Morrigan's Cross (Circle Trilogy 1)

“It wasn’t your fault.”

She heard Moira’s voice, but couldn’t respond to it. She felt Larkin touch her shoulder, she supposed in comfort. But was too numb to react. And when Moira climbed in the back with Larkin to give her solitude, she knew only vague relief.

She turned into the woods, carefully maneuvered the narrow lane. In front of the house where the lights burned, she shut off the engine, the lights. Reached for the door.

It flew open, and she was wrenched out, held inches above the ground. Even then, she felt nothing, not even fear as she saw the thirst in Cian’s eyes.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t break your neck and be done with it.”

“I can’t.”

Hoyt reached them first, and was flicked away with a careless backward swipe.

“Don’t. He’s not to blame. Don’t,” she said now to Hoyt before he could charge again. “Please don’t.” And to Larkin.

“Do you think that moves me?”

She looked into Cian’s eyes again. “No. Why should it? He was yours. I killed him.”

“It wasn’t her doing.” Moira shoved Cian’s arm, but didn’t budge him an inch. “She isn’t to blame for this.”

“Let her speak for herself.”

“She can’t. Can’t you see how badly she’s hurt? She wouldn’t let me tend her before we followed you. We need to get inside. If we’re attacked now, we all die.”

“If you harm her,” Hoyt said quietly, “I’ll kill you myself.”

“Is that all there is?” Glenna’s words were a weary whisper. “Just death? Is that all there’ll ever be again?”

“Give her to me.” Hoyt cupped his arms, drew her out of Cian’s grasp. He murmured to her in Gaelic as he carried her into the house.

“You’ll come, and you’ll listen.” Moira closed a hand around Cian’s arm. “He deserves that.”

“Don’t tell me what he deserves.” He wrenched free of her with a force that knocked her back two steps. “You know nothing of it.”

“I know more than you think.” She left him to follow Hoyt into the house.

“I couldn’t catch them.” Larkin stared at the ground. “I wasn’t fast enough, and I couldn’t catch them.” He yanked open the cargo doors, unloaded weapons. “I can’t turn into one of these.” He slammed the doors again. “It has to be alive, what I become. Even the cougar couldn’t catch them.”

Cian said nothing, and went inside.

They had Glenna on the sofa in the main parlor. Her eyes were closed, her face pale, her skin clammy. Against the pallor, the bruising along her jaw and

cheek was livid. Blood had dried at the corner of her mouth.

Hoyt gently tested her arm. Not broken, he thought with relief. Badly wrenched, but not broken. Trying not to jar her, he removed her shirt to discover more bruising over her shoulder, her torso, running down to her hip.

“I know what to get,” Moira said and dashed off.

“Not broken.” Hoyt’s hands hovered over her ribs. “It’s good there’s nothing broken.”

“She’s fortunate her head’s still on her shoulders.” Cian went directly to a cabinet, took out whiskey. He drank straight from the bottle.

“Some of the injuries are inside her. She’s badly injured.”

“No less than she deserves for going out of the house.”

“She didn’t.” Moira hurried back in, carrying Glenna’s case. “Not the way you’re meaning.”