Blood Magick (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy #3)(50)

“I’m here now.”

“You’re here now. What does that mean for us?”

God, her heart was too full of him, here in this room he’d conjured out of dreams.

“I tell myself what it can’t be. That’s so clear, so rational. I can’t see what it can or might.”

“Can you say what you want?”

“What I want is what can’t be, and that’s harder than it was, as I’ve come to believe that’s through no fault of yours or my own. It was easier when I could blame you or myself. I could build a wall with the blame, and keep it shored up with the distance when you spent only a few days or few weeks here before you went off again.”

“I want you. Everything else comes behind that.”

“I know.” She let out a breath. “I know. We should go back. You shouldn’t be so long away from your guests.”

But neither of them moved.

She heard the shouting, the rise of voices, the countdown. Behind her, the mantel clock began to strike.

“It’s going onto midnight.”

Only seconds, she thought, between what was and what is. And from there what would be. She took a step toward him. Then took another.

Would she have walked by him? she asked herself when he pulled her to him. No. No, not this time. At least this one time.

Instead she linked her arms around his neck, looked into his eyes. And on the stroke of midnight met his lips with hers.

Light snapped between them, an electric jolt that shocked the blood, slammed into the heart. Then shimmered into an endlessly longed-for warmth.

Oh, to feel like this, to finally feel like this again. To finally have her body, her heart, her spirit united in that longing, that warmth, that singular wild joy.

His lips on her lips, his breath with her breath, his heart on her heart. And all the sorrow blown away as if it never was.

He’d thought once what he felt for her was all, was beyond what anyone could feel. But he’d been wrong. This, after all the years without her, was more.

The scent of her filling him, the taste of her undoing him. She gave as she once had, everything in a simple kiss. Sweetness and strength, power and surrender, demand and generosity.

He wanted to hold on to her, hold on to that moment until the end of his days.

But she pulled back, stayed a moment, brushed a hand over his cheek, then stepped back from him.

“It’s a new year.”

“Stay with me, Branna.”

Now she laid a hand on his heart. Before she could speak, Connor and Meara turned into the room.

“We were just—”

“Going,” Meara finished Connor’s sentence. “Going back right now.”

“Right. Sure, we weren’t even here.”

“It’s all right.” Branna left her hand on Fin’s heart another moment, then let it fall away. “We’re coming back now. Fin’s been too long away from his own party. We’ll go toast the New Year. For luck. For light. For what may be.”

“For what should be,” Fin said, and walked out ahead of them.

“Go with him,” Meara suggested, and moved into Branna. “Are you all right then?”

“I am. But it’s God’s truth I could do with a drink, and as much as it goes against my nature, a lot of noise and people.”

“We’ll get all of that.”

When she put an arm around Branna’s waist, Branna leaned into her a moment. “How could I love him more now than once I did? How could it be so much more in me for him when what was, was everything?”

“Love can fade and die. I’ve seen it. It can grow and build as well. I think when it’s real and meant, it can only grow bigger and stronger.”

“It’s not meant to be a misery.”

“No. It’s what we do with it that’s the misery or the joy, I think, not the love.”

Branna sighed, gave Meara a long look. “When did you get so bloody wise about it?”

“Since I let myself love.”

“Let’s go toast to that then. To you letting yourself love, to Iona’s party skills, to the New bloody Year, to the end of Cabhan. I feel I might want to get a wee bit snackered.”

“What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t get snackered right along with you? Let’s find some champagne.”





11




HE WAS MORE THAN DONE WITH PEOPLE. AT HALF-TWO in the morning, far too many of them lingered in his house, cozied up as if they’d stay till spring. He considered just going upstairs, shutting himself in, leaving them to it. He was brutally tired, and more, that moment—that incredible moment with Branna had cross-wired his emotions so he didn’t know what he felt.

So it seemed easier all around to shut it all off and feel nothing at all.

She seemed perfectly content to sit, sip champagne, chat with whoever remained. But that was Branna, wasn’t it? Strong as steel.

The best thing for him would be a few hours’ escape in sleep. They’d be back to Cabhan in the morning—or later in the morning. And the sooner the better. Ending him would fulfill his obligations. Ending Cabhan would end his own personal torment.

So he’d slip away—no one would miss him by this point.

Then Iona stepped up, as if she’d read his mind, twined her arm with his, took his hand.