Twenty-four – 05

Phelan froze.

No. Gods and monsters, no.

His heart began to beat fast, too fast.

No.

Jacqueline caught his hand in hers and squeezed hard. He’d forgotten that she’d followed him out here, stuck by his side even as activity began to swirl around them, as Thom tried to coordinate the defense and tried to send Marin back to the tents and safety at the same time, as Seamus appeared alone, armed with a sword at his hip and a cold, hard look in his eye that was unfamiliar and all too familiar all at once to his cousins and his sister.

The feeling of Jacqueline’s hand around his brought him back to his senses. He shivered, swallowing hard and looking at her, his mouth dry.

“That was the Hecate,” he said in a whisper. “That was her.”

“I know,” she said, squeezing his fingers again. “I know, Phelan, but it’s going to be okay. We’ll deal with her once and for all this time. She’s not taking you.” Her gaze drifted from him toward Seamus. “Or your cousin—or anyone.” She looked up at him again, her jaw set and her eyes bright. “You hear me?”

“I hear you,” Phelan murmured. I love you. How did you know what I needed?

“Come on. They’re going to need us up there.”

Phelan blinked and glanced toward the warding lines, half surprised to see battle lines being drawn up, with J.T. holding one end and one of the Wild Hunt holding another. Thom was moving toward the center, Seamus on his heels, even as Marin darted back toward the tents—probably to get her bow if Phelan were to venture a guess.

With her family in danger, there’s no way she’d stay back.

It was something he’d seen in Brighíd centuries ago, something Marin had likewise inherited from Mairéad as well.

All of us take care of our own.

He squeezed Jacqueline’s hand and marched forward, forcing his fear down into the dark well that had birthed it.

The Hecate wasn’t going to win today.

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