Beth woke the next morning and dressed in a tight, pale green dress that hung outside her door. The gown did hug her curves, she’d give it that, but that was all she would say in favor of it. Otherwise it was too tight and too scratchy. Or maybe she just missed home. She’d only been here for two nights but already she felt as though the Pale Palace was leeching all of the color from her life.

As soon as Ronan was recovered they could hightail it back to the mortal realm and away from Maeve, though probably saddled with her latest hwim. Dread pooled in Beth’s stomach at the prospect of whatever Maeve had in store for them. This next task would be the reason she and Ronan had been forced to marry in the first place.

Her feet found their way down the winding hall toward the infirmary. She hoped Sebastian was still here but suspected that he’d gone home. Still, she wouldn’t have minded entering the sick ward and coming upon a scene identical to the one she’d encountered yesterday. No such luck, however. In fact, not only was Sebastian absent, Ronan was nowhere to be seen as well. Beth blinked at the empty bed, already made and leaving no hint that it had ever been occupied by her husband.

Before she could flag down a healer to ask for Ronan’s whereabouts, Sylvie strode in. The selkie had managed to acquire leggings and a tunic instead of a dress and her mohawk stood straight and shiny today. She took one look at the empty bed and turned to Beth.

“Where is he?” she asked.

Beth shook her head. “No idea. Maybe out trying to regain his strength? I caught him swinging his sword around in the courtyard last night after we finished with the imps.”

Sylvie grimaced at the reminder of the imps. While the girls had not come through the experience as best friends forever, as some shared adventures are wont to accomplish, they hadn’t ended up any more antagonistic than they’d been before.

“We should look for him then. I’m curious to the progress of his recovery,” said Sylvie, turning to one of the nearby healers. “Where’s the Knight?” she demanded, reminiscent of her mother, though Beth would never tell her that.

The poor healer blinked at her, startled. “H-He left an hour ago, Princess, without a word to us.”

Sylvie did not look appreciative of being referred to by her formal title. “And was he in any condition to leave?”

“He was … up to par, Princess.”

The man looked unnerved. He was old and dressed in white robes that fell all the way to the floor, like some sort of angelic monk. Beth could only imagine the treatment he underwent here at the palace.

Sylvie looked thoughtful and nodded before turning and strolling out into the hall. Beth followed.

“You said he was in the courtyard last night?” the selkie asked, already turning in the direction of the doors that would lead them outside.”

“Yep.”

Despite the healer’s slight assurance that Ronan was okay, there was still a worried air between them as they walked.

They courtyard was empty and Beth was stumped. She knew the palace but she didn’t really know Ronan. Any idea where he would have gone to find solace was beyond her. He had lived her for a very long time so he must have a happy place or two, but the idea of this hell hole housing any happy place was inconceivable to her.

What’s more, Sylvie was looking thoughtful. Which mean that she probably had some idea as to where Ronan would go. Beth didn’t like that Sylvie knew him better. Jealousy, Beth realized, was what she was experiencing. She didn’t like the feeling or that she was having it.

She crossed her arms grumpily.

“We should check with mother. He’s usually at her side if he’s in Faerie,” Sylvie said decisively, starting toward the throne room. Beth was just glad she wasn’t headed for Maeve’s personal chambers.

Sylvie pushed the double doors open without so much as a knock. Maeve, who seemed to be in the middle of a rant, stopped mid sentence to frown at them. To her right, Ronan leaned against the wall. He was fully dressed today, boots and all, with his arms crossed and a scowl on his beautiful face.

Beth sighed with relief when she saw him.

“Knocking, Sylviana. Learn how,” spat the Queen, irate.

Ronan pushed off and came to stand beside Beth. He didn’t reach for her hand but he was close enough that she could feel his heat. Maeve’s eyes didn’t miss the action and they narrowed, her lips pursing.

Sylvie shrugged. “You were yelling at Ronan. I figured I’d help him out.”

Maeve ignored her this time and instead fixed that chilling gaze on Beth. “Elizabeth, I’m glad you’re here. Sylviana, you are dismissed.”

Sylvie looked surprised and opened her mouth to argue but the Queen cut her off with an eyebrow raise and a declaration of “now”. The selkie stomped out, slamming the door behind her like an insolent teenager.

“Now. How was your honeymoon?” Maeve turned back to the newlyweds.

“It was fine,” Ronan answered quickly, which was good because Beth wasn’t sure how she would have responded. She might have brought up the fact that technically they still had a little time, but it was probably best that she hadn’t.

“Good,” said Maeve, tapping a blood red nail against her chin. “I have an assignment for you.”

“Surprise,” Beth murmured, earning her an eyebrow raise from the Queen. It wasn’t as harsh as the one she’d turned upon Sylvie, but it was scary nonetheless. Worth it, though, when Beth noticed Ronan’s lips twitch up.

“A little while ago I was approached by a man named Marcas Foley who claimed to have some valuable information for me. Information that I would want at any cost.” Her red-rimmed onyx irises rested on Ronan. “However, his idea of ‘any cost’ was insurmountable and, frankly, ridiculous. I refused him.”

She paused for effect, as if either Beth or Ronan would have expected her to have taken a different action in such a situation. Of course Maeve had refused to pay the guy. Why do that when she could just get the information by having her Knight marry a soul sucker? Beth shivered, finally understanding her exact purpose in all of this.

“However,” the Queen went on,” I am curious as to what he knows.” Her sharp gaze switched to Beth. “I want you to find him. Capture him. And bring him here. Then you will … pick his brain.” She smiled at her own joke, while Beth wanted to pass out.

“Why did you let him leave in the first place, my Liege?” Ronan asked.

“You were away, my sweet Knight,” she explained. “He managed to overpower the guards when they attempted to lock him in the dungeon.”

Ronan frowned and Beth understood why. If someone could escape from the castle guards then that someone was formidable. The guards were notoriously not as skilled as Ronan but Beth was certain they weren’t weaklings either.

“Did he leave an address?” Beth asked hopefully.

“That’s your job,” Maeve said with mock sweetness. “You’ll leave in the morning. I’m not convinced Ronan is well enough today yet to travel.”

Beth groaned internally. A third night in Faerie was undoubtedly going to make her lose her mind.

“Yes, my Queen,” responded Ronan dutifully.

To Beth’s delight, Sebastian hadn’t left yet. They found him in the dining hall, sitting with a sour looking Sylvie. Beth was rather surprised that Maeve had let her and Ronan go about their business without assigning them any local tasks, but she supposed that finding whoever Marcas Foley was would be a big job and maybe they really were supposed to conserve their strength. She certainly wasn’t going to argue about Ronan getting more time to heal.

“Good morning,” Sebastian said, eyeing them with a mix of amusement and apprehension. “How’d your talk with Madame Darkness go?”

“She wants us to find someone in New York and bring him to her,” Ronan said, sitting down beside the selkie.

Beth took the seat beside her roommate, pulling his goblet toward her.

Sebastian gave her an amused look. “It’s tea.”

The liquid had already engulfed her tongue as his words sunk in, but she could tell from the first taste that it was not tea at all.

“Liar,” she sputtered, laughing.

Sebastian grinned and turned back to Ronan. “Who are you supposed to find?”

“A Fae named Marcas Foley. Maybe you’ve heard of him?” Ronan didn’t sound as if he expected a positive answer. Beth figured that if Ronan hadn’t heard of someone, the odds that any of his friends had were nigh impossible.

Sebastian shook his head. “I have not. Is he dangerous?”

“He managed to overpower the guards here when Maeve tried to have him imprisoned,” Beth supplied. She took a long pull of what she had decided was raspberry stout.

Sylvie let out a low whistle. “Dangerous indeed. Where do we start looking for him?”

Ronan turned to her, frowning. “You are not included in this quest, Sylviana. This is for Beth and I alone.”

Her jaw dropped. “But you said you’d protect me from the dealer! I’m supposed to stay with you!”

Sebastian reached over and took back his goblet, sighing when he found it empty.

Ronan fixed Sylvie with a serious gaze. “Well, now that you’ve returned home and faced Maeve, there is no safer place for you than here. Your mother would never let anything happen to you.”

“But Aengus is here! Selling to her!”

“Hush,” hissed Sebastian, casting an eye around the hall. A few stragglers were left over from breakfast but fortunately the place had mostly been vacated. “Do you want that getting around? Or worse, back to her?”

“So steer clear of Bierne,” said Ronan. “It is safer for you away from whatever Beth and I have to face.”

Ronan’s words of warning to Sylvie took up camp in Beth’s mind. They were still roasting marshmallows when Ronan and Beth got ready for bed after a day of trying to stay out of the Queen’s way.

Beth peeled herself out of her dress with only slightly difficulty, leaving her in just the white shift that went underneath. Seeing as how she didn’t have any oversized t-shirts, it would have to do.

Ronan removed his tunic and left his trousers. Beth was very aware of every inch of skin he showed, barely daring to look at him lest she break out in a blush. She climbed into bed, pulling the covers up over her lap. Too late she realized that this was the first time she’d seen Ronan in his own bed.

“Um, did I take your side? Do you have a side?” She prepared to scoot over when Ronan held up his hand.

“I do have a side, and it’s that one.” He pointed to the empty space beside her.

Beth gave him a smile. “Your room is nice.”

“Thank you.” He pulled back the covers and sat down on the bed, his back to her. “I hardly ever stay here.”

Beth had known that, so she didn’t respond. Instead she took a deep breath. Despite their semi-relaxing day she was tired. Being in the Unseelie castle this long had taken its toll on her. If it weren’t for Sebastian and Ronan she might feel as though the cold had leached away her warmth. Warmth she fought so hard to obtain and keep.

Beth dreaded the task they would face tomorrow, because this Foley guy did not sound like a pushover, but she would be glad to get back to the mortal realm.

Ronan lay back on his pillow, the covers pulled loosely over his long legs. He yawned, mirroring her exhausted.

Laying beside him felt almost normal, like they had done it a thousand times. Beth imagined what it would be like if they were a real couple, who had chosen one another. Maybe there would be some ‘hi honey, how was your day?’ or ‘did you like the pot roast I made for dinner?’. Or, and this one was most realistic, they’d be about to bang. The thought of which alone brought on that damned blush Beth had been trying so hard to suppress.

She turned onto her side, facing him. For such a large room the bed was fairly small, so the action caused her to brush against his arm. If Beth was trying to distract herself from an onslaught of dirty thoughts, examining his perfect profile did not do the trick. However, she found that she couldn’t help it. The candlelight flickering across the slope of his nose and hollows beneath his high cheekbones enraptured her.

Beth cleared her throat and tried to do the same to her mind. “How are you feeling?”

He glanced sideways at her. “Perfectly fine.”

She suspected that he was not being completely honest. “Sure,” she said. “So if I wanted to have backbreaking sex right now you’d be able?” As soon as the words fell out of her mouth Beth regretted them.

Ronan cocked an eyebrow at her, deigning to turn his head. “Is that an offer, Elizabeth?”

She felt her blush intensity, felt it spread down her neck and engulf her collarbone. “I was just trying to prove a point.”

“The point being that you don’t think I’m well enough to, how would a human put it, rock your world?”

That phrase had no business being on Ronan’s tongue, but Beth felt her nipples tighten in response nonetheless.

“I never said that,” she blurted, embarrassed. She wasn’t trying to insult him, it just kept happening organically.

There was a moment where he didn’t reply, and her words hung between them like a fog. Finally, he dispelled it.

“I’m more than enough recovered to have perfectly adequate sex. Even backbreaking sex, as you put it. So you can rest your worries.” He turned his face back up toward the ceiling and closed his eyes. His long eyelashes casted shadows on his cheeks.

Beth opened her mouth, unsure of how to respond to that. Did he want to have sex? He wasn’t acting like it. Just because he insisted he could didn’t mean he would. Not that she wanted to have sex. Last she’d checked in with herself on that subject, he’d still been too new to her. Sex with a stranger was one thing, but sex with a stranger who she’d have to see every day for the rest of her life was a bird of a different species. But things had changed. She had watched him not only dance with death but bump and grind against it. The experience had threatened to undo her. They had been through enough together in the few short days they’d known one another that she felt connected to him.

Beth bit her tongue against any come-hither advances and rolled onto her back. The ceiling, as she’d come to count on the last few nights, was unremarkable. She decided to focus there and not too long after felt herself dozing off.

The two were woken by a soft knock at the door. Ronan, just like the last time they’d slept in the same bed, was wrapped around her. It was such a curious thing that he be so distant awake and so clingy asleep.

He peeled himself off of her and sat up quickly, almost as if he were trying to make it seem like he wasn’t just using her as a teddy bear. Beth snorted and sat as well, running fingers through her hair.

The knock came again.

Ronan stood and crossed the room, wearing only those leather pants that Beth loved so much. They couldn’t have been very comfortable as pajamas, but he didn’t have Sebastian’s borrowed flannel this time. He probably slept naked when alone, she mused, then immediately pictured what he might look like without any clothes. The hypothetical imagery was delightful.

He pulled open the door and Beth heard Katherine suck in a breath.

You and me both, she thought with a smirk.

“I-I brought today’s outfit for Lady Elizabeth,” Beth’s old nanny said. It was the first time she had ever referred to Beth as a Lady. She was probably frightened of meeting Ronan’s bad side, or even his slightly annoyed side.

“I’ll take it,” he said, relieving the servant of yards of what looked like periwinkle fabric. Beth groaned inwardly.

“She might need help l-lacing it,” said Katherine. The fact that she was intimidated became more obvious each time she spoke.

“I can handle it,” Ronan said curtly. “Thank you.”

He was going to lace her dress?

“Yes, of course, Sir Mac Nevin.”

Beth rose from the bed as Ronan shut the door and turned, examining the decadent dress in his arms. “Who decides what you wear, and why do they dress you in such finery for everyday life?”

“Right? I used to think it was Miss Katherine, but I’m not convinced it isn’t Sebastian just fucking with me.”

Ronan chuckled, amused at her theory. “Who is Miss Katherine?”

“The servant you just talked to. She’s Benji’s mom, actually. Delphine’s aunt.” Beth lifted up her arms so that he could slide the monstrosity over her head.

Ronan followed her unspoken directions. “Really? I suppose now that you mention it I do see a resemblance between her and Benjamin. Is she a fire elemental as well?”

The dress smothered her for a moment before he tugged it down into place.

“I’m not sure,” said Beth. “If she is, I’ve never seen her use her power.”

He began on the laces in the back. “Hm.” His deft fingers brushing against her made her shiver. “You can change into something more suitable for our task when we get to your house.”

“Oh, we get to go home first?” Beth’s heart lifted. It would be good to see home again, even if only for a short while. They had only been at the Unseelie palace for a few days but it felt like at least a month.

“To get you out of this dress, if nothing else,” said Ronan as he tied the ribbon in a final bow.

She turned, blinking up at him. Had he just said what she thought he did? By the look of embarrassment on his face, he had.

Ronan’s eyes were closed and he was frowning minutely, as if to ask did I say that out loud? Beth wanted to respond with some suave remark, pointing out what he had said and delving into the topic flirtatiously, but instead she giggled. Like a schoolgirl.

“You know what I mean,” he amended.

“I do,” she admitted, still giggling like an anime character.

Ronan sighed and went to his wardrobe. He picked out a tunic and pulled it over his head, then fished his weapons belt from the floor and fastened it on. He looked around for his boots.

“There,” she said, pointing to a spot under the side table as her laughter died down.

Beth grinned as her rickety old house came into view. She was a little surprised that Sebastian hadn’t accompanied them back. She suspected his staying had a lot to do with a certain sulking selkie.

Benji was in his room, drenched in smoke and candlelight. His face brightened when Beth peaked in.

“Beth, you better be home for good. I have been so bored.” He jumped up and wrapped her in a weed and soap scented embrace.

She soaked him up for a moment. “Actually, we’re just stopping in. We’re headed up to New York again.”

“Of course you are.” He sighed and pulled away, then caught sight of her outfit. “What in the ever-loving fuck are you wearing?”

“I think your mother dresses me like this to punish me,” Beth said, wiggling a bit to try and gain some leeway from the tight laces.

A look of wistfulness overcame Benji’s features for a moment. “She still good?”

“Yeah Benj, she’s still good.”

“What are you doing in New York?”

“Finding some guy for Maeve and bringing him back to the castle.”

Benji made a face. “Ew. Be careful. If Queen Bitch wants him, then he’s definitely bad news.”

“I know.” She was glad he hadn’t asked about the foray into the Drochaid. Any answer she could have given him would only piss him off.

“Where’s the Knight?” he asked.

“Probably getting gang-banged by the twins. I should go and rescue him,” Beth said with a chuckle.

Benji laughed and followed her downstairs where Ronan was indeed cornered in the living room. He sat in a battered armchair while Sian and Liam occupied the loveseat across from him.

They regarded Ronan with the same intent as the previous times they’d met him. This time, however, Ronan was fixing them with a similar look.

“Where are you from? Certainly your village must be represented at the yearly summit.” Ronan’s tone suggested that he didn’t expect a valid answer.

Fortunately for the twins, Beth’s presence served as a suitable distraction. Ronan’s stormy blue’s flashed to her face and the twins twisted to look at her, following his gaze.

“You’re wearing a dress,” said Liam in surprise.

“A long, formal dress,” added Sian, agape.

“Not for long, but I need help getting it unlaced.”

Before either of them could volunteer, Ronan stood. “Very well,” he said. “To your bedroom?”

Beth nodded and turned. She made her way up to her poor, neglected room with him on her heels. The sheets were still ruffled from the last time they’d slept in the bed together. Beth found herself referring to it in her head as “their bed”, which, when she realized she was doing it, scared the hell out of her. How had she fallen so fast from independence to warm fuzzies at the thought of mixing their skin cells?

She jumped when warm fingers began tugging at the ribbon fastened just above her ass. If Ronan noticed, he said nothing. Tingles travelled up and down her spine and she suppressed an answering shudder. He must have stepped closer because hot breath cascaded over her neck. Goosebumps erupted down her arms and her whole body tightened. God, she needed to get laid.

The dress, unbound, fell to the ground, leaving Beth in nothing but her white shift. She quickly pulled it over her head and tossed it aside. She found jeans and a threadbare Ramones t-shirt to throw on. Instantly she felt better.

“Are you going to change too? Try and blend in more? I know it’s New York City, but still.” She faced him, expected the tunic and leather pants he was so fond of. Instead he wore dark cargo pants and a plain gray hoodie.

“I like it,” she said, a little bit in awe of his adeptness with using glamours. “So do you have a plan? We could just google this guy.”

Ronan’s lips quirked. “You could try. Fae tend to stay off the radar. What happens if I try and google you, for instance?”

“You’d find nothing,” Beth responded.

She’d made damn sure it stayed that way throughout the years too. It hadn’t been easy. In fact, she’d come up with a few well thought out aliases to cover any tracks she might have accidentally left. Any human friend she made never learned her real name. Of course, she’d been on the run. But so was Marcas Foley, she supposed. At least he was now.

“So what do you suggest?” she asked.

“We’ll go to Dougal’s. He may have some knowledge for us.”

“What about Marlowe?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “We can certainly see if he’s up to talking.”

“Ah, right.” Not that she wanted to talk to him anyway. Beth had spilled enough blood this week.

“Let’s head out. Is there anything else you need from here?” He glanced around her room.

She shook her head and they went downstairs. Benji waited in the foyer.

“Beth, where’s your sweater?” he asked, eyeing her.

“I must have lost it,” she lied.

He sighed heavily. “Here.” From the coat rack he pulled a warm, light blue jacket that was lined with fleece and handed it to her.

It smelled like him and she smiled, breathing it in before putting it on. “Thanks, Bento-box. I’ll try not to lose it.”

“Or get blood on it,” Ronan said, his dark eyes watching her and Benji intently, his full lips heavy with the ghost of a frown.

Benji flinched and reached for Beth’s hands. “Be careful. I can’t lose … that hoodie.”

“I understand,” Beth murmured, her throat suddenly tight. She pulled him to her in a firm goodbye hug.

Ronan cleared his throat. “Are you through? My wife and I have business to attend to.”

Beth blinked at him in surprise. He sounded almost petulant. Was he jealous? No, he couldn’t be. Ronan was the Unseelie Knight. Deadly, ruthless, terrifying. Men who could be described as terrifying did not get jealous. Nevertheless, Beth kind of liked the idea.

She pulled away and slipped her arms into the jacket, zipping up.

Dougal was happy to see them. His twinkling eyes followed them as they approached the bar. It was open for late lunch goers but there were only a few customers and they were scattered amongst the tables in sets of two or three.

“Alive, I see,” said the pub owner with a wide smile. He began pouring them each a glass of something that smelled like hops and olive.

“Yes, I’m fine,” said Beth, remembering how she’d been bleeding out on the floor of his apartment the last time they’d spoken.

“Glad to hear it, lass.” He pushed the glass toward her and she picked it up.

A sip revealed it as some sort of sour ale, which normally she wouldn’t have gone for, but she decided that she liked it quite a bit.

Ronan took a big drink of his and fixed Dougal with what could almost be considered a real smile. “It’s good to see that you are alive as well. How did it go with Marlowe?”

“Oh, fine. He put up a bit of a fight but I kept him pretty drugged until he’d aged a few years. Only took a couple of days. I kept him on a steady diet of chicken noodle soup.” He looked smug. “His kind can eat human food, you see, they just prefer not to.”

“He didn’t give you any trouble after that, I hope,” said Ronan.

“Nope. The bloodlust faded quickly after Beth was out of sight. I dropped him off at his place last night, safe and sound.”

“I may have to pay him a visit,” said Ronan, pushing his now empty glass toward Dougal for a refill.

Bushy white eyebrows raised. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Unless you’ve heard of a Fae called Marcas Foley. He’s supposed to be somewhere in the city.”

“Sorry kiddo, can’t say I have.”

Beth was surprised that Ronan let anyone call him ‘kiddo’ without incident, but he didn’t react at all.

“Marlowe it is,” said Ronan, resigned.

“I wouldn’t recommend bringing the missus along.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Ronan’s dark blues focused on Beth and softened a little. “I shouldn’t be gone long. A few hours, maybe. Do you want to wait here?”

Beth mulled it over. Not that she had many options to mull. She had only been in the big apple a few times before meeting Ronan and didn’t have any friends here to visit or grill for information. She opened her mouth to reply but before she could, the pub owner spoke.

“Actually, I’m short staffed tonight. Ever consider doing a little moonlighting?” he asked.

“Oh, sure!” Beth hoped her enthusiasm wasn’t too obvious. It felt like it had been months already since she’d last tended bar. To get back to something she knew she was good at would be wonderful. “I’d love to.”

“Great, get back here and let me show you where everything is. And you,” Dougal fixed Ronan with a hard stare. “Take your time and be careful.”

Beth felt at ease tending Dougal’s bar. It was similar enough to tending bar at the Glen that she fell into the rhythm of it without struggle. The dinner rush came and went, giving way to the large amount of people who actually came to the bar to drink.

Interacting with customers was like doing a dance, and Beth knew the steps so well they were ingrained in her muscles. She was glad for the distraction, too. Not worrying about whether or not Ronan was having any luck with the creepy little lamprey man.

Around ten a large group of Fae entered the bar, evident by their barely passable use of glamour. To someone who knew what to look for the air shimmered around them. Humans would probably just chalk it up to their own alcohol consumption.

“What’ll it be?” she asked, giving them a welcoming smile.

“Four shots of something sweet and fiery, like you,” said a guy with a cockney accent and a wink.

“Four shots of fireball, coming right up,” she said, spinning around to locate the liquor on the shelf. Beth had been trained early on to disregard patron flirtation.

While she had her back turned she heard the guy exclaim something that sounded an awful lot like “fucking Foley”. She froze.

“Marcas Foley?” she asked hopefully. She knew how slim the odds of them discussing the same Foley that she was looking for were in a city as large and populated as this one, but maybe lady luck had smiled on her tonight.

“You know him?” the guy asked, and she nearly did a jig right there.

The guy seemed to be in his twenties, with light hair and more tattoos than Beth could count in one sitting. She wouldn’t be surprised if he took his clothes off and didn’t reveal any unmarked skin at all, except for his face. Even his neck was covered.

“Sort of. What did he do to you?” She almost didn’t want to hear the answer, for fear that it would be something awful that she and Ronan would have to deal with.

“Look at this fucking thing.” He held out his forearm, turned so that the crook of his elbow was visible. Right in the hollow there was an intricately inked octopus, made up of dark blue and green that faded into periwinkle and lavender.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, eyes glued to the image.

“I didn’t fucking ask for it. Fucker paints me up with shit I don’t ask for and then charges me for it.”

She blinked up at him, frowning. “Where can I find him?”

Immediately the guy’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“I want a tattoo,” she said, missing only a beat.

It was a big enough beat to keep him suspicious though. He cocked his head at her distrustfully. She swallowed.

Slowly she slid the shots to him that she had poured. “On the house.”

He looked indecisive for a moment, then picked up two in each hand. “He’s got a parlor on the lower East side called Irezumi.”

“Thanks,” she murmured, picking up a pen from near the register and scrawling the name on her hand.

The guy nodded and then went to join his friends at a table and Beth went back to taking and filling orders.

It wasn’t for another hour that Ronan entered. He crossed to the bar and sat down. A few scratches decorated his face, as if someone had clawed him, but they weren’t actively bleeding.

Beth leaned onto the in front of him. “What’ll it be?” she asked in a low voice.

He smirked. “Surprise me.”

She raised her eyebrows and walked to where Dougal kept the barrels, looking them over. She reached up to one stacked just above her head and poured him a full cup. Beth wasn’t quite sure what it was, but it smelled good. And as a bonus somebody catcalled her when her shirt rode up. She brought the mug back to Ronan.

His smirk was gone. Instead he looked a little bit murderous. “Have people been doing that all night? Can they not see the ring on your finger?”

Beth sat his drink down before him. “Relax. It’s just what people do. I haven’t returned any attention, I promise.”

His wary glare said he didn’t benefit from her attempt at soothing, but he took a drink of his ale anyway.

“So did you find anything out?” Beth asked, resting her elbows on the bar in front of him. She was excited to share what she had learned, but wanted to hear what he had to say first.

Ronan started to speak but was interrupted by a drunk gentleman leaning onto the bar beside him, definitely penetrating his bubble. “Gimme a beer, sexy,” he slurred.

Ronan turned to him, a look of disgust mingled with menace on his face. “Watch your words,” he ordered through his teeth.

The man blinked at him, a little surprised. He looked middle-aged and certainly, in his mind, older than Ronan. “Excuse me, son?”

It must have taken great control for Ronan not to draw his sword and place it against the guy’s throat, but he somehow managed it. Beth watched his jaw clench, barely opening enough to release the words, “That’s my wife.”

Beth stared, not daring to breath. The man’s eyes opened wide in fear and the tension of the moment tightened between the three of them, threatening to choke.

Dougal dispelled the tension.

“You two, upstairs, now,” he said without naming names.

Beth and Ronan both immediately headed for the stairs, sparing the customer from what would at the very least have been a traumatic experience.

“Sit,” Dougal ordered. “What did you find out?”

Ronan dropped into a chair and stared at his hands which were repeatedly curling into fists and then uncurling. “Not much. He’d heard of him but couldn’t give me many details. Except maybe he lives in Queens.”

Beth sat down beside him. “I found something out.”

Ronan looked up at her, surprise across his stern features. “What? How?”

She shrugged. “People talk.”

Dougal’s eyes sparkled as he sat down across from them. Obviously he wasn’t worried about the bar being unattended downstairs. Perhaps one of the waitresses had stepped in. “And what do they say?” he asked.

“That Marcas Foley runs a tattoo shop on the lower East side called Irezumi.” Beth was proud of herself for the information she’d gathered.

“And it’s the same Marcas Foley?” asked Ronan.

“Only one way to find out,” said Dougal.

Ronan’s demeanor had changed from murderous to thoughtful. “We have our next stop, then. Tell me her shift is over.” He fixed Dougal with a glare.

The short man laughed. “Yes, yes. Here.” He handed her a wad of cash. “Your tips.”

“Thank you,” Beth said. Ronan would probably cover any expenses but it was nice to be rewarded for the work she’d done.