Kiss of Vengeance: A True Immortality Novel

by S. Young

  Affection warmed Rose. “And who do you need, Niamh?”

  “I need to make sure my pseudosiblings are safe or equipped to fight and win this battle. It’s over for Thea—once she buggers off and gets on with her life like she’s meant to—but it’ll never be over for you and me. We’ll always be running, Rose.”

  Ignoring what that meant, Rose asked, “And the other fae? Have you seen visions of her?”

  “Him,” Niamh corrected. “I’ve seen him but nothing that tells me what road I should help put him on. There’s a pattern to my visions. An order. I can’t move on to him until I know you will be okay.”

  “Will I be, if I’m always going to be running? I mean, I could stay with you and help you find the other fae.” Rose opened her backpack and pulled out the silver box.

  Niamh gawked at it. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “An Breitheamh.”

  “I’ve seen it in my visions of Fionn.”

  “Yeah, that’s because, unlike the others, he needs to use this dagger to kill one of us at the gate to Faerie to open it. He wants to take revenge against Aine for turning him fae, for all that came after. That’s what he was doing with me.” There was something about Niamh, something that caused Rose’s emotions to spill over. Tears burned in her eyes and throat. “He lied to me.” She blinked up at her new companion, a salty, hot tear scoring down her cheek. “I thought his purpose was what your actual mission is—to protect the fae-borne and protect the gate.”

  Niamh reached out and peeled one of Rose’s hands from the silver box to clasp it in hers. There was something sweet and soothing in her expression. “Rose, do you remember what I said to you at the club when you thought I was a crazy person?”

  Rose shook her head. She couldn’t remember. Too much had happened.

  “I said, ‘You have to trust him, Rose. Even when he makes it impossible. Don’t let us down now.’”

  It all came flooding back. How Niamh had seemed frantic at first until the vision she’d had in the staff room.

  “Your vision. It was about me and Fionn?”

  “They come at me like soundless images, yet somehow I hear words in the pictures,” she said. “Never in order. A jumbled mess. But over the years, I’ve gotten the knack of sorting them out. Getting the gist of them. Trusting the emotion I feel in them. That night I knew—just as I knew Conall was Thea’s mate and he would save her from the eternity she didn’t want—that you would change Fionn. For weeks, I’d been getting visions of you with the Blackwoods. In them, you help them open the gate.”

  “What?” Rose stood. “I would never!”

  “You don’t know that. Not if they got to you first and lied to you.”

  Irritated by the notion, Rose began to pace. “So, what changed?”

  “All I know was I had to get to you. But when I did, there was a bloody spell on you and you had no idea what you were. Then that vision came. He was there, the warrior fae who was stalking the life out of me,” she huffed, exasperated. “I thought my visions of him opening the gate were about him finding me, that somehow, he’d best me. I know now I was meant to lead him to you. He was following me that night, but he found you—and it changed the future.”

  “But how?” Rose asked impatiently.

  Niamh gave her a commiserating smile. “Because a fae would never hurt his mate.”

  Shock rooted Rose to the spot.

  Mate.

  “He might have thought his intentions were wicked, but the moment he met you, he could never hurt you.” Niamh stood, her expression determined. “And I know he’s broken your heart and you think you hate him, but the world kind of needs you to get over it … because as his mate, only you can convince him to give up his revenge. For if you don’t, he will succeed in opening that gate, and the world as we know it will be over.”

  As Niamh’s words sank in, Rose learned something else in that moment.

  An extremely stressed-out fae reacted as a human might.

  Her blood pressure bottomed out and everything went black.

  24

  Fionn’s rugged face hovered over hers. Agony, guilt, and remorse shone out of his beautiful eyes. “I’m so sorry, mo chroí.”

  Rose’s eyes flew open, and she threw herself onto her feet like a cat.

  “Jesus Christ,” Ronan said. “She’s even more agile than you, Nee.”

  Gasping, Rose glanced around and saw Ronan at the kitchen island of the apartment in Munich and Niamh on the couch where Rose had been lying.

  From having fainted.

  Groaning, she covered her face with her hand. The last time she’d passed out was the day her parents had told her she was adopted.

  “Are you okay, Rose? I’m sorry I told you like that. I would have been gentler if I thought—”

  “You’d pass out like a wuss,” Ronan finished.

  “Ronan,” Niamh snapped.

  Embarrassed, Rose scowled at him. “Yeah, Ronan, keep in mind I could end your life in two seconds.”

  He glared but smartly kept his mouth shut.

  Rose stumbled back to the couch. “This is not happening.” She eyed Niamh plaintively. “Please tell me you have it wrong.”

  She grimaced sympathetically. “I’m sorry, Rose.”

  Burying her head in her hands, Rose contemplated what this meant. Going back to Fionn. Convincing him to give up his revenge. How could she do that when she still wanted to throttle him for planning to betray her?

  “As his mate, only you can convince him to give up his revenge. For if you don’t, he will succeed in opening that gate, and the world as we know it will be over.”

  “We barely know each other,” Rose whispered.

  “It would explain why you felt so connected to him so quickly.”

  Rose glared at Niamh. “How did you know that?”

  She shrugged. “It’s the way of mates. Two souls recognizing their missing piece.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, this can’t be happening.” Rose slammed back against the couch. “This is a guy who was planning to kill me! Maybe I could get over the insanity of that if he hadn’t pretended to be my friend—and then almost had sex with me before the tiny bit of conscience he had left stopped him.”

  Niamh blushed. “Well … you being his mate, I’d think it would be difficult for him to control his attraction to you.”

  “Don’t make excuses for him.”

  “I’m so sorry, mo chroí.”

  Hearing his voice from her dreams, she glowered at the ceiling. “What … what does ‘muh kree’ mean?”

  “Mo chroí? It means ‘my heart,’” Ronan answered.

  Jesus. A horrible ached flared inside her. “And ‘muh graw’?”

  Niamh and Ronan shared a look and then Niamh replied, “Mo grá means ‘my love.’”

  He’d called Aoibhinn his love and Rose his heart. “Is there a difference? He called me the first and his wife the second.”

  Niamh shrugged. “It’s the one answer I don’t have.”

  “I’m sure it’s interchangeable for a lot of people,” Ronan said, strolling toward them. “But I’ve never been in love and I’ve called plenty of women the latter.” He sat down on the coffee table in front of Rose. “I’ve never called a woman mo chroí.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “You’re just saying what you think I need to hear so I’ll go back to Fionn and convince him to give up his revenge plans.”

  “You’re not wrong,” he admitted. “But I’m also not lying.”

  Exhaling heavily, Rose thrust her hands into her hair and bowed her head, staring at the silver box that contained An Breitheamh. “Even if I found the strength to go back to the bastard, I’ll never convince him. He told me before I left that he couldn’t kill me. I didn’t believe him at the time, but now I do. Problem is, I know in my gut that he hasn’t given up. He’ll come for you again, Niamh. Or the other fae-borne. Have you had a vision of your own future?”

  “Magic is a strange thing
… I’ve never had a vision about myself. It’s like magic has a sense of morality or rules or something. Knowing my own future would be cheating, I guess.”

  “Then how do you know your fate is to be immortal?”

  “That I feel in my gut.” Grief pinched her expression as she looked at Ronan. “I’m destined to outlive those I love.”

  Ronan’s expression hardened and he looked away, staring out the window, apparently unwilling to discuss a life where they were no longer together. There was a tension between the siblings Rose didn’t quite understand. It was clear Ronan was protective of Niamh, but something like resentment bubbled between them.

  Getting back to the point, Rose said, “It’s hopeless.”

  “You underestimate the mating bond.” Niamh leaned toward her. “I know it’s much to ask, but you need to put your current feelings aside and do what’s right.”

  “And what about—” Rose cut off, her whole body electrified with warning signals as Niamh froze, eyes wide, her mouth open as if in a silent scream. Her head shook from side to side in small, frantic increments, just like it had done that night at the club. “Ronan!”

  He hurried to his sister’s side, grabbing on to her flailing hands, struggling to keep hold against her fae strength. “Nee, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he murmured.

  Then just as abruptly, she stopped.

  And a wail burst out of her, a deep, agonizing, mourning cry that sent a shiver down Rose’s spine. Tears filled Niamh’s eyes as she clasped her brother’s face in her hands. “No,” she sobbed.

  Ronan’s face paled. “Nee?”

  Before another word could be spoken, the world turned to chaos. The apartment windows blew open, screaming shards of glass flying everywhere. Pieces sliced at Rose’s skin before she had time to register what was happening.

  “Ronan, run!” Niamh yelled, her grief-stricken expression morphing into fierce determination as she threw herself to her feet.

  Rose was on hers too as the front door blasted open and people poured into the room, over the balconies, and through the broken windows.

  Encircling them.

  Witches and warlocks.

  There were many of them. Too many.

  Twelve. Blocking every way out of the loft apartment.

  Under normal circumstances, Rose would’ve traveled out of there, but she couldn’t leave Niamh, and Niamh wouldn’t leave Ronan behind. There was nowhere for Ronan to run.

  That’s when she caught sight of the weapon in each of their hands.

  Silvery-gray daggers.

  Pure iron.

  “The O’Connors,” Rose said for Niamh and Ronan’s benefit.

  A short, wiry witch wearing skinny jeans and a short leather jacket like the one Rose left in Zagreb stepped forward from her spot near the doorway. She twirled the dagger in her hand, her dark eyes focused on Rose. “This is no longer just duty, Rose O’Connor. This is justice. You killed Ethan, my brother.” Without another word, she threw the dagger with accuracy and speed.

  Rose blurred across the room, out of its path and into the path of two warlocks. She must’ve been a streak of color to them, not quick enough to get out of her way before she sent her magic out to their carotid sinuses.

  Two down.

  A flick over her shoulder informed her Ronan was throwing punches with a very tall warlock while Niamh dodged an iron knife and thrust her palms into the chest of the witch who’d slashed with it. That witch soared through the broken French doors near the kitchen, out over the balcony, and beyond.

  Three down.

  That’s when the chanting began. Unintelligible words and sounds fell from the lips of all the magic-wielding humans as they positioned themselves at the room’s edges, arms out toward one another, hands almost but not quite touching.

  “Nee,” Ronan wheezed.

  His sister whirled around, blazing with fury and fear as Ronan’s fingers dug into his chest. His legs gave way beneath him.

  “What’s happening?”

  “They’re using him!” Niamh cried. “Sacrificing him for the power to take us down!”

  “He isn’t enough!” Rose yelled at the witches and warlocks. “It won’t work! You’ll kill him for nothing!”

  And that’s when she realized she might be forced to end these people.

  To protect Ronan and Niamh.

  More marks on her soul.

  Drawing on every molecule of anger within her, Rose spread her own hands wide. “Niamh, get down.”

  “Whatever she does,” Ethan’s sister yelled, “keep chanting! No matter the pain, you keep chanting!”

  Focusing on the shards of glass that littered the apartment, Rose commanded them to rise. She saw the flicker of fear on her attackers’ faces, but they kept going while Niamh bizarrely forced her bleeding wrist against Ronan’s mouth.

  Fionn’s voice filled her head. “They discovered when they started invading our world that their blood healed humans. In our world.”

  She was trying to heal him while these barbaric assholes stole his life. Rose wasn’t sure it was working, because as she called on the glass, she could feel a slight weakening in herself.

  With a scream of outrage, she slammed the air with her fists, her arms outspread like a cross, and the glass flew at all those magical bastards. The sharp pieces made contact, the chanting faltering as glass struck legs and arms, and even a throat.

  Four down.

  Still, they kept going.

  “Rose!” Niamh screamed in panic.

  The girl braced over her brother protectively, desperation etched in her face.

  Her blood wasn’t healing him.

  But she couldn’t leave him unprotected.

  It was up to Rose.

  Turning to face Ethan’s sister, the apparent leader of the wicked coven Rose had been born into, she knew she had to take her out. Focusing her magic toward the witch’s carotid, she was surprised when she felt the magic bounce back.

  The woman smirked.

  A barrier spell?

  Rose looked around at all of them, bleeding and wounded, their chanting louder, determined to get the job done.

  I’m going to have to kill them.

  “Don’t do this,” Rose begged Ethan’s sister.

  Still, they chanted.

  Then he appeared. Out of nowhere.

  Poof!

  The last person Rose ever thought she’d want to see again, and yet her heart leapt gratefully at the sight of Fionn Mór popping into the apartment with a shampoo bottle—of all things—in his hand.

  His head swung from side to side as he stood in the center of the chanting coven. Gaze swinging to Rose, those green eyes dipped down her body and back up again, as if checking for wounds. Satisfied she was all right, Fionn cut a look at Niamh and Ronan.

  It took him seconds to figure out the situation, and Rose felt his magic tinge the air as the broadsword he’d used to fight Kiyo appeared in his free hand.

  Stuffing the shampoo bottle into his overcoat pocket, Fionn gripped the sword with both hands and swung at the nearest warlock.

  It broke the circle, the coven realizing Fionn could devastate them in seconds if they didn’t use their magic defensively.

  Rose blurred between witches and warlocks, punching and kicking, trying to knock them out, which was hard to do when she had four on her.

  She glanced across the room to see Fionn had killed three coven members and was engaged in a fight with a witch who apparently had conjured her own sword.

  Seven down.

  Fionn struck the possible eighth, his sword impacting hers with so much force, she cried out in pain, dropping the weapon as she stumbled to her knees.

  His back turned, sword raised to finish her, Fionn seemed unaware of Ethan’s sister who ran across the apartment, jumping over the coffee table, iron dagger raised above her head in both hands, ready to bring it down on him.

  Fionn.

  A fist hit Rose in the face, but she barely regist
ered it before she traveled across the room, appearing at Fionn’s back, facing Ethan’s sister as her dagger came down.

  It plunged into Rose’s chest before she could defend herself.

  Agonizing pain blazed through her entire body, like fire licking at her insides.

  “ROSE!” Fionn’s voice bellowed in rage behind her as she slumped to her knees.

  Her vision grew unfocused, her mind lost to everything but the pain. What looked like a bloodied human head fell next to her. Images of Fionn, a streak of vengeance across the room, sword in hand, slicing through the coven, came and went between moments of utter black.

  “Rose …” She heard his deep voice and the black retreated to the edges of her vision, revealing Fionn’s face. “It didn’t get you in the heart. I’m going to pull it out.”

  She wanted to tell him to hurry, to make the pain stop, but she couldn’t. Agony stalled the words.

  Something tugged in her chest, causing her torment to increase tenfold.

  But then it was over.

  The pain began to recede, and her vision came back into focus. Her breathing eased and feeling returned to her limbs.

  A hand brushed the hair from her face, and Rose looked up to see Fionn kneeling beside her, his expression strained.

  “You’ll be okay.”

  She’d never heard his voice so soft.

  “Why?” he growled, the soft crushed by his hard tone as he leaned his face so close to hers, their lips almost touched. “Why would risk your life for me?”

  A broken sob cut through the air before Rose could come up with the answer to the most complicated question ever. The truth was, she hadn’t thought. She saw the dagger that was meant for Fionn, and the thought of his death propelled her into action.

  Turning toward the wretched sound, Rose’s took in the apartment now littered with horror.

  Fionn had killed the entire coven, except for the witch Niamh had expelled from the apartment.

  The crying was coming from Niamh, who knelt over her brother’s body, shuddering.

  “No,” Rose wheezed, stumbling to her feet to go to her friend.

  Fionn reached for her, but Rose pushed his hands away, tripping over bodies that would haunt her nightmares. Falling at Niamh’s side, Rose saw Ronan’s slumped figure. His unseeing eyes stared up at the ceiling, his features resting stiffly in the fearful expression he’d worn before he’d …