“I didn't intend?—”
Niamh waved him off and turned her back on him. “Again with your intentions. I told you, I couldn't care less.”
Theo's jaw dropped when Niamh jumped from a standing position several feet in the air, landing perfectly in the belly of the basin. Coals and ash flew up in the air from the impact, but the basin didn't even tremble or make any noise like it'd been struck. Niamh had both catlike and serpentine ways of moving, and it was disconcerting to see.
Without any additional warning, Niamh exploded into a column of fire. Theo screamed and fell to the deck again, which he knew his knees would never forgive him for, but Wyn didn'teven flinch. Clearly, there was history between him and Niamh, and he wasn't surprised by anything she did.
Theo held one of his hands to his brow, trying to block out some of the light and heat as he kept his eyes trained on the fiery basin. Niamh's silhouette turned white in the flames, and the crackling roar grew louder.
And louder.
And louder.
Until it wasn't quite the roar of a flame anymore. It was more primal, something even more tangible than the sound of heat and flames.
A huge, bright red dragon burst from the bonfire, flying straight up into the night sky until it disappeared. Theo let out a long string of curses, scrambling backward until he hit the side of the boat, pointing at the spot where Niamh disappeared.
“Oi, calm your tits, boy,” Wyn snapped, rubbing a hand over his face. He looked like he had aged twenty years in less than an hour.
“Did you see that?” Theo was awestruck. He slowly got to his feet, gripping the railing for support while his knees still knocked together. “That was…” Theo trailed off, unable to make himself say the word.
“Abeithir,” Wyn finished Theo's sentence for him, throwing open the door leading downstairs to the galley.
“What?” Theo shouted after him. He'd had decent schooling, both magical and mortal, but he'd never heard that word before. Wyn disappeared below deck, but his voice carried up from the covered stairwell.
“Niamh is a dragon.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Theo didn't wait before following Wyn down to the galley.
“Oh no,” he protested. “That is not something you simply say and then don't explain.”
Wyn walked into the study and started rifling through some liquor bottles on the mantle. He picked one up, popped the cork, and smelled it.
When it wasn't to his liking, he slammed it back down and threw open the door to an armoire. A sword fell out, and Wyn pushed past the rack of dark clothing, disappearing up to his waist inside. He finally grunted in affirmation and reemerged, holding a black-painted bottle. Theo couldn't tell what kind of liquor was inside, only that the top was covered in bright red wax.
“Excuse me?” Theo pushed again, refusing to let Wyn ignore him. “Do you want to tell me what that entire thing was about?”
Wyn sat down at the large wooden table, biting through the wax and using his teeth to uncork the bottle. He took a long swig of whatever was inside.
“Not particularly, as evidenced by the drinking I'm about to do.”
Theo pulled out a chair and sat down, pointing a finger at Wyn. “You can drink and talk at the same time. A dragon? Wyn, what the actual fuck was that?”
Wyn buried his head in his hands for a minute, letting out a long, prolonged groan. It was a noise that wasn't very befitting for an elven prince, but Theo didn't care as long as he was going to get some answers. Wyn tossed back another shot and coughed, burying his head in his hands and refusing to look at Theo when he started talking.
“Niamh isn't a dragon.” His voice was low, burdened with the weight of an emotion Theo couldn't entirely identify. “She's abeithir.”
Theo furrowed his brow. He was well trained in the entire array of magical creatures, not only across Scotland but across the continent, and he'd never heard of a beithir.
“I’m pretty sure that looked like a dragon to me, Wyn.” Theo raised a brow, not ready for Wyn to start playing games with him. “Unless 'beithir' is another word for a flying serpent that spits fire…”
“It is,” Wyn cut Theo off, snapping his head up with a deadpan expression.
“Oh,” Theo said lamely, then he pressed on, “So she's a special dragon?”
“Abeithir,” Wyn grunted again, fighting the urge to slam his fists on the table and storm out of the room.
