Plausible Deniability

They’re the first ones to arrive at the house an hour later. Aila keeps one ear on the conversations around her—Zayn laying out a plan to take care of the weaponry coming in, Mully and Harry arguing over how to run the books. Louis and Tania speak too quietly for her to hear, but Aila is a hundred percent sure it isn’t business talk. Liam paces the perimeter of the clearing.

Despite her common sense, Aila steps past the treeline and decides to explore a bit. Niall said Maura brought him and Greg here as kids, whenever Bobby came home injured to the point of frightening the children. Time erased those memories, tucked them away into Niall’s history, but now he remembers.

She glances back over her shoulder, smiling at the sight of the mushroom ring. She remembers asking Niall about the fungi, why it was a circle. Was it natural? Did it serve a purpose?

“My ma said it was,” he’d answered. “That the mushrooms grew like that around the clearing, which is why she asked the Queen of the Faeries to allow us entrance. Ma gave offerings for safety and protection, and my parents built the house together.”

Aila frowned and ran a finger along his bare sternum; his body was so warm beside hers, skin damp with sweat. “But won’t the Queen be upset you’re coming back after years of no offerings?”

“I’ll double the offerings when we go back.” He’d paused before meeting her gaze. “You believe this.”

“It’s your culture, I guess is the word, to believe this. Why shouldn’t I?”

“God, I love you,” and that was all he said besides her name, darling, fuck, for a long while.

Someone shouts for her, and Aila hesitates and stares around. The trees are denser now, too tightly clumped, and the sunshine can’t break through the canopies. When had she gotten so far from the clearing? She doesn’t remember walking away or pushing through thick brush, but she had. Swallowing down the fear, she closes her eyes and inhales as steadily as possible.

“Lost, are you?”

She barely manages to stifle her squeak at the accented voice. It isn’t one she recognises, and her eyes fly open as she whirls around. A tinkling laugh echoes from above. The woman in the treetop grins down at Aila.

“Never fear. Not here to hurt you.”

Aila gulps. Is she the Queen? Her face is sharp lines and delicate features—pale brows over paler eyes, thin lips, narrow nose. The woman’s white hair covers her ears. She certainly looks like a Queen, with the dress she wears that Aila can see is silk, even from the distance. Something about the woman sings of regality.

“Who are you?”

The woman grins. “Madeleine. And you’re Aila Greene, soon to be Aila Horan.”

“How—?”

“I’ve come to offer warning, Aila Greene. Your plans aren’t unknown. You are in danger of a war if you do not concede.”

“How does Strickland know? How do you know?”

“The trees speak. All one has to do is listen.”

“We won’t give in to him,” Aila grits out, and Madeleine only smiles serenely back. “He’s done far too much damage.”

“Then heed this: He will not give up, so you best strike with all you have. Your friends come, Aila Greene. Be careful in how you proceed.”

“Aila! What the fuck are you doing?”

Aila turns toward Liam as he shoves through the tangles of limbs. When she looks back up into the trees, Madeleine is gone. All that remains of her presence is the swaying branches where she’d perched. Was she even really here?

Liam drags her back toward the clearing, and Aila’s mind races as she stumbles after him. Maybe it was a figment of her imagination—fear dredging up hallucinations. But Madeleine seemed so real.

“Where were you?” demands Niall as she and Liam break free of the treeline.

“I didn’t realise I’d gone so far,” she murmurs in apology, and he softens enough to accept her kiss. “Sorry.”

“Stay close,” is all he gives in response.

Near the edge of the mushroom ring is a platter overflowing with bread. A bowl of white liquid sits beside the platter, another offering of berries and what looks like salt. She raises a brow at Niall, and he shrugs. He meant what he said about doubling the offers. He followed through.

“I need to talk to you,” she says, remembering Madeleine’s warning.

His eyes narrow, brows furrowing, and he opens his mouth. Before he can say anything, a twig cracks. The group turns as one to watch Ashton lead his crew into the clearing. His hazel eyes catch on the offerings, but he doesn’t remark on them. Instead, he heads straight for the house.

Aila stays back with Harry, Louis, and Mully as Niall stands in the centre of the room. A mimicry of their last meeting, Ashton on one side and Niall on the other. Liam and Zayn flank her fiancé, Tania to his right. Shuffling footsteps drag her attention away from the plans—the ones involving her wedding—and she looks at Calum from the corner of her eye.

“Sure you can handle this, princess?” he asks in an undertone.

“Call me that again, and we’ll see how willing I am to take a life.”

He stifles his laugh, but not well enough. Niall and Ashton fall silent. Calum hurries to school his face into blank nothingness. Ashton’s eyes are cold and sharp.

“Something funny over there, Hood?”

Calum shakes his head. “No, sir. Just... chatting with Aila.”

“Maybe you should pay more attention to the plans and less to Miss Bride, though I know it’s rather difficult given her beauty.”

“Watch it, Irwin. That’s my fiancée you’re talking about.”

“I’m aware, Horan. Doesn’t mean I can’t pay the woman a compliment.”

Niall regards Ashton with a cool smile. “Getting sentimental on me?”

“Never.”

Aila ducks her head to hide her grin. Calum grins back. He doesn’t look so cruel when he smiles. His dark eyes light up, face softening. He looks his age, not like a mobster with the world on his shoulders. Blood on his hands that will never wash clean.

Niall waits until they’re back at the manor, relaxing in the parlour over drinks and a game of chess, before asking Aila what she meant by they need to talk. She sighs and tells him about Madeleine. About her warning. Niall chuckles when Aila wonders aloud if she was the Queen of the Faeries.

“It’s possible, darling. The Queen doesn’t usually appear to humans, but maybe she was particularly taken by you.”

“But you don’t think it was her.”

“What I think is irrelevant. Eyes on the game, darling. Check.”

“Bastard,” she groans before moving her king. He captures it anyway in another three moves.

Tania steals her away to the basement an hour later. As Aila lets Harry tape up her knuckles, she listens to Liam and Zayn laying out a new schedule: Boxing in the morning, a break for lunch, then yoga and martial arts until dinner. Weaponry until she drops. Louis warns it’s necessary but it is going to be the most gruelling thing she will ever do.

And damn it if he isn’t right.

The first few days are the worst—Liam drags her from bed at the crack of dawn, and Niall only smiles drowsily before rolling over and falling back to sleep. After a jog around the property, Aila is finally allowed to eat breakfast. Zayn knocks her on her ass too many times to count, and she stumbles up the stairs for lunch with split lips and bruised ribs.

Yoga should be a helluva lot easier, Aila grumbles to herself as she struggles to get into the pose. Tania snorts from beside her, already in perfect form. Louis at least has the decency to take pity on Aila: He helps manipulate her legs and arms into the proper position before moving back to his own.

Mully teaches her how to use a firearm. The cold metal frightens her as she holds the gun, but she refuses to let it show. This is her life now. He adjusts the earmuffs and steps back. Aila squeezes the trigger, but the shot goes wide. Cursing, she closes her eyes. Centres herself. Tries again.

This time, the bullet hits the mannequin in the crotch.

Aila goes to bed every night too exhausted to even kiss Niall goodnight. She just falls facefirst onto the bed and is asleep within seconds.

After a week, the morning runs don’t make Aila want to die. She can reach the poses Tania barks out—which goes against the whole idea of yoga being relaxing, but the woman doesn’t seem to care. Aila still can’t take Zayn or Liam down. They have a harder time knocking her to the floor.

Niall ducks into the ring two weeks after her first ‘lesson’, and Aila freezes. “What?”

“Kick my arse, darling.”

“Oh, gladly.”

Despite their relationship, Niall doesn’t take it easy on her. His fist lands against her cheek without hesitation, and she stumbles back a few steps. He’s using more force than the others had. Aila spits the blood from her mouth, bringing her hands up the way Tania taught her, and shifts her weight between her feet. Niall gives her the slightest opening.

Whether it’s intentional or not, Aila takes it. Punch to his jaw, another to his stomach, a kick to the knee. He grins even as he drops to the mat. It’s enough for Aila’s confidence to ratchet. They are far from evenly-matched, but she doesn’t let it stop her from giving it her all.

She lunges forward, intent on using her weight as leverage. To her dismay, Niall is quicker: He grabs her arms and throws her toward the ropes, the corner. Her ears ring with each blow that lands to her head, her entire body throbs with each punch and kick he’s given her. Still, she doesn’t give up.

He is so focused on his arms, he doesn’t notice her foot. She hooks it around his ankles, yanking forward, and he falls to his ass. Her victory is short-lived, though. Aila uses the heat flaring in her blood to push on through the pain. The blood dripping into her eyes. The hair clinging to her red-stained cheeks and neck.

It becomes less a coordinated fight and more a graceless brawl. Neither she nor Niall care about maintaining rules, about taking it easy, about holding back. Someone calls for an end. They ignore Harry, and Aila launches herself at Niall. His arm wraps around her waist, he twists. She lands on her back, yelping when the impact rocks through her.

He straddles her without hesitation, and she just barely manages to get her hands up in time. His punches rain down, knuckles slamming into her forearms. She grits her teeth and plants her feet against the mat, shoving up with her hips and thighs. Niall jolts but doesn’t shift.

One second he’s there, then the next, he’s gone. Mully and Liam drop Niall to the floor as Harry crouches next to Aila.

“Jesus, he’s done a number on you.”

Aila grins, closing her eyes, and something warm and wet drips from the corner of her mouth. Coppery. Blood. “It was fun.”

“It was fucking stupid,” Harry snaps as he wipes her face clean. “He could have really hurt you, Aila.”

He hauls her to her feet once he’s satisfied she isn’t injured. Her knees buckle, but she manages to stay on her feet. To cross the ring to where Niall sits on a stool. Mully hisses something under his breath before turning to Aila.

“I’ll get some ice.”

Niall reaches for Aila while Mully and Zayn walk away, and she goes easily onto his lap. Dried blood covers his upper lip, the skin under his eye split open. His lips and teeth are painted red when he smiles up at her.

“I’m so proud of you, darling.”

“I love you.” She leans in to kiss him, ignoring the metallic taste on her tongue. “Is it weird I don’t think I’ve ever found you more sexy than I do right now?”

His brow raises, and Niall’s grip tightens on her waist. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Think Harry would get upset if we used the infirmary?” she whispers in his ear, and he muffles his groan into her shoulder.

“Fuck it, he can deal with it.”

Aila giggles as Harry’s protests follow them to the other room. “You better disinfect everything, you fucking animals!”