Tormented by Darkness by Claire Ashgrove Read Free Book Online Page A

Chips?” Andrew prodded as he exited their tight circle.
    At that moment, Mick broke from the trio of senior women and strode from the room, his steps brusque, his shoulders rigid.
    “Excuse me.” Rhiannon ducked around Brad, hurried across the room, and through the arched entryway that led into the hall. She glanced up and down the bright corridor, searching for a sign of Mick’s direction.
    The clink of glass drifted over the dull murmur of conversation behind her. Brow furrowed, she approached a partly open door, nudged the slight crack open further, and peeked into the richly masculine room. Mick stood beside a mahogany table, a descanter of scotch in one hand. He tossed back a drink and poured another liberal shot into a crystal snifter.
    Something deep down inside Rhiannon rolled over at the sight of Mick’s slumped shoulders, the way his jaw worked to contain unspent emotion. Tempering a rush of sympathy with a deep breath, she pushed the door open wide enough she could step inside, and entered, pulling it shut behind her.
    “Hey, you,” she murmured. “Got one for me?”
    Mick whipped around like a firecracker had gone off behind him. Startled eyes gave way to recognition as his gaze landed on her, and for a passing moment, Rhiannon would have sworn relief registered in his expression before pain once again pulled his features tight.
    “Got half a bottle. How much do you want?”
    She joined him at the table, picked up the matching snifter and filled it a third of the way full. Holding the glass in both hands, she sat on the edge of an overstuffed, leather armchair. Mick’s gaze flicked to her, then to the glass doors leading to an outside balcony. He turned slightly, barring her view of his handsome face. “It seems I’m not very good company tonight, after all.”
    “You don’t have to be.” Rhiannon took a sip, swirled the oaken flavor around on her tongue, then swallowed. She savored the slow burn that spread through her stomach. Good scotch was a rare treat, and whoever had purchased this single malt knew his liquor.
    Mick let out a heavy sigh and moved closer to the door. He stared out at something she couldn’t see, but he remained silent, offering no further insight to whatever thoughts plagued his mind.
    After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, he flipped the latch on the door and rolled the heavy glass open. He wandered onto the deck where he braced his hands on the railing that overlooked a line of trees beyond the yard.
    Rhiannon slipped quietly outside and leaned on the railing as well. She stared up at the twinkling stars overhead. “My mom died when I was five.” She let the statement hang between them as she took another drink, then set her glass on the thick wood. “I don’t really remember her, but I know how loss feels.”
    In the corner of her peripheral vision, Mick’s posture relaxed. He finished off his drink, set the glass aside, then rested his forearms on the railing and leaned his weight into them. Rhiannon’s gaze traced the bright stars of the Summer Triangle. It lingered on Cygnus. In over two thousand years of existence, she had never told a mortal what she was about to reveal to Mick. But the need to connect with him, to express she understood his silent grief, drove deep. She swallowed, choosing her words carefully.
    “She sent me away when I was born, to protect me from my father. My siblings and I were raised by a friend of the family. But my oldest brother, Cian, told me what Mother looked like. What her voice sounded like. How she’d comb her hair each night before she went to bed. And I wanted that. I wanted those memories. My father ripped them out of my hands.” She tightened one hand on the railing as old longing stirred. “He took my mother from me.”
    Without looking at Mick, Rhiannon laid her hand over his corded forearm. “The ache’s still there. Not as sharp as it was in childhood, but it’s there. I don’t think it will ever go away,