like she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

  “And ye can show me your drawings.”

  Meghan blinked. Granted, her brain had been on the fritz as of late, but she was pretty sure she’d never mentioned her sketches to him before. “How do you know about my drawings?”

  “Up on the hill. I saw your sketchbook in your suitcase. I assume the pages aren’t blank?”

  “You like art?” God, he was too good to be true, but she didn’t usually show people her works in progress. Even when they were being nice about it, she could feel their judgment. The last guy she’d shown her drawings to called them doodles.

  “Aye, Meghan. I like art.” Cormac’s steely gray eyes locked on hers. Then they warmed, taking on a smoldering heat, which brought a red hot awareness to the apex of her thighs. She stalled, crossing her legs to quell the ache.

  “Well…if you want to see… But fair warning, they’re not much.” She clicked open her bag then slid the book in front of him.

  Cormac flipped through the first couple pages of urban street scenes, mostly brick wall details, the old corner sign for Garrett Street where she used to live, a still life of a discarded beer bottle lying beside a fire hydrant….

  Then he came to the one so different from all the rest. It was of a woman, standing there on a blank canvas, her back to the viewer. Her hair lifted on the breeze. It wasn’t from real life like the others, but actually from a reoccurring dream she’d started having shortly after leaving home.

  “Amazing,” Cormac muttered.

  “What?” she asked. She couldn’t tell if that meant good or bad.

  “The level of detail. They’re nearly photographic.” He sounded almost proud of her, which was both really nice and seriously weird. Still, her face warmed at his praise.

  Then he flipped the page, and his expression fell flat.

  Meghan looked to see which drawing had lost her his admiration. Her heart sank when she saw it because she’d just drawn it earlier that day, and she thought it was one of her best. Apparently she’d been wrong about that.

  The sketch was of a good-looking guy with dark tousled hair and lush eyelashes. She’d seen him in a diner shortly after the douchebag dumped her in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere. He’d been there with his large extended family. There were so many of them, they took up three booths, which was why he’d captured her attention.

  Meghan often liked to imagine what it would be like to have a family, to have so many people to love her… But she couldn’t think about things like that for more than a few seconds. She hadn’t had a real family of her own for a very long time. Eventually the memories and the longing would creep in and force her to look away.

  This time, however, she hadn’t been able to resist looking. She thought the guy had cottoned on to what she was doing, but he pretended not to notice. As a result, she’d been able to capture the moment, his casual attitude, right down to the amused glint in his eyes.

  Cormac closed the book with an abrupt snap and frowned. “Was that of your boyfriend?”

  “Uh…no. Why?”

  “No reason,” he said, relaxing. “You’re good.”

>   “Thanks,” she muttered, suddenly feeling self-conscious again. She pulled the book back toward her.

  “So how old are ye?” he asked.

  “Twenty-one.” Meghan braced for twenty-questions.

  “And did ye drive up from Chicago this morning?”

  “What?” For some reason this question surprised her. Probably because she hadn’t thought about Chicago in a while. She tried not to. “Oh, no. I left there three years ago. This morning I was in Des Moines, Iowa.”

  “Ye go to school there?” he asked.

  “No. I don’t go to school.”

  “So what’s in Iowa?”

  “Corn fields,” she said, making a joke. There was no way he needed her whole life story, and she’d already told him about trying to hitch a ride to Canada with a complete douchebag stranger she’d met only last night. God, what he must think of me.

  The food came out, and several platters were laid on their table. There was a basket of chicken strips and onion rings, which smelled amazing, but also deep fried pickles, cheese curds, a bowl of beer cheese soup with popcorn floating on top, and a generous slice of French silk pie.

  “Whoa.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen so much food all at once.

  “Eat until you’re full,” Cormac said. “I’ll eat what ye leave behind.”

  “We’ll have to get a doggie bag.”

  To this, Cormac threw back his head and laughed. It was a beautiful sound. Full and rich, made even more beautiful by the startled reaction of those around them. It made his gray eyes go wet and silvery, crinkling at the corners.

  “Dig in, Meghan. I’ll nurse my drink.”

  She hesitated, but then the delicious aromas hit her nose, and her stomach growled. Besides the bitter diner coffee, she hadn’t eaten anything solid since the bag of ranch potato chips she’d had for breakfast in the douchebag’s car.

  She was vaguely aware of Cormac watching her as she sampled everything. It all tasted amazing, and then she got to the basket of golden fried cheese curds. She took a bite, and chewed slowly, closing her eyes. They were so velvety, so salty and delicious, she couldn’t help herself. She let out a low, slow groan of pure satisfied pleasure.