39 DON’T MAKE ME

THE MOON HAD set when the stone circle appeared upon the horizon, silhouetted against the deep indigo sky.

Dawn hadn't yet broken, although it wasn't far off.

Bree and Cailean hadn't spoken on the way south. During the ride, she sat in the cage of his arms as he guided the pony. The strength and heat of his body, which nudged against hers with each of Flint's choppy strides, disturbed her.

It was a reminder of how it had felt to lie with him in the furs after they'd coupled.

She'd known then that it was a stolen moment, never to be repeated. And it was, for he hated her now .

She could hardly blame him. Bree was the one who'd woven the lies, while he'd been ignorant of the truth. In his place, she would have acted far more harshly, killing him where he stood.

Even so, his insistence that they rode to The Ring of Caith mystified, and worried, her.

What was he up to?

Cailean drew up the pony at the bottom of the hill, and Bree slid from Flint's back and turned to face her husband, who also dismounted. "And now?"

He stared down at her, his face harsh in the shadows. "Isn't it obvious?"

Bree's spine stiffened at his belligerent tone. "No … enlighten me."

A nerve flickered in his cheek. "At daybreak, I'm sending you back through the stones."

Bree stopped breathing. For a few moments, she stared at him, unable to take in his response. It made no sense to her at all. "But why?" she whispered finally.

His mouth compressed into a hard line, his big body growing rigid. "The reason doesn't matter."

"But I thought you were taking me away to interrogate me … to kill me."

Something dark moved in the depths of his eyes. "You were mistaken."

She stepped closer, her chin lifting as she continued to stare him down. "Talk to me, Cailean."

"No."

Bree's pulse took off, heat igniting in the pit of her belly. The dread and shame sloughed away, anger rising to replace them. His intractability vexed her. "I didn't have to warn you."

"No, but now that you have, you can go. "

"Cold bastard!" she snarled, stepping close. "Is that all you've got to say? Don't you want to know how—"

"Enough," he cut her off, the tattoos that snaked across his arms and up his neck pulsing pale silver now. "Walk back through the stones, you duplicitous Shee bitch."

Bree's lip curled, crimson dropping across her vision. Aye, here it was—the rage that had been smoldering within him ever since she told him the truth.

He was having trouble unleashing it though. She'd help him.

Whipping a knife from the belt across her chest, she lunged at him.

Cailean caught her wrist, squeezing so hard that her fingers turned numb, and the blade slid from her fingers, thudding on the dew-laden grass between them.

But she wasn't beaten.

Bree swung her free fist, punching him in the stomach before following it up with a bruising blow to his jaw.

Fury pulsed within her. The last time she'd fought this man, they'd ended up naked. But not this time. If she couldn't have his honesty, she'd have his anger. His violence. She'd make him bleed.

They tumbled to the ground, Bree's fists and knees a blur as she sought to inflict harm. And in response, Cailean's tattoos flashed in the murky predawn light. Aye, even in her Marav form, she was dangerous, and the enforcer called upon his druidic magic to fight her.

Landing a vicious blow just below his breastbone, Bree was rewarded with a grunt of pain. It wasn't enough though. Suddenly, she hated him again. He was the brute chief-enforcer she'd been sent to deceive, not the man who'd made her betray her own people. She forgot all of that, fury sweeping her up in its vortex.

Finally, he managed to quell her, his hands pinning her wrists to the ground, painfully, above her head, his heavy body crushing hers.

Bree snarled curses, squirming under his weight, until she lay there panting, her throat raw.

The red veil lifted then, and she stared up into his face.

Blood trickled down his chin from a cut to his lower lip, and a bruise was already blooming across his jaw. Yet Cailean didn't pay his injuries any mind. Instead, he gazed down at her, and the rawness of his expression made an ache flower under Bree's ribs.

The fury was gone, and the real man was unmasked before her. And the pain in those woad-blue eyes was unbearable.

Regret tore through her. "Cailean," she croaked. "I don't want to leave you … don't make me."

His gaze seared hers, even as his throat bobbed. "You must."

Something deep within her chest twisted then. "Nothing I can say will change what has been done," she whispered. "But I want you to know that I am sorry."

His eyes guttered, his lips parting as his breathing hitched. For an instant, Bree thought he might say something, but he didn't. And then, to her disappointment, he pushed himself up, off her. "The sun is rising," he said, his voice rough now. "It's time to go."

Indeed, the sky was starting to lighten. Dawn and sunset were always drawn out this time of year, yet the glow to the east warned her that their time was running out.

Bree rolled to her feet before she unstrapped her dagger and knife belt and handed them to him. To her consternation, her hands were unsteady. "Here … I can't take iron blades with me. "

He nodded, his expression veiled. The air shivered between them now, heavy with so much unsaid.

Wretchedness twisted her insides in knots. She hadn't lied. She didn't want to go back there. Albia was cold, grey, and full of dangers, but in this realm, she'd discovered forgotten pieces of herself.

Nothing good waited for her in Sheehallion. Aye, she'd lie through her teeth when she went before Mor—she'd gotten good at that of late—but the thought made a lump of ice settle in the pit of her gut. Luckily, in her Shee form, she was stronger, more ruthless. She'd somehow survive. Her time in Albia had changed her, but maybe when she returned to her people, her heart would harden once more.

Maybe leaving Cailean wouldn't hurt so much then.

And yet, when she looked up into her husband's face, she almost crumbled.

His sharp features were strained in the glow of dawn, and his eyes gleamed. She knew then that, despite his fa?ade, this was hurting him just as much as it was her.

"How does it work" —he asked then, his tone strained— "passing through the stones?"

She swallowed. Of course, he'd be curious. "Only the Shee can use them … and only at certain times of the year," she replied.

"And if I was to follow you through?"

Her pulse leaped. "You'd die."

Silence swelled between them, heavy with so much unsaid. And then, to her surprise, he stepped close. Lifting a hand, her husband stroked her cheek. The tenderness of his touch made her tremble .

"Goodbye … Bree ," he said, saying her name slowly as if testing it out.

She liked how it sounded on his lips.

She managed a weak smile, even as the pain in her chest twisted cruelly. Reaching up, she traced her fingertips along the line of his jaw, committing every detail of his face to memory. "Farewell, Cailean."

Stepping away from him, she looked to where Skaal sat a few yards away, watching her with unnerving intensity. Meanwhile, Flint cropped at the grass, oblivious to her turmoil. Heart in her throat, Bree shouldered the leather pack she'd brought from Duncrag.

Casting Cailean one last, lingering look, Bree turned and walked away, climbing the hill toward the stones.

Iron choke her, she wanted to glance back over her shoulder, to meet his eye once more, but she stopped herself. There wasn't any point in making this even harder.

The Ring of Caith loomed above her, the stones' pitted, scarred surfaces illuminated by the rising sun. And as she climbed, the air grew heavy and storm-charged, as it had on The Day of the Hag.

Silence settled around her, and Bree's skin prickled.

Here we go again . She hadn't forgotten how unpleasant passing through the stones was, and dread curled in her belly.

She hadn't lied to him before—she didn't want to go back. Cailean thought he was saving her, but he wasn't. From the moment she'd ridden away from The Ring of Caith earlier, she'd told herself there'd be no returning to Sheehallion. The ‘wrongness' of this act struck deep in the marrow of her bones, yet she kept walking.

She had no choice .

Clenching her jaw tight, she squared her shoulders and strode to the top of the hill, passing into the midst of the ancient stone circle.