by S. Young
“The jacket is destroyed,” he informed her.
Relief flooded her. “Yeah, it’s definitely taken care of. Everything in my apartment and at the club has been destroyed, so they can’t trace me anymore. And they don’t know about you. I’m pissed as all hell, but it would kill me if something happened to you, so stay put. If I find out they’ve discovered where you are, I’ll give you a heads-up.”
“How can you do that?” her mom demanded. “Rose, we need to come to you. Your father and I are not incapable. We are two of the coven’s most powerful members.”
She closed her eyes at the desperation and panic in her mother’s voice. “Mom … no matter how powerful you are”—she opened her eyes and they locked with Fionn’s—“you’ll never be as powerful as me. I’ve already … I’ve already killed to defend myself,” she admitted, the confession burning in her throat. “I’m not a powerless little girl anymore. I’m not afraid of your coven.”
And she found that she wasn’t. She had incredible abilities at her fingertips, and she had Fionn Mór on her side. “Your coven should be afraid of me.”
At her statement, something wonderful happened.
Fionn’s lips pressed together and curved into a small smile of respect.
A warm ache expanded in her chest. She felt about ten feet tall.
“You don’t sound like yourself,” her dad commented.
“No, Dad, I finally sound like myself. Stay put. If I think you’re out there trying to find me, getting on the coven’s radar, you’ll distract me. I need to stay focused.”
“They won’t stop coming, Rose,” her mother whispered. “Are you just going to run for the rest of your life?”
“Let them come.” Determination blazed inside her. “I’ve done nothing wrong but be born different. If they try to take me out, I’ll take them out instead. Until there’s nothing left of them.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Would you have me stand still and let them kill me?” she bit out.
“What about your soul, Rose? It may be self-defense but it’s still murder.”
“And it’ll mark my soul,” she echoed Fionn’s words and saw something dark flicker across his face. “Every single one. The day it doesn’t is the day I’m lost for good.”
“That day won’t come,” her father said. “You’ll never lose your soul, my darling, but the weight of those marks will drag you down.”
“Then I’ll try to avoid it,” she promised. “If I have to live my life constantly on the move, I will.” And she realized the thought didn’t fill her with panic. “I’ve always been a bit of a nomad.”
“Is there nothing we can say?”
“What could you say?” She was exasperated now. “There’s nothing you can do to change what is. I’m angry at you for lying to me my whole life. But I’m also grateful that you adopted me and sacrificed your life in Ireland to protect me. You did your job, and you did it well. But there’s no answer to this. I’m a target. So, I have to learn to protect myself, and I’ve found someone who can help me do that. While I get stronger, you have to promise you’ll stay where you are.”
There was an annoyingly long moment of silence before her dad replied, “We’ll stay, Rose.”
Relieved, Rose gripped the phone tight to her ear as it occurred to her she may never see them again. It might be too dangerous.
Tears burned her eyes, and she swiftly looked out the window at the dark world passing by. Her throat grew constricted as she strained to hold back the tears, but a single drop escaped anyway, scoring hotly down her cheek. “I love you both,” she choked out before she pulled the phone from her ear and hung up.
Without looking at Fionn, she slid the phone across the table toward him. He covered her hand with his, halting her retreat.
Surprised, she studied him as another tear let loose. He watched it trail down her cheek, and squeezed her hand beneath his before gently releasing her.
Missing his touch instantly, Rose let go of his phone and removed her hand from the table.
“We change trains at Dijon Ville in a few hours. Try to get more sleep if you can.”
The dream-walking episode came flooding back to Rose. Part of her was afraid to fall asleep again. But maybe … if Fionn slept …
An ugly ache replaced the warmth created by Fionn’s comfort. Was she so unable to allow someone completely into her affections, she’d invade his privacy rather than trust him? After the sweet moment between them, trespassing in his dreams felt like a horrible violation.
Or trespassing in anyone’s, for that matter.
“I slept for a few hours. Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”
Her companion studied her and then nodded. “I fear I must. Once we reach Barcelona, I’ll need to be as alert as possible.”
“Once we get there, will you tell me exactly what we’re there to do? I know, I know, we’re taking back something that was stolen from you, but details would be good.”
“I’ll explain everything when we get there.” He stood and she couldn’t help but watch as he removed his suit jacket and placed it on the luggage rack. Rose continued to ogle him as he unbuttoned the cuffs on his shirt and rolled them back to his elbows. The sight of his strong forearms caused an instant hot tingle between her thighs. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair as he quickly unbuttoned his waistcoat and settled back into his seat. His stomach was hard and flat beneath his white shirt. Rose would have given anything in that moment to see him shirtless.
But her imagination did a pretty good job filling in the blanks.
God, this fae’s sexiness was a great distraction from the heavy crap plaguing her life.
She lifted her gaze from his hidden abs to meet his. He’d caught her checking him out.
“Nothing else is coming off. Show’s over.”
Despite his monotone, Rose knew from the quirk of his eyebrow he was teasing.
And although she knew she shouldn’t, she smirked and flirted. “Well, that’s a damn shame.”
To her pleasure, his lips twitched as he studied her mouth for longer than appropriate. Then, just as excitement began to swell in all sorts of places, he slammed his eyes closed and commanded gruffly, “Sleep.”
However, Rose found she couldn’t sleep.
She’d just discovered the possibility that Fionn Mór returned her attraction after all.
Rose had never been one to fantasize about guys and romance … but she couldn’t help her thoughts as she watched her delicious mentor sleep, his handsome face appearing younger in rest. She couldn’t help but imagine that her future on the run might not be so desolate if she had someone who excited her by her side.
15
November in Barcelona was warmer than Zagreb by a good eight to ten degrees, but as midevening struck, Rose shrugged into the jacket she’d removed when they first arrived in the city a few hours ago.
She’d been beyond relieved to get off the train in Barcelona. Once they’d arrived in Dijon Ville early in the morning, they had to hang around a train station for four hours before they boarded a smaller train to Montpellier. After another wait at that train station, they boarded the train to Barcelona. Nearly four hours from departure, they arrived in the city at around five in the afternoon.
Bran had apparently taken care of business because Fionn immediately hailed a cab that took them to a basic but clean hotel.
“We’re near La Sagrada Familia,” Rose noted as Fionn checked them in.
“You’ve been to Barcelona before?”
She nodded. “Last year. I stayed for a long weekend and did tourist stuff.”
Bran had booked them adjoining rooms, and Rose prioritized taking a glorious shower over questioning Fionn further about their business in the Catalonian city. It was funny how a shower could make her feel human again, even though she wasn’t one.
Hmm.
The whole nonhuman thing, despite her abilities, would take a while to process. She wasn’t
sure she ever would fully process it—until everyone she knew aged while she remained the same. According to Fionn, that was already happening. She’d stagnated somewhere around her twenty-second birthday.
Panic constricted Rose’s breathing. Immortality sounded great and all, but it would be excruciating to watch her parents die. They would only be the beginning. Any connections she made in the human world, she’d eventually grieve. This whole fae shit was fucking with the natural order of things.
Putting morbid thoughts aside, Rose strolled out of the bathroom and halted upon finding a backpack and shopping bags on the bed.
Inside the bags, she discovered two new pairs of black skinny jeans that fit her to perfection, a slim-fit hooded sweater, two T-shirts, three sets of lacy underwear, socks, toiletries, and a hairbrush. Clearly the backpack was so she could carry all this stuff with her when they left.
Rose veered between being moved by Fionn’s thoughtfulness and the discomfort that he’d paid for all of it. The clothes were designer, the fabric soft, and weirdly exact to her taste. However, since her clothes were in desperate need of a wash, she’d decided not to snub the gesture.
She pulled on the demure but still sexy underwear before she paired her new jeans with a black cotton T-shirt with a retro motel print on the chest. The word “Paco” caught her attention, and she checked the label before she pulled it on. It was a Paco Rabanne shirt.
The jeans were by Citizens of Humanity.
Holy shit. Fionn did not mess around with apparel.
After blow-drying her hair, Rose was pleased to find some makeup in the bag with all her new toiletries. Again, high-end makeup.
“Where did it all come from?” she asked Fionn as soon as they met in the hotel lobby.
He’d arriving dressed in something other than a suit—black trousers and a black, slim-cut sweater that did wonderful things for his shoulders and arms. Everyone in the lobby watched him approach her, and Rose had to force herself to close her mouth so she didn’t look like a gaping groupie.
“I had Bran hire a personal shopper for our arrival.”
“How did you know my measurements?”
He held the hotel entrance open for her. “I’ve been around a long time, Rose. I know women’s bodies.”
That matter-of-fact response should have been annoying.
Instead, it gave her all kinds of tingles. She’d bet her powers that Fionn Mór knew how to satisfy a woman in bed.
Throwing that dangerous thought away, Rose replied, “Well, aren’t we a little obvious? We’re staying in a three-star hotel dressed in designer gear. It doesn’t add up.”
“Are you complaining about the hotel?”
“Fionn, I’ve lived in crappy apartments for years. This hotel is a luxury in comparison. That wasn’t my point and you know it.”
“We can’t stay in a five-star. We’d draw too much attention there. But I refuse to wear anything but the best.” He cut her a look, something like self-deprecation in his eyes. “I’ve been used to the best for a long time, whether lying my head to rest on a bed of furs or wearing bespoke suits from Savile Row.” He shrugged. “I won’t apologize for enjoying fine things.”
“I’m not asking you to. But I’m not sure I’m comfortable with you buying me $300 jeans.”
“Well, it was that or leave you to stink.”
She scowled. “I wasn’t that bad. Hey, where are we going?”
“Dinner. I’m hungry. After that, we will train.”
“And while we’re eating, will you be explaining what it is we’re here to steal back?”
He shook his head. “Too many ears. I’ll explain while we train.”
Dinner was a strangely comfortable affair at a nice restaurant less than a block from La Sagrada Familia. They spoke little other than for Fionn to ask how Rose was doing after the conversation with her parents.
He’d slept on the train the rest of the way to Dijon, and then Rose had fallen asleep on the train to Montpellier. A little more rested, they’d chatted on the train to Barcelona about her life in Maryland and she’d made a game out of how Fionn ably deflected personal questions.
Apparently, his sharing time was over.
It was frustrating and challenging trying to get him to divulge anything else about himself.
Now it was midevening in Barcelona and she followed Fionn for two blocks before she realized he was walking them in circles back toward La Sagrada Familia.
“What are you doing?” she asked as she shrugged into her jacket against the evening breeze.
“Losing any possible tails.”
“If we were being followed, wouldn’t we sense it?”
“I’m just taking precautions.”
“Well, while you’re at it, tell me about Bran.”
Fionn frowned down at her. “What about Bran?”
“How do you know him?”
He shrugged. “We met at an underground fight back in 1946. Bran was turned overseas. Ireland may have remained neutral in the war but thousands of Irish soldiers fought with the Allied forces against the Nazis. The war was ending, Bran was readying to return home. A vampire attacked him upon his arrival in France. He’d been out drinking, celebrating. She seduced him and then she turned him. Her name was Marielle.
“He was only twenty-one.”
“Bran had a difficult time coming to terms with what he was. He couldn’t return to his family or the girl he’d left behind, and it didn’t help that Marielle, bored with her new vampire lover, abandoned him in London. That’s where Bran and I met. He was angry and wanted an outlet, so he heard of the fights and came to take a beating. Which he did.”
“Underground fights?”
“Places for vamps and werewolves to take that natural aggression they don’t want pouring out around humans. They beat the living daylights out of each other with it instead.”
Rose shook her head in disbelief. “I’ll never understand men.”
“Men?” He smirked. “You’ll find all genders at an underground fight. It’s nothing to do with gender. It’s about a place to vent frustrations without hurting humans.”
“You do this too?” She wondered if fighting helped Fionn vent the anger he must still carry toward the Faerie Queen and the people who’d betrayed him.
“I do. I pose as a vampire.”
“How? You don’t have fangs.”
“I have magic.” He shot her a dry look. “And the ability to make people think I have fangs. It doesn’t always work. Vampires can sense each other, as can werewolves. The ones who looked closely enough at me could sense something was off. And then there are your more intuitive supes who can tell the difference between each kind of magic. The former and the latter have assumed in the past I’m a cheating warlock.”
“Is that how Bran found out the truth?”
“Bran was in over his head at the fights. Too young. Too inexperienced and truthfully, not aggressive enough, even for a vampire.” Rose thought she detected affection in his voice. “Bran’s a lover, not a fighter. Despite being forced into war as a boy.”
“He’s your friend.”
Fionn scowled, hesitated, and nodded. “He’s my only friend.”
Empathy ached through Rose. “I’m not very good at friendship.”
He drew to a halt outside the closed entrance to La Sagrada Familia. “For friendship to grow, trust must develop. With Bran, I didn’t tell him the truth until thirty years after we first met. The vampire is a genius, a curious one, a born researcher, and he’d developed an impressive network of contacts over the years. We met for lunch in Moscow in 1979 and he told me he knew what I was. It occurred to me that instead of killing him, perhaps I should trust him since it would have benefited him more to keep this knowledge to himself.
“Trust is hard for me. It didn’t come naturally. However, Bran was determined to be an asset to me, to have purpose, and he was interested in my mission: waiting for the fae children to be born. It took years of loyalty, but
he’s now the only being in the world I fully trust.
“You can trust him too, Rose.” Fionn’s expression was deadly serious. “If anything should happen to me, go to Bran.”
Her stomach flipped unpleasantly at the thought of anything happening to Fionn. “Nothing will happen to you. I won’t let it.” Her grin was flirtatious. “After all, I’d hate to be deprived of my daily dose of eye candy.”
Fionn’s shoulders relaxed a little and he rolled his eyes. “Stop flirting with me, Rose.”
The eye rolling only made her want to flirt with him more.
As if he sensed this, he sighed in exasperation and strode past her to gesture up at the church. They stood in front of wrought iron gates that guarded the steps up to the entrance. Construction cranes towered between and above the unusual church spires. “It’s time to train.”
Rose stared up at the building. The basilica was incomplete, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t astounding. Gaudí’s design of the Roman Catholic church was like something out of a sci-fi alien flick. Rose glanced from the astonishing architecture to Fionn. “Here?”
“We won’t be interrupted by supernaturals here. They tend to avoid religious places.”
“You mean vampires hating crosses is a real thing?”
Fionn shook his head. “No. Please do not think of fighting a vampire with a cross.” He examined the building. “Many young supernaturals, including witches and warlocks, feel physically discombobulated on hallowed ground. There are a few theories as to why. Mine is that faith en masse creates energy—in a way, its own sort of magic. That energy is strongest in places like churches. I believe it’s an antithesis to the energy supes are created from, the energy witches and warlocks tap into, and that’s why it makes them feel physically discomfited.”
Genuinely intrigued, Rose studied the building. “Why do you think it’s an antithesis?”
“Because human belief in their deities comes from a spiritual plane. Our belief in our magic comes from the natural plane, from what we see with our eyes. The former is faith. The latter involves no faith, merely acceptance. Acceptance is important, but faith, I’ve learned, has its own unique power. At least that is what I’ve surmised over the centuries.” He turned to Rose. “The only supernaturals I’ve seen enter a place of religion are those who have turned to gods to explain their existence.”