by S. Young
Sighing at his bossy abruptness, Rose prepared to travel. There was a niggle of exhaustion working its way through her, and she didn’t think it had to do with the iron. This felt more natural. As if traveling from place to place was draining her. With the vault so far underground, she couldn’t just travel to the stadium from here. She needed to make the restroom pit stop as a precaution since she was still new at this.
Gathering her energy, Rose traveled into the hotel restroom stall and immediately felt her knees give away. Weakness flooded her.
What the hell?
A potent tingle filled the air.
Magic.
The stall door blew off and into the room.
Shocked, Rose lifted her weary head. Her limbs felt like lead.
What was going on?
Two witches and a warlock stepped into her line of sight.
How?
The taller of the two women, an attractive brunette, spoke. “You didn’t think a little spell like Schneider’s would keep us out, did you?” She was American. “We’ve been hanging out here all morning, waiting on you and Mór to show. Finally, you did but what do you know, we follow you in here and you’d vanished.”
Rose cursed herself for using the stall.
She was trapped by its three walls and these three strangers and—she glanced down at the gap between the stall walls and the floor. No light came in under it because a band of iron filled the gap. In fact, the whole stall felt strangely dark. Straining to look up, Rose cursed under her breath. The stall had a ceiling now. A ceiling of iron.
“It envelops the entire stall. Like an iron cage,” the woman informed her.
Fuck.
“Who are you?”
“Layton Blackwood.” The warlock stepped forward and gave her an old-fashioned, gentlemanly bow. “At your service. These are my sisters, Liza and Lori.”
He didn’t look anything like his sisters, who were both brunettes with golden skin. Layton had shocking white-blond hair and pale skin. Rose licked her lips, thinking, thinking. Dammit, think!
Nausea made itself known and she groaned, desperately wishing she could flee the iron. The room began to spin.
“We’re here to bring you into the safe arms of the Blackwood Coven, Rose.”
No, no.
Kill her more like.
Her stomach roiled.
“Yeah,” she whispered, “I feel real safe right now.”
“We apologize for the iron, but we couldn’t have you popping out of here without letting us explain.” The warlock lowered to his haunches before her, his gaze crawling over her skin. “What is it about fae? I could look at you for hours and never tire of it, and I know Lori feels the same about Mór.” Layton glanced over his shoulder. “What about you, Liza? Like what you see in Rose here?”
Liza was the shorter sister. She scowled at Layton. “We’re not here to sexually harass her. Let’s get on with things.”
“It isn’t sexual harassment. I just appreciate the finer things in life.” He smiled at Rose.
Infuriated by his ogling, Rose bared her teeth at him. “If you’re done objectifying me …” Her words trailed off as the room spun horrifically.
“In a fight, you’ll most likely be outnumbered and thus disoriented. You need to learn to focus through that.” Fionn’s voice filled her head, as did his lessons at the basilica.
Was that only last night?
Focus, Rose.
Layton Blackwood continued to speak but Rose didn’t hear a word.
Instead, she strained against the strength of the iron, feeling her muscles burn as if she were pushing a mammoth weight off her body.
“Layton …” She heard one of the sisters cut off her brother’s droning voice.
Exultation pierced Rose’s pain as she felt that weight shift. Every muscle in her body strained to its limit. Almost there. Almost there.
Then with one mighty shove, she screamed as if her whole body was being torn apart, abandoned the thought of agony and thought only of the stadium.
The world blurred and she collapsed on a sidewalk that was slightly warm beneath her palms from the November sun.
Panting, heaving, spitting up bile, she heard a surprised gasp behind her.
The weakness drained quickly from her body, but Rose was soaked with sweat as she pushed to her feet. She wiped at her mouth and searched her surroundings. There was no game on at the stadium, the grounds were quiet, but this female security guard had seen Rose appear out of nowhere.
If she questioned that appearance, she seemed to have buried it under her concern for the state Rose was in.
Rose waved off her concern, frantically looking for Fionn.
Where the hell was he?
He waited five minutes for Rose to join him at the stadium.
Five minutes too long.
Something was wrong.
He could feel it in the racing of his panicked heart.
However, when Fionn had attempted to travel directly back to the ladies’ restroom, he found himself in the corridor outside it instead.
A sheet of iron was placed over the entrance.
Fury roared through Fionn as he glanced left and right. There was no one else around, no approaching danger. Yet he could hear the murmurings of conversation within the restroom.
Focusing, he attempted to travel into the room, but his magic rebelled against the iron shield.
Sweat glistened on his temples as he gathered his strength and tried once more.
Nothing.
“Fuck,” he bit out, clasping tightly to the silver box.
No guards or hotel staff had made an appearance, so whoever was in the restroom with Rose was powerful enough to get through Schneider’s spells undetected.
The Blackwood Coven.
The Garm was mostly made up of vampires and werewolves.
It had to be the Blackwoods.
If it’s the Blackwoods, she’s safe, he reminded himself. Rose might believe the Blackwoods wanted to kill her, but Fionn knew the truth. The Blackwoods needed Rose alive to complete the spell that opened the gate to Faerie. That was the true spell Aine cast.
A fae-borne could open the gate and bring his or her companions into the world of Faerie to live there forever. All it would take was a drop of his or her blood.
But not with Fionn.
When he found the silver box with his dagger buried at the bottom of his faerie pool, Fionn discovered a piece of parchment inside. It held a note, from Aine, written in the dialect of Samhradh.
She warned that if he tried to use a fae child to return to Faerie with ill intentions, he’d have to kill that child, iron through the heart, to open the gate. She was always trying to best him, even from her perch on a throne on another fucking world.
Aine thought she knew him, thought he wouldn’t sacrifice an innocent to take his revenge.
She underestimated the depth of his passion for vengeance.
His vengeance.
Fionn growled at the iron-shielded door. The Blackwoods wouldn’t kill Rose but they’d bloody well tell her the truth. Focus, he demanded of himself. The rest of the room was not clad in iron. He could get past the door if he just bloody focused.
A scream tore through the walls of the restroom and shredded Fionn’s soul.
Rose!
Terror and fury flooded him, all barricades insignificant in the face of reaching her in time. Just like that, Fionn stood inside the restroom ready to tear its occupants to pieces.
Layton, Lori, and Liza Blackwood whirled to face him, their expressions slack with bafflement. Fionn saw a stall covered in iron sheets to create a makeshift cage.
They’d trapped Rose like an animal.
The desire to rip Layton’s head off was strong but the need to find Rose, who was nowhere in sight, was stronger.
She’d escaped the cage.
With one last look of promised retribution, Fionn sent out fingers of magic to the three siblings, hit their carotid sin
us, and watched them slump to the floor in a tangle of unconscious limbs.
With one last snarl in their direction, he traveled to the hotel’s side entrance, deliberately setting off the perimeter spell Schneider had alarmed the building with. Let him find the Blackwoods and let them deal with each other.
Job done, Fionn traveled to Camp Nou, hoping he’d find Rose.
Relief flooded him at the sight of his shaken companion searching the car park for him. He hurried toward Rose and she whirled around at the sound of his approaching footsteps. Without thinking, driven purely by instinct, he grabbed hold of her slim but strong biceps and hauled her against him.
She wrapped her arms around his waist, burrowing her face in his chest, and he hugged her with his free arm.
It was but seconds before her slim heat penetrated his anxiety and brought reality crashing down on him.
What the fuck was he doing?
Fionn pressed her away, bending his face to check her expression. She looked exhausted. “Are you okay?”
Rose nodded and he stepped out of her reach, putting much-needed distance between them. What was he doing hugging her?
He was losing his mind.
“Have you got enough left in you to travel back to the hotel?”
She shook her head, her voice hoarse. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. They’d blocked the bathroom with iron. I couldn’t get past it until I heard you scream.” He flinched, knowing he’d remember the sound of Rose screaming for the rest of his life. “You were gone, but I saw what they’d done with the iron.” Pride was an ache through him. The twisted fuck that he was. “You are very powerful, Rose.”
She gave him a weary smile and shrugged. “My mom always said I have a will of steel.”
“Your mam was right.” And thank the gods for that. He nodded toward the street. “Come on. We’ll grab a cab back to the hotel. I’m afraid from there, we need to keep going. We need to get out of the city before the Blackwoods catch up with us.”
Rose walked toward the street and he hesitated to follow, wondering how much Layton had told her. “Moving on first and then sleep. Got it.”
Fionn relaxed. If Layton had told her the truth, she didn’t believe him or she wouldn’t still be with Fionn. “What did Layton say?”
“He’s creepy.” Rose’s voice was still hoarse as she threw the opinion over her shoulder at him. “I didn’t hear much of anything he said. I was too busy concentrating on getting away from his licentious ass.”
Licentious? “Did he touch you?”
“Nope.”
Fionn relaxed.
“After we grab our stuff from the hotel, where to next?”
Fionn took in Rose’s body as she walked slightly ahead of him. Her hips were gently rounded, not voluptuous like his past lovers’, but they hypnotically swayed from side to side with her natural swagger.
He could smell fresh sweat on her skin blowing back on the breeze, and he zeroed in on her neck as she reached to lift her hair off her nape. Several strands stuck as a bead of sweat trickled down her spine.
It had taken some exertion but she’d retrieved An Breitheamh and then escaped an iron trap few fae could have.
Exhausted, she still didn’t complain when he informed her they needed to keep moving. Just accepted it.
Strong.
A will of steel.
Beautiful.
As heat flooded low and thick inside Fionn, his frustration became a physical ache in his gums, in his very nerve endings. Curling his free hand into a fist, he fought against the overwhelming urge to surround Rose Kelly with his body and not let her up for air until they were both satisfied.
Fuck.
She’d want that from him. She’d made that plain and clear.
All thoughts of traveling directly to Ireland flew out of his head. There was no way he would touch Rose like that, make her take him deeper into her trust, only to betray her unto death. Which meant he needed another avenue to vent his frustrations, and soon.
“Eventually Ireland,” he bit out as he caught up with her. “But first we’re making a pit stop in Orléans.”
“France?” She glanced up at him in surprise, those astoundingly blue eyes of hers making his stomach pitch. “What’s in France?”
Deciding that staring at her was the problem, Fionn glared ahead, searching for a taxi stand. “Just something I need.”
19
Bran arranged another car for them since the Blackwood Coven was now watching the train and bus stations and the airport. Fionn decided he would drive to Orléans. Despite it being an eight-hour drive.
“It’s not an eight-hour journey in what we’ll be driving,” he’d replied when she’d questioned the length of the drive.
Rose understood what he meant when she saw the car. They’d collected their things from the hotel, he’d given her five minutes to freshen up, and then they were in a cab that took them across the city to its coast.
Their driver let them out at a luxury beachfront property. Outside it was a woman in a figure-hugging blue dress, leaning against a vehicle Rose was pretty sure belonged to Batman.
It hugged the road with elegant lines and curves; its nose and headlights created a hood that was somewhat feline. Dark matte-gray paint, black wheels, and wing mirrors gave it that Batmobile look.
It was the sexiest car Rose had ever seen.
The woman in the dress, with her impressive cleavage and tiny waist, pushed off the car at Fionn’s approach, her gaze widening ever so slightly as she sashayed across the tarmac to meet them. She was wearing six-inch spiked stilettos and glided in them as easily as Rose could.
Rose wondered who the stranger was and tried not to feel agitated at the way the woman eyed Fionn like he was her next meal.
Sidling a little closer to him, the territorial action caused the stranger to offer Rose a genuine smile. They halted before each other and the stranger turned her attention to Fionn. She held up a key fob.
Fionn took it. “You got the money?” he asked.
The stranger nodded. “I hope you’re not doing anything illegal in it?” she asked, her accent Spanish.
“We’re not.”
“Bran assured me as much, but I just needed to double-check. Her tank is full, but remember you can drain her in less than ten minutes if you go at her top speed.”
“Noted.” Fionn was staring almost avariciously at the car.
“Bran said you’ll have someone trustworthy return her to me?”
“Absolutely. Thanks.” Fionn moved around her, heading toward the car like he was under a spell.
The woman pouted. Actually pouted.
Rose could feel her pain. Right then she felt a little invisible to Fionn too. She stepped up beside the stranger. “Guess you’re used to people admiring the car’s curves.”
“Sí, darling, but I’m used to having mine admired too.” She eyed Rose. “Is he not attracted to women? Or just in love?”
With Rose?
She guffawed at the idea, grinning. “With your car, sure.”
The woman chuckled. “She’s easy to love.”
“Apparently,” Rose murmured. Fionn had opened the hood and surprised her by putting her backpack in a spot in there. Then he’d put his garment bag behind the passenger seat. He caressed the side of the car, and Rose felt a prick of envy.
Seriously, he’d forgotten she existed.
“What kind of car is it?”
“Querida, a Bugatti Chiron,” the woman replied, as if Rose should know what that meant.
“Right.”
“It’s worth two million dollars, so if your boyfriend scratches it, he bought it.”
Two million dollars?! Who would pay that for a car? “He’s not my boyfriend,” she murmured distractedly, staring at the car.
“Right.”
Before Rose could respond to the stranger’s sarcastic drawl, Fionn looked up from his perusal and glowered at Rose. “Are you coming or what?”<
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“If I said ‘or what,’ would it matter?” she teased, gesturing to the vehicle. “Should I leave you two alone?”
His expression flattened. “Would you please get in the car?”
Truthfully, she was tired and looking forward to sleeping while he drove this thing through Europe. With a sigh, Rose held her hand out to the owner of the Bugatti. “Thanks for the loan. Nice to meet you.”
The woman shook her hand, her fingers wrapping tightly around Rose’s. “Jada García. If you’re ever back in Barcelona, look me up.”
A quick glance at Fionn warned her not to share her real name. “Emma,” Rose supplied with a hopefully sincere smile as they shook hands.
“Well, Emma,” Jada said, smirking, “it was a pleasure.”
Rose nodded and strode toward Fionn, wondering who Jada was interested in. Fionn or Rose? A look over her shoulder at Jada’s lingering gaze suggested it might both.
Laughing at the scowl Fionn threw Jada, Rose got into the passenger side and let her lips part in a gasp as she lowered herself into the sport seat of fine Italian leather in teal and dark gray. The center console was narrow and sported several knobs.
Fionn opened the driver’s side door but seeing how close the seat was to the pedals, Rose called out for him to wait. She leaned over the console, felt for the buttons, and pressed the electric seat until it slid back as far as it could go.
“Done.”
Fionn lowered his massive body inside. He still engulfed the space, his hair hitting the roof’s leather lining. “Thank you,” he said gruffly, as he felt for the buttons. Once he’d gotten his chair position as comfortable as he could, Rose pulled on her seat belt.
“Expensive car,” she noted.
“Fast car. We’ll get to Orléans in half the time.”
“Isn’t it a little conspicuous?”
Fionn started the engine; it purred in answer. As they pulled away, she waved to Jada. “The opposite. Only so many people own a Bugatti. It’s registered under Jada’s name.” He swung them around a corner, faster than Rose would have dared, and she marveled at the way the car gripped the road.
She caressed the leather beneath her and relaxed into her seat. “Wow.”