Chapter One
Ballycastle, Ireland
July
She had officially lost her mind. That was the only thing she could think of that would have taken her from her home on the Isle of Skye and brought her to Northern Ireland. Sorcha wasn’t exactly courageous. In fact, she considered herself a hermit.
But because she preferred to be alone, it made it easier for her to do precisely what she was currently doing.
“Rhona, you owe me big for this,” she mumbled to herself as she walked the hilly landscape toward the coast.
The wind whipped her hair from its braid and into her eyes. She pulled the strands out of her lashes and tucked them behind her ears, but it did no good as the next gust tugged them free and put them right back.
Sorcha’s heart pounded more erratically with every step she took. She was the last person who should be here. She was a horrible liar. Not only that, but she also caved under pressure. Always. There was a reason she liked her solitude. She didn’t have to answer to anyone, and no one looked to her for anything.
Which meant she couldn’t let anyone down.
But this was bigger than her. It was bigger than the Skye Druids. That’s why she was here. No longer could she turn a blind eye to what was going on. What Usaeil had done to Corann, the leader of the Skye Druids, was enough to convince Sorcha to get off her arse.
It had been no surprise when Sorcha learned that Rhona had taken over as leader of the Druids. As soon as she heard the news, she went to Rhona and offered to do anything to help. It’d never entered her mind that Rhona might send her off on a dangerous mission that could very well get her killed.
Sorcha stopped walking. Her thighs burned from the incline. The sky had grown darker from an incoming storm. She turned and looked back the way she’d come. There hadn’t been anyone around, and that’s how this had been planned. The only way this would work was if she remained unseen. Even so, she and Rhona had come up with a story in case she was stopped.
She drew in a deep breath and zipped up her raincoat. Every fiber of her being wanted to return to Skye and the safety of her cottage. For so long, she had buried her head in the sand and let others handle things. All because she was too scared to actually live.
Bracing herself for whatever was to come, Sorcha began walking again. The climb up to the summit was for skilled climbers only. Spray from the sea coated everything in a fine mist, making the rocks and the grass slippery. She had to watch every step she took. And she wasn’t even to the most dangerous part yet.
Climbing such cliffs and mountains had been something Sorcha had grown up doing with her mother and sister. She was an expert, but that didn’t mean she liked what was happening. She didn’t know these cliffs like she did the ones on Skye.
A crack of lightning followed closely by a boom of thunder made her jump. Loose sediment slipped beneath her feet and caused her to slide. She quickly grabbed hold of an outcropping of rock and a clump of grass to stop herself.
“Bloody hell,” she murmured and paused long enough to gather herself.
Then she continued. She didn’t look back again. Little by little, she progressed over the terrain. She covered a lot of ground before the first raindrop landed on her. Sorcha ignored it as the path became narrower. She glanced up and saw a group of people ahead. The moment she saw them, she ducked down, afraid that they might have seen her, as well.
When no shout of warning or the sound of anyone coming for her followed, Sorcha slowly rose up enough to see ahead. Only then did she continue on. The fat raindrops came down more readily. She lifted up the hood of her raincoat as she inched closer, using the footholds and handholds to keep herself anchored to the cliff. Then—finally—she was there.
Sorcha pressed her forehead to the damp rocks of the cliff and let out a relieved breath. She’d worry about getting back once she was finished here. She strained her ears to listen, but she couldn’t make out any of the words being said by the group. She had come this far. There was no way she would leave without something.
She reached up and grabbed a rock before she set her foot on another and climbed. It was only a meter’s difference, but it allowed her to hear. The only problem was that she needed to hang off the side of the cliff to do it.
“…you have to see,” a woman said, her Irish accent thick. “Now is our time. We can no longer stand back and wait for someone to come to us. It’s time we act.”
A man snorted loudly. “We might be Druids, but we do not stand a chance against the Fae. I’ve heard they’re gathering their own group.”
“Fek the Fae,” the woman stated angrily. “This isn’t their world. It’s ours!”
A cheer went up from the others.
“You say that until a Fae shows up,” the man retorted. “I doubt you’d be so quick to say those words if they did.”
Sorcha raised up enough to try and see who had spoken. The crowd stood in a circle. A glow emanated from the ground in the center of the group, the light showing everyone’s face, including the man and woman in the middle. The woman was in her mid-forties with chin-length straight, black hair laced with gray. She was attractive with a trim figure she showed off with tight-fitting clothes.
The man appeared his forties, as well. He was tall with broad shoulders and a beer belly that looked as if he’d sported it for many years. His blond hair had thinned on the top, and the comb-over he seemed to prefer, blew in the wind.
Sorcha knew that the Fae sometimes liked to use glamour to disguise their beauty so they could walk among mortals. There was always a chance there could be Fae around, but she didn’t think the two main speakers were it. The fact that she was hiding proved just how secretive this meeting was. And how secure the area had been.
None of them seemed concerned with the cliffs, because only someone highly skilled—or an idiot—would even dare what she was doing.
Sorcha was pretty sure she was also an idiot, but there was no turning back now. She was here, and she would finish her mission so she could return with intel for the Druids. Then, she would go back to her cottage and return to the hermit lifestyle she’d lived for the past decade.
The woman in the middle of the circle shook her head. “Patrick, isn’t it time we stood up to the Fae? Isn’t it time we showed everyone who we are?”
“We?” Patrick asked with a bark of laughter. “You can combine all of our magic together, and it still wouldn’t be enough against one Fae. How the bloody hell do you think we can fight against them?”
“Who said anything about fighting them?” she asked with a pointed look.
Patrick ran a hand down his face and walked away a few steps before turning back to her. “You’ve lost your mind. You’re basing all of this on hearsay.”
“Hearsay from someone who is a Fae,” she pointed out.
“Beth, that Fae could’ve been planted at the pub so you’d overhear him and do all of this.”
“You heard him, too.”
Patrick sighed as he dropped his chin to his chest and put his hands on his hips. After a few tense moments where the only sound was the rain pelting the ground, he lifted his head. “The Others were disbanded. Whatever their main goal was, we’ll never know. But what we do know is that they’re gone.”