The Becoming Trilogy Box Set (Books 1-3) by Jess Raven, Paula Black Page B

but
what her head went to could no way in hell fit in a flask. Ash’s gaze fell for
a second as her thoughts directed her eyes. And then her throat was burning and
she coughed up whatever she’d just swallowed.
    ‘God! What is in here?’ It
tasted how paint stripper smelled. With a bit of smoke thrown into the mix. But
it was warm, and she took another swig before handing the flask back, her eyes
travelling past him to where a corner of the tarpaulin just showed. She
couldn’t see the head. Ash settled back into the bark and exhaled. ‘That’s not
a normal wolf under there.’
    ‘It’s whiskey, very good
whiskey, and no -’ he turned his head, his expression hidden from her, and
reached out to snap a twig from a nearby tree, taking to scratching random
patterns in the dirt ‘- technically, it’s not a wolf at all.’
    ‘What is it then?’
    Connal lifted his eyes to
regard her. ‘Something much, much older. An indigenous species to Ireland.’
    ‘You admit it’s not a
werewolf then? There was a full moon when ...’ Trailing off, her fingers sought
out the ridges of stitches lining her flesh beneath the jacket, startled eyes
jumping to his. ‘Holy hell! Am I going to turn into one of those things?!’ She
sought reassurance that she wouldn’t be eating from the mutt’s bowl three
nights of the month.
    He let out a short laugh and
his eyes shot to hers, brows betraying his incredulity. ‘Werewolves don’t
exist. You said so yourself.’
    Her eyes rolled so hard she
thought she heard her brain protest. ‘That makes me feel so much better.’
    ‘These creatures may have
propagated the myth.’
    Ash slumped back with a sigh
and waved her fingers for the flask, drinking deep now she was prepared for the
choking burn. ‘If it’s not a wolf, why did you call it that?’
    He hesitated, as though
gauging his words carefully. ‘They look like wolves, and ‘Fomorian’ doesn’t
exactly trip off the tongue.’ He held out his hand for the flask with a wry
smile.
    Her brain tweaked, perking
up. Finally, something she knew. ‘Fomorian? As in semi-divine creatures, first
inhabitants of ancient Ireland, preceding even the Gods?’ It was a fight not to
look at him as though he was the crazy one as she passed the thing over, focus
trained on his mouth and the way his lips looked ridiculously soft compared to
the stubbled skin around.
    He brought the neck of the
flask to his lips. Closing his eyes, he threw back a hard swallow, exhaled and
extended the thing back in her direction. ‘You do know your mythology, even if
you don’t believe in it.’
    A shrug. ‘Harvard. Folklore
and Mythology.’ As if it was the most normal thing to study in a place known
for much grander degrees.
    ‘Harvard. Cambridge, Massachusetts?’
    ‘You do know your Ivy League.
You’ve been there?’
    He shook his head. ‘What is
it they say? You can always tell a Harvard man, but you can’t tell him much.’
    ‘I’m not a man.’ Slightly put
out, Ash turned her attention to the dull grey shapelessness of her sweats,
picking at a loose thread on the knee.
    ‘Yeah. I noticed.’ The words
came out on a growl.
    ‘Well ...’ Gathering where
they’d left off, before her schooling had come into the mix, Ash tried and
failed to ignore the heat of his gaze as it sculpted her form in steel. She
inhaled and spoke on a sigh. ‘You just can’t be serious. You expect me to
believe these ancient myths are actually roaming the streets of Dublin, and
it’s not all over Prime Time?’ Her head shook, eyes landing on him warily.
    ‘Believe what you want.’ He
drew his knees up a little higher towards his chest.
    Poking seemed to get him
talking, like he answered just so she’d stop asking. She would trade the flask
for answers. ‘Why the full moon? That was a coincidence?’
    ‘No,’ he took what she
offered and drew deep from the flask, ‘the high tide washes them up to the
surface.’
    ‘The surface of what?’ Her
head cocked in