by S. Young
“It seems the Fates have other plans for you and me.”
“Fuck the Fates.” Rose’s fury and betrayal tore through her as she focused on the thought of Gare d’Orléans, the city’s train station. “You’re dead to me, Fionn Mór. Come looking for me and I’ll make it so.”
Then he and the apartment vanished, and Rose was surrounded by people on their morning commute at the train station. No one even noticed her pop out of thin air. Tears and loneliness burned in her throat as she searched the station for schedules and stopped under a row of screens. She couldn’t stop shaking, trembling from head to toe. Nothing made sense. She had no idea where she was going.
She couldn’t go home to Maryland because that would put her parents in danger. God, Rose missed them more than ever. The only two people she could trust.
A face, a lovely one, framed by white-blond, fairy-princess hair floated across Rose’s mind.
Maybe there was someone else she could trust.
Fionn had said Niamh Farren was not to be trusted, but he’d said that planning to kill—
Rose felt a strong wave of nausea and searched for the restrooms. Not caring who saw, she traveled there, making a woman at the sinks gasp in fright at her sudden appearance. Dashing into an open stall, Rose slammed the door behind her and fell to her knees.
She sobbed as she threw up, wondering how she could have allowed herself to grow attached to the fucking fae who was planning to stab her through the heart.
An Breitheamh.
Shit, she should have stolen An Breitheamh.
Exhausted, Rose slumped against the stall and stared unseeingly at the opposite wall.
If Fionn didn’t want her to interact with Niamh, it was because he knew Niamh would reveal his deception. Niamh may or may not be trustworthy, but she was like Rose, and her only connection in this bizarre supernatural existence.
Other than Thea MacLennan. But Thea had changed to a wolf. What help would she be? Rose would only bring her back into a story she was lucky to escape from the first time.
Fuck.
Niamh Farren it was, then.
Rose pushed up to her feet and wiped a hand across her mouth, determination setting in. Fionn could trace her using the shit she’d left at the hotel. Although she wasn’t worried about facing him, being followed was an inconvenience. And once she did what she did next, the Irish bastard would definitely hunt her down. That didn’t scare her. Truthfully. There was so much rage inside her, Rose felt like she could obliterate him if she wanted to.
Bitter, furious, hurt, and dare she admit, heartbroken, Rose emitted so much ominous energy as she strode through the station that the humans gave her a wide berth.
Rose was no longer human.
It sunk in.
Despite the moral implications, she tried out the brain-muddle thing Fionn could do. Fueled by anger, she didn’t allow herself to feel anything about doing it. Instead, she asked at customer service what trains she needed to take to get to Zagreb, booked the tickets, and then focused all her magic on penetrating the woman’s mind.
She pictured herself handing over the correct change and demanded those thoughts transfer.
To her shock, the woman’s expression slackened and she reached out to take the invisible money, typed something into her computer that caused a cash register to pop open below, and then put nothing into it.
She printed off Rose’s tickets and handed them over. “Faites bon voyage.”
“Thanks.” Rose attempted not to feel guilty and failed miserably.
Focus on your rage.
So she did.
The first train would take her to Paris. From there she’d travel on to Stuttgart, Germany, then Munich, and then to Zagreb. Back to the beginning. The last place she’d encountered Niamh Farren.
But first, she needed something.
Now where would Fionn have hidden An Breitheamh?
Desperation.
It was a horrific feeling.
Fionn had always assumed he was desperate to open the gate to Faerie to fulfill his revenge.
However, he’d forgotten what true desperation was.
Desperation had been staring at his wife, standing next to the man she’d married while he’d been trapped on Faerie, ordering druids to curse Fionn with a fate worse than death. Desperation was wishing with every molecule of his being that her betrayal was a bad dream.
Desperation was seeing his children held back by others, grief suffusing their entire bodies as they watched their mother put down their beloved father. Desperation was knowing he might never hold his daughter in his arms again or talk with his boy as only father and son could, and frantically searching for a way to make sure all that wasn’t lost to him.
Desperation was not being able to save those five girls from themselves as they laid their bodies before the druids, offering up their life energy so they could cast the spell that would put Fionn down.
And desperation was the emotion currently overwhelming him as he sat in the apartment, alone, while Rose was out there, fleeing him.
This couldn’t be how it ended between them. Fionn wanted to find her, to convince her he no longer meant her harm, but he knew it was best he didn’t.
From the moment he’d closed his eyes beside her on that bed, knowing deep in his soul from the stories he’d heard on Faerie that something greater inextricably linked him and Rose, Fionn’s plans for revenge changed.
They no longer included Rose.
He’d find the other fae-borne.
Fionn remembered how it felt to kill Rose in the dream. It had felt so real. It had cut deeper than anything ever had in his long life, and Fionn had faced his share of tragedy and violation.
Rose would live.
He’d let her go. Even if it made him feel desperate.
A tingling sensation tickled down his spine seconds before Rose appeared in the doorway to the bedroom. “Ro—”
She disappeared and reappeared directly in front of him, his knees touching her thighs, her expression strangely blank.
“Rose?”
Too late. So distracted by his feelings for her, Fionn had no chance to react.
Rose’s blue eyes gleamed coldly as she touched his neck.
Everything went dark.
Blinking awake, Fionn stared up at the cracked ceiling, momentarily confused.
What the fuck had happened?
Rose!
Fionn flew to his feet, letting his senses take over. She wasn’t here.
But she’d come back for a reason.
Why?
It quickly dawned on him, and a guttural growl of disbelief and outrage ripped out of him. She wouldn’t!
Of course, she would. It was the only damn thing that would open the gate for him!
She’d ransacked the bedroom. Drawers and cupboards were thrown open, the safe in the wardrobe broken into. Tearing out of the bedroom and down the hall, he found the living area the same. Some kitchen cupboards had been torn off their hinges. Blood pounded in his ears as he blurred across the space to the cupboard where he’d hidden the dagger.
The silver box was gone.
The little vixen had taken advantage of his emotions, caught him off guard, knocked him out, and stolen his fucking dagger!
And wait. “Her things?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
A tornado through the apartment, Fionn discovered Rose had also wiped the apartment clean of any personal items.
Standing in the bathroom, chest heaving with frantic, short breaths, he glared around at the space. Then he caught sight of the opened bottle of complimentary coconut shampoo in the shower.
Exultant, relieved, he reached out and snatched the shampoo bottle in his hand. Once opened and used, i.e., claimed, that shampoo was now a personal item.
Marching out of the shower room and into the bedroom, he picked his mobile off the bedside cabinet and dialed Bran.
Five long rings later, the vampire picked up. “Again, I sleep t
hrough the day. I just got into bed.”
“Rose knows the truth,” Fionn bit out.
Bran hesitated a second. “How?”
“She can dream-walk.”
“She can what?”
Fionn suppressed a snarl of impatience but only just. “It was a rare ability among the fae. She hid it from me and then fucking dream-walked me.”
“And I’m guessing you were dreaming bad things?”
He frowned. Before he’d fallen asleep, he’d started to understand all the things sparking between him and Rose—the way they could sense each other’s emotions, how, despite his supposed dark intentions toward her, Rose never felt she was in danger of him.
While his conscious mind insisted it didn’t change their circumstances, his subconscious felt differently and showed him so he’d know what killing Rose would mean to him.
It was bloody bad timing for his conscience to kick in.
“She found out about An Breitheamh and about her and the gate and my revenge.”
Bran exhaled. “I take it she’s gone?”
“She left and then she returned and used my own fucking carotid sinus attack against me.”
Bran snorted. “You sound almost proud of her.”
He kind of bloody was, beneath his outrage.
“She stole the dagger, Bran. I won’t kill her but I can’t kill one of the others without the damn thing.”
“You’re not going to kill Rose?”
The very thought made him sick to his stomach. “No, I’m not.”
“I see.”
“Once I get my dagger back, I’m letting her go.”
“Well, tell me she wasn’t smart enough to clear the place of all her shit.”
“I can’t.”
“Double fuck.”
Fionn stared at the shampoo bottle. “But she left behind a bottle of shampoo she’d opened and used.”
“That’s something, at least. What do you need from me?”
“I need to know if Niamh is my kin, and fast. If she is, then you need to search again for any signs of that other fae-borne.”
Bran was silent so long, Fionn thought the bastard had hung up. Until, “Or you could let this go, my friend, and start living your life. Convince Rose to forgive you. Devote your bloody long life to protecting her, to making sure no one uses her. That is a worthy purpose, Fionn.”
As if that hadn’t fucking occurred to him. The notion of forever with Rose was at war with his revenge, tearing him in two.
The light bulbs in the room began to burst, one after the other, as Fionn lost mastery over himself for the first time in … ever.
Bloody hell, get control of yourself, man!
Remember.
He did. He remembered Aine. Straddling him, beautiful and talented in bed, giving him pleasure despite his hatred for her, which only induced his self-hatred.
She’d made him a whore.
Him. Fionn Mór, high king of Éireann. The greatest warrior in his land.
Aine had violated him down to his very soul.
“I can’t. I won’t discuss it again. Just find out what I need to know.” He clutched the bottle tight in his hand and let his magic envelop it. It whispered to him. “Rose is heading north. Hack the train station security cameras here in Orléans. Let me know if you see Rose on them.”
With a defeated sigh, Bran grumbled his assent. “Where do you think she’s heading?”
“Paris is north of here, but I don’t know what she’d want with Paris.”
“Do you think she’d head home to her parents? Fly out from Paris?”
Fionn considered it but immediately abandoned the idea. “She wouldn’t put them in danger.”
“Perhaps she’s just planning to keep running.”
“Perhaps,” he said.
But he’d seen the fury flash in Rose’s eyes seconds before she’d touched her fingers to his neck. Was Rose planning to take her vengeance upon him?
Yes.
He couldn’t trust her.
Oh, mo chroí, he thought sadly, feeling the sting of her coming betrayal, revenge will always win.
23
Without Bran, Rose was traveling blind.
To her relief, the train got her into Paris in just a little over an hour. Her train to Stuttgart was already leaving the platform when she arrived.
Rose traveled onto the train, focusing on one of the tiny restrooms. Although she banged her elbow on the small sink, she smirked. It was a hard smile. Melancholy.
Her abilities were still cool as hell. She wouldn’t let that traitorous demon spawn take that away from her.
Stepping out of the restroom, Rose’s backpack, carrying all her things and An Breitheamh, got caught on the door. She cursed, tugging it over her shoulder. The dagger needed to stay close. Inside the empty restroom at the train station back in Orléans, Rose had tried to destroy the damn thing. First she tried to melt it. Then turn it to cinder. Then break it. Ice it.
Nothing.
An Breitheamh was apparently immune to destruction.
Like she was.
Satisfied she’d successfully knocked out Fionn, Rose had hovered over him after she’d found the dagger. The box clutched in her hand, she seriously considered dealing with its weakening effects upon her, wrapping fabric around the handle so as not to scar her palm, and plunging the knife into his heart.
Will of steel, her mom always said.
Yet her will failed her as she stared at his rugged face in slumber. He’d once been a good man. Rose believed that. Circumstance had twisted him up inside.
She’d stepped back, slipping the box into her backpack. One day Rose would be ready for him if he came for her, but she didn’t have the heart for revenge. Not on him.
Fionn wouldn’t die by her hand while he was helpless, and she wouldn’t seek his death in vengeance.
But when he came for An Breitheamh, Rose would not hesitate to defend herself.
Stirring beneath her fury was the hurt as she found a seat in one of the carriages. Rose had allowed Fionn beneath her skin. Into her blood.
Into her heart.
His betrayal was a fist punching that vulnerable little organ to pieces. It swiped away who she thought he was, who she thought he might become to her, a future together perhaps where she’d make him laugh and bring him light after so long without it.
Naive hopes and wishes shattered by the truth.
Gritting her teeth against the pain, Rose glared out at the passing world. Fionn was lost to her now, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have purpose. She’d find Niamh and warn her about the warrior fae and An Breitheamh, and together they’d find the last fae-borne.
The three of them would protect each other.
However, without Bran, Rose knew she’d have to navigate the world always looking over her shoulder. The one thing she believed in was Fionn’s desire to keep the fae out of the human world. No man hated a species so much, hated himself so much, unless the fae truly had done terrible things.
That she believed.
So even if the Blackwoods didn’t want to harm her, Rose considered them her enemy.
The Blackwoods. The Garm. The O’Connors.
Fionn Mór.
Four powerful entities, all hunting her down.
As the train passed through a tunnel, she caught her reflection in the window, and any anxiety she felt was momentarily squashed.
The woman looking back with her eyes and nose and mouth was someone Rose didn’t recognize.
Someone fierce.
Someone powerful.
Someone to be reckoned with.
Although it only took a few hours for the train to arrive in Munich, Rose found herself stuck in one place.
That was the last thing she wanted.
It was early afternoon, light flooding into the enormous central station in the Bavarian capital. The screens that should have told her the platform number for the train to Zagreb informed her the train wasn’t due to a
rrive for another five hours.
Five hours was a long time standing in one place, allowing for someone to find her.
Rose could only hope that her enemies were clueless about her whereabouts. Perhaps even three of them were right this second attempting to track down Fionn, thinking she was still stupid enough to be with him.
At the oddest times, she’d feel Fionn Mór’s lips against her mouth, the bristle of his stubble against her skin. Of course, the devil could kiss. He’d had centuries to perfect his technique. She’d loved the disparity in their size, how big and masculine he felt braced over her body.
Rose had never considered herself particularly attracted to bigger guys, but Fionn’s extraordinary warrior physique was a major turn-on.
Or maybe it was just everything about him.
Until she’d discovered the truth.
He wasn’t on some noble mission to save the world.
Rose flinched at the ghost of his mouth and hands on her, thinking how cruel fate was. Since she was sixteen years old, Rose had kept boys, and then men, at arm’s length. She was the one in control, always.
The first time in her life when she couldn’t control her feelings for a man, and he turned out to be a traitorous, immortal asshole.
Ironic, really.
Furious with herself and pretty much everyone on earth, Rose was glad that humans continued to give her a wide berth as she wandered through the massive station. It would be easy to get lost. Low-level nausea had stayed with her since learning the truth, but Rose knew she needed to keep up her energy. She eyed the food court where there were plenty of kiosks to buy sandwiches and fruit.
Nothing there sounded appealing, so she kept walking, following signs for food that led her to the underground where the subway trains arrived and departed. Although hot, it was junk food, so she turned around in disappointment and caught an elevator back to the main train level.
Grabbing a sandwich, Rose sat at a table near the corner of a kiosk, her back to the wall, her attention on the crowds strolling by. No one would take her unawares.
The sandwich was like eating sawdust, but knowing anything would taste like crap to her at that moment, Rose forced the food down along with two bottles of water.