About Face (Wolf Within) (35 page)

“Are you sick?” Her nose wrinkled doubtfully. I didn’t smell sick. If her senses were sharp enough to know the difference between healthy and ill, she was probably older than thirteen. I revised my estimation of her age up by two or three years. The onset of puberty produced more than physical changes in Pack. Our senses sharpened as our bodies developed.

Instead of answering, I gave her a weak smile and sipped more beer. I couldn’t eat the cheese or fruit. I was still on a liquid diet.

I gestured to the harp, offering to let her play, and she flushed.

“Oh, I’m not good enough to play in front of all these people. Declan says…said I was hopeless.”

Anger burned through me. Gwenith stared at me, her green eyes huge.

“Play.” I pointed to the harp.

“Ah, it’s so old,” she began doubtfully, but she sidled closer, drawn against her will.

Her fingers hesitated above the strings as she bit her lip. A shudder went through her entire body as her desire struggled against her fear.

Desire won.

Her playing was tentative, but sound. She had the basics down and all she needed was encouragement to find her own interpretation of the music. Afraid to make mistakes, she muzzled her own creativity. I could see Declan’s teaching in every hesitation, each tense muscle and held breath. Her eyes filled with tears when she made her first mistake, but when I smiled, she continued.

“I know that was awful, but…” she began at the end of the song, head down as she waited for me ream her out.

What the fuck kind of a teacher had Declan been? I couldn’t wait to show this girl her true potential.

Siobhan stalked over, her black skirt stiff as her outraged expression. “I asked you to play. Gwenith’s not advanced enough to play in front of the pack.”

Gwenith’s face turned bright red, then stark white, and with an inarticulate cry of apology, she dashed away.

I glared at Siobhan.

“And frankly, I’ve never heard
Carolan’s Farewell
played the way you did it. I’m not sure I liked it, and maybe you ought to practice more so it sounds the way other people play it. If you’re not sure of the music, don’t attempt the song. No more classical music. We’re Irish, and we like Irish music. Do you need me to find you some sheet music? There’s got to be some. Declan never needed it, but it’s apparent you do.”

She gave me a searching, puzzled look of contempt. “Honestly, the way Paddy and Fee raved about your playing, I was expecting a lot more.”

For a moment I could only stare. I fantasized about throwing my Guinness in her face, but reminded myself people grieve in all different ways. Siobhan Carmichael was full of fury she didn’t know how to get rid of. I was the most convenient target.

Damn, it was hard to convince myself not to react.

I set down my drink and cheese plate and went back to the harp. Irish music. I didn’t know much Irish music, and what I did was on the lighter, cheerier side, hardly appropriate for a funeral, even if it was an Irish one.

I replayed
Carolan’s Farewell
. I played it the way I thought Siobhan Carmichael would want it. It felt like a cheat and a lie, but I did it.

* * * *

My fingers were bleeding. I wiped them on my black skirt and decided I was done playing the harp for the day. Siobhan Carmichael had unearthed a music stand and several sheets of appropriately anguished Irish music.

I was starving, thirsty, and felt about as low as I’d ever felt in my life.

Fee bonded with Colm O’Reilly and Deirdre Collins. None of them smiled as they exchanged bond pendants and boxes. Celine Ducharme, as the ranking Councilor, performed the ceremony. Almost everyone cried.

I’d tried to join the line that formed in front of them so I could hug Fee, but Siobhan shooed me back to the harp with a flap of her hands.

What was I? The fucking paid help?

Bleeding was the last straw. I escaped into the courtyard. The rain had eased, but a light drizzle sifted down from the sky. I didn’t give a shit. I crunched my way across the gravel to the fountain and sat where I could see the spot where Paddy had fallen.

I felt alone. Bereft. Murphy spent the entire day with his family, surrounded by his pack. I’d played the fucking harp in the background. Sure, Murphy listened to me play. I’d felt the power of his love from a room away, but it wasn’t the same as a touch.

I knew Siobhan Carmichael was angry. I suspected she knew the truth of her bond mate’s death and blamed me. I understood Alannah Doyle hated me and maybe it was better if I’d kept away from the center of things because she was there with Fee almost every minute and no one wanted a confrontation today of all days.

I couldn’t think of a way to circumvent Siobhan and my fingers hurt almost as much as my heart. If I could just sit here in the rain for five minutes, maybe I could think straight again.

Shoes crunched on the wet gravel. I looked up to see Jason Allerton. He had a black umbrella, which he graciously extended to cover me as well, but I was already soaked and past caring about it.

“I’ve got to leave,” he said. “I’ve got reservations on a flight to London. The Great Council is convening tomorrow to discuss what’s happened within Mac Tire.”

I bit my lip.

“I wanted to say goodbye. Liam informed me today that he no longer wishes to be my Advisor. I wondered if you felt the same way.”

“Guilty,” I croaked, damning my stupid throat. Jason leaned forward, his brow crinkled in confusion. “Murphy,” I tried to clarify. “He feels guilty. For killing Mick.”

“Ah,” said Jason, his face clearing. “Are you saying he feels he doesn’t deserve to be an Advisor?”

I nodded vigorously.

“So I shouldn’t take his resignation seriously?”

I kept nodding.

“Does this mean you’ll talk him around for me?”

More nodding. Jason gave me a blinding smile that made him look ten years younger. Younger than me.

“So you can’t possibly resign either under these circumstances. Not without being a hypocrite. It’s settled then. I have two Advisors still.”

“I want to keep the Pack safe.” Every word felt like acid in my throat, but I forced them out. “Like you do.”

Relief and affection lit up his face, and before I knew it I was in his arms, the umbrella dropped to the muddy gravel, so he could spin me around in a giddy, undignified circle.

Jason Allerton, man of surprises. For once I was not dismayed by the break in his facade of control and perfection. He was a man as well as a Councilor. It had only taken me a frigging year to figure it out.

Epilogue

“I’m dying!” Fee, sweaty hair plastered to her face, clutched at my hand and gritted her teeth as another painful contraction swept through her.

“You’re not dying,” said Siobhan. “You keep mentioning death, Fiona Carmichael, and I’ll kill you myself. You think this is bad, try having twins.”

Fee gave her mother the finger with her free hand, and Siobhan swatted her bare calf but didn’t take her attention from between Fee’s legs.

I, on the other hand, steadfastly avoided looking in that general direction. This whole experience had been bad enough before the baby’s head crowned, but ever since then, I’d been in a constant struggle not to puke.

Maureen and Siobhan, the baby’s grandmothers, seemed unflappable. Fascinated, even. Alannah Doyle, the baby’s aunt, looked a little green around the gills. That didn’t stop her from shooting me death glares when she thought no one was looking.

In the weeks since her bond mate’s death, her hatred had intensified. I was shocked she would even deign to stay in the same room with me, but apparently she was not going to let me witness the birth of our niece or nephew without being in attendance as well.

Siobhan Carmichael had not warmed up to me in the intervening weeks either. Glenn was a taboo subject. She didn’t talk about him to me. Murphy didn’t. Fee didn’t. It was as if he’d never existed. The same with Declan Byrne. They’d betrayed the pack.

Everyone talked about Paddy, though. Every day his name came up at some point. Sometimes I could even talk about him without crying. Baby steps.

Maureen O’Shea, Paddy’s mother, bent closer to the baby’s crowning head. I tried not to gag. Birth was supposed to be beautiful, but it so wasn’t. Not even close. It was disgusting, actually.

“Just a few more pushes, Fee,” Maureen said, and Fee groaned as another contraction rippled across her huge belly. Revolted, I couldn’t tear my gaze away.

“You’re next, you pussy,” snarled Fee and dug her goddamn nails into my wrist.

“Fuck you,” I retorted. “You think I’m going to go through this bullshit?”

“I do.” Fee’s grin was malicious. “And I hope you have triplets, you horrible, horrible bitch. I’m gonna be there laughing.”

“Less talking, more pushing,” suggested Siobhan. The look she directed at me was cold. If she could have sent me from the room for instigating childbirth rebellion, she would have, but when she’d originally tried to say the room was too crowded, Fiona suggested she ought to be the one to leave. And since then I’d been tolerated, but I had a feeling a lot of Irish cursing of my name was going on beneath the breath.

“Fee, do you want to stand up, darling?” Maureen was the calmest influence in the room. I liked her, but I wasn’t sure how she felt about me. Her black, curly hair was piled on top of her head in a careless knot, and her dark eyes were compassionate. I wanted to talk to her about Paddy, but I didn’t know how to begin. I thought maybe after she and Andrew had bonded with Siobhan she would approach me, but so far she hadn’t.

Deirdre Collins, Fee’s new bond mate, rushed back into the room with bottles of water. She saw the baby’s head and blanched.

Her pregnancy hadn’t started to show yet, and every time I tried to imagine her four-foot-ten body attempting to expel the child—or children—of six-foot-six-inch Colm O’Reilly, I shuddered.

The men—Murphy, Colm and Andrew Brody, waited in the living room of the apartment the Alphas shared. I suspected there was a lot of Jameson’s being handed around. Andrew was standing by to help if necessary, but so far the birth had been nearly textbook and we women were handling it. I wished I could have had a shot of Jameson’s but instead I took a bottle of water from Deirdre and made do with that.

Fee’s glazed gaze sharpened as another contraction hit her. I looked over my shoulder for the fifth or sixth time that hour, but nobody was there, even though the space between my shoulder blades itched as if somebody was staring at me.

“You see him too, huh?” Fee’s face contorted as she tried to breathe. She looked straight into the corner, past me. “You ought to be in the other room with the men, you feckin’ idiot!” Her tone was exasperated, yet affectionate.

Shivers went down my spine.

Maureen and Siobhan exchanged looks and said nothing.

Alannah’s face pinched in on itself.

“Never tell me he’s here. Only the miserable ones walk. He’s miserable, Paddy is, and he’s gonna haunt us forever, isn’t he?” She let out a wail and covered her face.

“Alannah,” remonstrated Deirdre. “You’re not helping.”

Alannah bit back a sharp retort. Deirdre was her Alpha.

“She’s not lying. Restless spirits walk. They don’t go to the otherworld. I keep waiting for Paddy to go, but he won’t. Wretched bastard.” Tears streaked Fee’s blotchy face, and Maureen winced.

Deirdre rushed to Fee’s side and smoothed back some of the sweaty hair from her face.

“Don’t you fret about this. He’s here to watch his child born. Then he’ll go, you’ll see. Won’t he, Stanzie?” Deirdre appealed to me as if I would know.

“Maybe I’m dying. Or the baby will die, and he’s here to bring us to the otherworld,” speculated Fee in a sepulchral tone.

“For fuck’s sake, Fiona,” I yelled. “You’re not gonna die. Nobody with a mouth as big as yours is dying.”

“Piss off.” Fiona pinched me, and I pinched her back. Deirdre bit back a smile.

“You tell him to go then, you sanctimonious bitch. Tell Paddy he’s breaking my heart. I want him to be safe in the otherworld, not fucking floating around in this one. He can’t talk, he can’t touch me—he just fucking hovers there staring. You tell him to move on, Stanzie. You think you know everything.”

“I don’t see spirits,” I said.

“You don’t believe he’s there?” A sly look spread across Fee’s face. “Why are you casting looks over your shoulder every fifteen minutes then? Looking right at him in the corner if you don’t see spirits. You’re a fucking liar, Newcastle, you know that?”

“He’ll go when he’s ready.” Maureen O’Shea looked wistfully into the corner where Paddy supposedly hovered. I didn’t see a fucking thing. I don’t think she did either.

Fee burst into tears.

“I don’t want him to be alone. I wish I would die so I could be with him.”

“Fiona!” Siobhan’s cheeks paled. “Please don’t say things like that. Your baby needs you. You had your time with Paddy and now you’re with Colm and Deirdre and you’re Alpha of the pack. We need you strong.”

“Then tell him to leave. Tell him to rest,” Fee begged and thrashed in the bed as another massive contraction took over her body. She screamed, and I felt the bones in my fingers cracking beneath the pressure of her grip.

The stench of blood filled my nostrils. Blood and other fluid. Maureen and Siobhan put their hands out, and Alannah covered her face again. Deirdre watched for a moment and then turned her face to mine.

“I think I’m going to pass out,” she remarked conversationally and slumped across the bed.

Alannah grabbed for her and dragged her to a chair.

“Oh. Jesus God, what am I doing here?” I groaned beneath my breath.

“Fuck. You. New. Castle,” Fee managed to say between screams.

Thin, reedy wails filled the air. More blood and fluid.

“It’s a boy,” cried Siobhan, jubilant. Tears poured down Maureen’s cheeks as she cradled the newborn for a moment before she handed him to Siobhan.

I saw a small scrap of a baby with a huge mop of black hair. He had more hair than anything else, and when Siobhan laid him on top of Fiona, I saw his eyes. One was blue, the other a cloudy indeterminate color between blue and brown that I was sure would resolve into pure brown. Just as I was certain the hair on his head would curl.