Dorcha smiled, but it didn’t quite make it to his eyes. “It’s very important that they get out of Dublin. Immediately.”
“Everything I have is rented,” Ruarc said.
Dorcha drew in a deep breath, his chest expanding. “Is it money you need?”
Rordan watched the two raptly. And he wasn’t the only one. Fianna did, as well.
“Everything I have is rented,” Ruarc repeated, anger beginning to show on his face and come through in his tone. “It has nothing to do with anything else.”
“I’m sure you can kick someone out,” Dorcha said.
Rordan raised his brows, taken aback by the cold remark.
“I could. If I wanted to,” Ruarc stated. “But that isn’t how I do business.”
Dorcha’s gaze narrowed. “It would be in your best interest to do exactly that.”
Ruarc opened his mouth to reply. Rordan touched him on the arm in an effort to keep the Fae from reacting. However, the motion caused Dorcha’s attention to turn to him. Rordan wasn’t afraid of the Fae as so many others were. There was nothing anyone could blackmail him on or threaten him with. And while he wasn’t immortal, it would take a lot for him to be killed. Being a Reaper put him in a unique position that none of the others had.
Most everyone at the manor fawned over Dorcha like he was their savior. Rordan didn’t grovel to anyone, not even Death.
“Why are you here?” Dorcha demanded.
Out of the corner of his eye, Rordan saw Fianna move closer. “Like everyone else, I was curious to hear what you had to say. I came for the second meeting, and then you invited me to stay here.”
“Why did you agree?”
“Why did you ask me?”
Dorcha glanced around to see if anyone was listening. “Someone is suspicious of you.”
“So you invite me into your home?” Rordan asked with a quirked brow, not believing a word of it. “That isn’t the move I would’ve made.”
Dorcha smiled and made a little noise in the back of his throat. “You’re rough around the edges, Rordan. Perhaps you don’t know what it means to be in the company of the aristocrats.”
“I know exactly what it means, unfortunately.”
“I think it’s prudent that I get to know you better.”
Rordan shrugged. “Ask anything you want.”
“Who are you?” Dorcha asked immediately.
“I’m no one of importance, if that’s what you mean.”
“Where do you live?”
Rordan swirled the whisky in his glass before bringing it to his lips to drink. Only then did he say, “I move around a lot.”
“And your family?”
“I’ve not seen them in thousands of years.”
“Where are they?”
Rordan finished his whisky and set the glass on the table next to him. He looked into Dorcha’s eyes and said, “I don’t know, and I don’t care. If you grill all potential members like this, then you might want to rethink that strategy. I’m not asking about your past or your family. Maybe I should.”
Dorcha jerked as if struck.
“I think I’ll call it a night,” Rordan said and walked out before he did something he’d later regret.
Too much rode on him getting intel for him to be an idiot. So many smartass remarks nearly spilled from his mouth, but he managed to keep them to himself. That was a huge victory. But he had to get away from Dorcha and balance the chaos within him if he were to continue his mission. Death and the other Reapers were counting on him to be successful.
His steps took him out of the manor and down the path he’d used earlier. He didn’t stop until he stood before the lough. The water was like glass with the moonlight shimmering upon it. The sounds of the night surrounded him, and he drew in a deep breath before releasing it. Instantly, he was calmer.
It wasn’t just Dorcha that had gotten under his skin. It was the manor, the opulence, the extravagance. The self-indulged, egotistical twats. He hated all of it because it took him back to his childhood and the years that had shaped him into something he hadn’t recognized. It had gotten so bad that he hadn’t been able to look at himself in the mirror.
To this day, he didn’t know why Death had given him a second chance and made the offer for him to join the ranks of the Reapers. From the moment he’d taken her offer, he’d been a better Fae, an honorable one who never let his brethren down.
But no matter how much he told himself that, the past came bubbling up. He closed his eyes and fisted his hands. The past couldn’t hurt him now. That didn’t stop the memories from replaying like a movie in his head. He tried to halt them, attempted to think of something else, but they wouldn’t shut off.
“They’re just memories. The past,” he whispered.
Chapter Eight
After Rordan departed, Fianna stalked over to her brother. Ruarc quickly excused himself, leaving the two of them alone. She glared at Dorcha and asked, “What the hell was that?”
“I’ve a right to ask such questions.”
“Since when? You’ve never cared about anyone’s past before. And who is suspicious of him? Because it sure isn’t me.”
Dorcha grabbed her arm, his fingers biting into her flesh as he pulled her behind a potted plant to shield them from prying eyes. “Lower your damn voice.”
“What is wrong with you?” She jerked her arm out of his grasp and looked him up and down. “You’re acting strange.”
“It doesn’t matter who is suspicious. Someone is.”
“Since I’m your head of security, I should know about all threats. None has been brought to my attention, nor have I seen anything that would raise suspicion regarding Ruarc or Rordan. You need to tell me what’s going on right now.”
Dorcha snorted loudly. “I don’t have to tell you anything. You’re head of security because Da wanted to give you a job to make you feel like you were part of this family. And that is the only thing you can do.”
“Is that right?” she asked, shocked, hurt, and angry at his words.
“I saw you and Rordan tonight.”
She blinked, taken aback. “Excuse me?”
“I saw the two of you talking.”
She shrugged, shaking her head. “So? I talked to everyone here.”
“But he was looking at you.”
“If you remember, I’m the one who didn’t want to come to this thing. You said Da told me I had to, so you can’t blame any of this on me. I did as requested.”
Dorcha moved closer, crowding her. “Do I really need to remind you of your past? The one you keep swearing is behind you. Do I really need to show you pictures? Do I need to compare you and our mother again?”
“No,” she bit out.
“Maybe it’s time you go back in the box.”
It took all of her self-control not to lash out at her brother with a physical punch followed by a wallop of magic that would land him on his arse. “I’ve not seen you like this since those times.”
“Oh, don’t try that, dear little sister. One call to Da, and you won’t see daylight for the next five hundred years.” He pointed his finger at her, jabbing it into her shoulder. “One. Call.” He straightened and took a step back. “Do we understand each other?”