Free Three Promises by Bishop O'Connell Page A

wounds.”
    â€œI didn’t know you cared.”
    â€œOh, more than you know,” Vincent said.
    Then he swung the cudgel at Brendan’s head and everything went black.
    S oft lips brushed over his as a small, gentle, and warm hand touched his cheek. That familiar scent washed over him and it was like he was flying; which would be fitting. She was an angel after all.
    Brendan opened his eyes.
    Ãine smiled at him and caressed his cheek. “Hello, my love.”
    â€œI came back as quick as I could,” Brendan said and made to wrap her in his arms, but he was still bound to the tree. He pulled at his bonds, but they held tight. “No, this isn’t right!”
    â€œEasy,” Áine said. “You’ll just hurt yourself worse.” She ran her hand over his shoulders and chest. “And the oíche don’t need you helping them in their work.”
    â€œTell me true, love,” Brendan said, tears he thought long spent running down his cheeks. “Is it you? Or is this some new torment?”
    Ãine kissed him again and again. “A rún mo chroí,” she whispered, her lips brushing his. “My beloved, it’s me. You didn’t come to me, so this time I came to you—­”
    A rush of wind woke Brendan with a start. He opened his eyes—­though one was swollen almost shut—­ready to bellow a curse at Vincent, or whatever oíche had taken Áine from him again. But something made him pause, something didn’t feel right.
    He looked around, scanning every shadow.
    There was nothing.
    Then the smell of magic hit him like a tidal wave. Not fae magic, but mortal, and more of it than he’d even known. Something about it was odd though. It smelled wild, pure, and uncontrollable. It was so vast, so powerful that he could feel it around him, like a charge of electricity in the air. But what mortal had power like that? No, that was impossible. Even if a mortal crossed over, he couldn’t carry magic with him.
    And yet, here it was, unmistakable. Could it be the oíche, playing a trick on him? He didn’t think so. Even with Fergus’s mantle of power, he didn’t think they could pull this off.
    That’s when he smelled her. There, beneath the oceans of power that nearly blinded his senses to all else, he found the familiar smells of humanity: sweat, laundry detergent, deodorant, and—­chocolate?
    â€œIt’s a bleeding kid,” Brendan whispered to himself.
    He felt the demon inside stir. Not a raging beast, but hesitant, almost like it was afraid.
    That is no child.
    Brendan didn’t see anyone, but he could hear the footsteps approach.
    â€œWho’s there?” he said.
    The footsteps stopped and the smell of fear joined the mix of others.
    â€œI can’t see you, but I know you’re there,” he said.
    She backed away, but her steps were light, obviously trying to be silent.
    He focused on the sound and where it was. He could just see faint clouds of dust from the shuffling steps, and the root sticking out of the ground.
    There was a cry of surprise as a girl appeared out of nowhere and fell onto her backside.
    â€œOh, shit,” she said.
    Brendan stared in absolute shock. She was maybe seventeen, tall and thin. Her clothes were ill fitting and clearly secondhand. Her brown hair was short and hadn’t been washed in a while. She stared at him with wide brown eyes.
    He just stared back for a long while, trying to figure how a child had this kind of power.
    â€œWhat’s your name, girl?” he asked.
    She swallowed and scooted back a few inches.
    â€œAye, that’s the smart move,” he said. “I don’t know where you came from, but you need to go back, right now.”
    No , the demon said, a silent whisper inside Brendan. She might be able to free us and then we can finish what we started!
    â€œI, um, I can’t,” she said, getting to her feet and