by S. Young
Fionn squeezed his eyes shut.
He could have done without knowing that Rose had gorgeous legs beneath her jeans.
Turning away, he gathered her belongings into her backpack. The thing was stuffed full. After a thorough search of the room, he’d discovered Rose had hidden An Breitheamh. There was nothing for it, then.
He needed to convince her to give up the location of the dagger, and there was only one safe place in the world where he could keep her.
“Kidnap her,” Fionn muttered in exasperation.
For let’s not pretend otherwise, you ruthless bastard.
He was kidnapping his mate.
With quick efficiency, mind determined to detach from the silky softness of her skin, Fionn dressed an unconscious Rose in jeans and a sweater. A little warm for where they were but not for a plane ride … or Ireland.
She moaned as he buttoned up her jeans, and arousal rushed through him like a tsunami. Groaning, Fionn rested his head against the mattress by her hip and took a minute.
You are an ancient warrior. You’ve survived worse things than a bad case of blue balls.
With a grunt, he pushed himself off the bed and finished putting socks and sneakers on the object of his affection, and frustration.
Her things gathered, Fionn threw her rucksack over one shoulder and carefully laid Rose over the other. Casting an illusion spell so the humans would see only a man carrying luggage, Fionn left the room and cursed under his breath as Rose’s limp hands gently swatted against his lower back with every stride.
This physical awareness of her was ridiculous.
Bloody mating bond.
With a huff, he shifted her more comfortably on his shoulder and set out of the resort.
Fionn had a private plane waiting on the island. He might be wealthy but private planes were an expense he liked to avoid. However, this one was worth it if it meant returning him expediently to the coast of Galway with Rose in his possession. The spell he cast over Rose would last until he awakened her, but Fionn didn’t want her knocked out for long.
In fact, even though he knew she would be furious with him when she awoke, excitement and anticipation stirred in his gut.
Fionn was looking forward to the clash.
Sick, masochistic bastard that I am, he grumbled inwardly.
It was the wind she heard first.
Rose heard it whistling with force, a muted sound somewhere beyond her.
Her eyes fluttered open, her sleepy mind expecting to see sunlight pouring in through the French doors of her Lanzarote hotel room.
The sight of the roaring fire in a stone hearth within stone walls caused her to fly upward in panic. A velvet blanket imprisoned her legs, and Rose’s heart rate escalated as she took in the luxuriously draped, four-poster bed she was in.
“Good, you’re awake.”
The familiar voice in the unfamiliar room relieved her, even when it shouldn’t. Pushing off the blanket and the duvet under it, Rose lowered her legs to a stone-flagged floor and felt the cold rush up her legs. The room itself was warm because of the lively, crackling fire, the smell of burning wood not at all unwelcome.
The cold floor was.
A pair of women’s velvet slippers popped out of thin air at her feet, and she knew it was Fionn’s doing without even turning toward him. She slipped her feet inside and ignored the fact she was dressed in pajama shorts and camisole.
It was better to.
Otherwise an ancient warrior fae might just die. By her hand.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she walked around the bed, taking in the medium-sized room. It was sparsely furnished with two tall windows with deep, deep recesses on either side of the wall opposite the bed. Dull light poured in, and she forced herself to look at the chair beneath the farthest window.
Fionn lounged in it, dressed immaculately as always in a dark cashmere sweater and fine woolen suit pants. His dress shoes shone beneath the lights from the candelabras fixed around the walls. They were wrought iron and designed to look like old-fashioned candleholders.
“Where the hell am I?” She took in the arched doorway with a wooden door. A huge tapestry hung on the wall, covering the stonework, and a large oak wardrobe was tucked into its corner.
“My home, in County Galway. The west coast, to be exact.”
“Ireland?” Rose threw him an exasperated look and hurried toward one of the windows. The glass was thick, inserted into panes delineated by leadwork. Rose pushed the hefty old windows open easily and felt the strong gales blow into the room off the sea in the distance.
“Holy shit.” She leaned over, glancing downward to see they were up very high.
In what appeared to be a turret.
Rose shut the window, pulse racing as she settled back on her feet. For a moment, she could only stare unseeingly at the recess.
Then she asked, “Are we in a castle?”
“Yes. Welcome to An Caomhnóir, Rose.”
“Did you kidnap me, Fionn?” She turned to face him. “What the hell did you do to me?”
“A little spell.” He said it so casually, like it was no big deal. Standing, he gave her a knowing look. “Would you have coming willingly?”
Was he serious? Searching the room, she caught sight of a wooden chair near the fireplace. That would do.
“Rose, don’t—”
She gestured with her hands, making the chair soar through the room.
Fionn cursed, swiped his hands across the air in front of him, and sent the chair careening against the wall where it smashed into three pieces. He glared at the chair carnage and then her. “That chair was over two hundred years old.”
“I couldn’t care less if you whittled that chair with your bare fucking hands. How dare you kidnap me!”
He was a blur across the room, hauling her into his arms and then throwing her onto the bed. Rose huffed in aggravation as he towered over her. She pushed up off her back and promised him retribution with her eyes.
“Can we continue this discussion without yelling at each other?”
Disbelief coursed through her. “Oh, you want to be civilized? Now that you’ve knocked me out and carted me all the way from a Spanish island to the middle-of-nowhere Ireland!”
“Galway is hardly nowhere. But speaking of location and your obvious displeasure at being here, An Caomhnóir is, as I’ve said previously, spelled to be invisible from the outside world. No one can find you here. You’re safe. You’re as safe as I can make you until you do the right thing and return An Breitheamh to me.”
The right thing? The right thing! Seething, Rose gritted out, “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. It’s not in this country.”
“Use your magic.” Fionn fisted his hands on the bed on either side of her hips, leaning toward her. Rose’s body unfairly wanted to move into him, so she had to force it to lean back. “Just conjure it here and we won’t have to fight anymore.”
Her answer was to flick her hand, rip a candelabra off the wall, and throw it at his head. Fionn winced as it connected, his hand rubbing the spot where it hit before clattering to the floor by the bed. The vibe in the room grew considerably darker as he turned from the broken light fixture to her. “Very mature, mo chroí.”
His tone was anything but loving.
“Don’t—”
“Call you that.” He pushed his face into hers, forcing her back against the headboard. “I’ll call you what I like, Rose Kelly, because you’re my mate. And as my mate, I expect you to return an item that means a great deal to me.”
“Can you find a way to undo this mating bond between us?”
Fionn couldn’t hide his astonishment. “What?”
“Can you find a way to undo this shit between us?”
His expression darkened. “There’s no undoing this.”
Rose sat up, pushing her face into his. “Then why should I return an item that means a great deal to you when you can’t return something that means a great deal to me?�
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Confusion flickered across his face. “Wha—”
“You have a piece of my soul, even though you don’t want it.” Hurt edged her words no matter how hard she tried to camouflage it. “So I’m keeping An Breitheamh, even though I don’t want that. Fair’s fair.”
Understanding softened his features and he reached out to touch her. Rose flinched away. “Don’t.”
Sighing heavily, Fionn straightened, stepping back from the bed. His countenance and tone turned matter-of-fact. “The spell that keeps An Caomhnóir invisible from the rest of the world has its drawbacks. Neither of us can travel in and out of the castle grounds until we’re beyond the spell barrier. You’re stuck here, Rose. You’re not going anywhere until you deliver An Breitheamh to me.”
“Then I guess I’m stuck here forever.”
“You will give me that dagger. Of that I have no doubt.” He marched away from her, his long strides eating up the distance between the bed and the door. “Dinner is served downstairs in an hour. If I have to come get you, I won’t be nice about it.”
The urge to throw something else at him was real. “If I don’t want to eat, I don’t have to.”
“You may be immortal, Rose, but starving yourself will lead to a very painful, uncomfortable existence, and since I’ve vowed to keep you safe until I’m no longer of this earth, it won’t be happening on my watch.” The door slammed hard behind him, making the tapestry on the wall flutter.
Ugh!
“What am I supposed to wear?” she yelled at the closed door.
In answer, the doors of the wardrobe in the far corner flew open, revealing a row of jeans and tops.
Rose huffed. “Show-off.”
Answering masculine laughter, dulled by stone walls, met her ears.
She rolled her eyes at the sound, wishing it didn’t cause that warm, painful ache to score across her chest.
28
The gale-force wind and wet weather had finally moved on. It was a crisp day, sunny and calm, with the ocean stretching out before the castle like a sheet of sparkling glass. There was a gentle breeze—it was unusual for there not to be on this part of the coast.
Fionn sighed and glanced over his shoulder to stare at the castle towering behind him. For two and a half days, Rose had coexisted with him at An Caomhnóir. She was uncharacteristically broody and to say her behavior frustrated him was an understatement. Not that Rose was stomping around like a sullen teenager; that wasn’t who she was. If she was pissed, she let it hang out. Fionn preferred that to huffiness.
No, it was more that Rose was wounded and trying to figure out how to maneuver through the days with her new affliction.
He’d caused the wound.
Therein laid his guilt and frustration.
His current plan of just waiting for Rose to come to him was not working. He was no closer to mending their relationship or retrieving An Breitheamh. Pulling out his mobile, Fionn hit Bran’s button.
The vampire picked up after a few rings. “You do this deliberately—I was just falling asleep.”
“This will only take a second.”
“Give me a minute, then.”
Fionn waited and heard murmuring in the background. Suspecting he’d interrupted an interlude, he felt an unusual emotion: jealousy. He stared up to the castle. An interlude with Rose would not go unappreciated.
“I’m back,” Bran said. Fionn could hear a beeping sound in the background followed by a door closing. A heavy one. Fionn knew what that meant. Bran owned a loft in Dublin near the docklands, and his office—or command center, as the vamp liked to call it—was only accessible by a digital security system that involved a code and retinal scan.
As soon as Fionn had walked into that apartment with its tall windows all the way down one side, he’d looked at his friend like he was nuts. Bran had merely shrugged, grabbed a remote control, and aimed it at the windows. Not only did fitted blinds cover the windows but heavy curtains moved from either side of the wall across a rail to meet in the middle.
The loft was in total darkness.
Fionn had never seen so much fabric in one room, but the curtains certainly did the job.
“They’re on a timer too,” Bran had said. “So I don’t get cremated if I fall asleep before the sunrise.”
Still, Fionn thought owning a loft was stupidly risky for a vampire. Bran was stubborn, though. The thing he missed most about his human life was the daylight, and he was determined not to live his life like a clichéd vampire with a basement habitat.
“Any word of Niamh?” Fionn asked.
“One day you’re going to ask how I am.”
Fionn had the ability to make even his silence impatient.
“Okay, I’ll tell you, anyway. I just had the best sex of my long life with this vampire I met at Ruin.”
Ruin was a basement club in the heart of Dublin and a hotspot for supernaturals.
“I’m happy for you. Niamh?”
Bran sighed. “Nothing. I’m sorry.”
“Anything else I need to know?”
“There’s been no more movement from the O’Connors. They’re not a huge coven, Fionn. You wiped out their youngest and strongest in Munich. They might have decided this isn’t a fight they can win.”
“Let’s hope so. The Blackwoods?”
“Still fumbling around Europe from what I can see.”
“The Garm?”
“Same. Everyone’s waiting for a sign from either Rose or Niamh.”
“And nothing from the third fae-borne?”
The vamp was silent for a second.
“Bran?”
“What if there isn’t a third? What if they’re already dead? There’s been no sign, Fionn.”
Fionn shook his head, even though his friend couldn’t see. “No, that fae is alive. Rose is still protecting this person, and I have to believe she’d only be doing that if Niamh gave her the impression that the fae-borne is out there.”
“Speaking of Niamh … you’re determined to keep her safe, then?”
“She’s my kin.” Enough said.
“You don’t know that for certain. There’s no real evidence,” he repeated unnecessarily.
Irritation burned in Fionn’s gut. “I feel it. I know it.”
“Or you’re using it as an excuse to prevent you from killing an innocent to mete out your revenge. Maybe even an excuse to prevent you going after your revenge, full stop, now that Rose is in your life.”
That irritation hotly converted to anger. “I’ll have my revenge, Bran, make no mistake about that. Call me if you miraculously come up with something useful.” He hung up, almost crushing the phone in his fist. Fionn didn’t care if he’d been unfair to the vamp. The fucker kept pushing his buttons.
Striding from the cliff top toward the castle, determination pushed Fionn’s strides. Today Rose would converse with him. Somehow, he would convince her to give him An Breitheamh, and it wouldn’t be because he’d seduced it out of her. If Rose wanted him that way, she’d have to come to him. Fionn was burdened with enough guilt as it was; he wouldn’t add sexual coercion to his list of crimes against his mate.
Fuck, he hoped she’d come to him.
Rose was bored but no longer conflicted.
For the last two days, she’d wandered over every inch of the castle, peering into rooms that were filled with furniture but seemed to have no current use. She’d accidentally wandered into Fionn’s bedroom, which was a bigger version of her room. Bigger space, bigger bed, and a lot of stuffed bookshelves.
She discovered this after coming across an actual freaking library. Her mate liked to read.
While she had to use a toilet across the hall from her room, Fionn’s room had a small en suite and walk-in closet.
The man had more suits than Emporio Armani.
However, it was his bed that drew her attention.
It was the biggest sleigh bed Rose had ever seen, custom built to accommodate its very tall owner.
Something about the sight of that bed, on top of Fionn’s scent lingering in the air, was arousing. Rose departed his bedroom quickly.
The main hall had massive fireplaces at either end that took up nearly the entire gable walls. Yet, the room was cozy, a dining table at one end and a spacious sitting area at the other. There was even a large flat-screen TV bolted to the stonework.
Tapestries hung on the walls to warm up the place and huge Aubusson rugs covered every inch of the flagstone flooring. There were two modern electric fires in the room—they looked like black wood-burning stoves—since the castle was darn cold. She found these fires all over the An Caomhnóir and wondered at the costs of running such a place.
But if the castle was off the grid, how did that work?
Rose was collecting questions for Fionn. Where was the vault he spoke of? She doubted he’d tell her. After his staff had been killed, had he not hired new staff? So far, Rose had met no other soul at An Caomhnóir. The kitchen was stocked with food, and when Fionn said dinner would be served that first night, he meant the dinner he’d cooked.
That’s right.
Fionn Mór could cook.
Rose had witnessed it. The second night she’d found Fionn in the large kitchen searing steak before sticking it in a huge range oven at one end of the room. She’d then watched as he mashed potatoes.
By hand.
Dinner so far had been delicious.
And yet, Rose could not make conversation with Fionn. Yes, she was angry with him. But mostly she was nursing the heart he’d broken and trying to figure out where to go from there. Did she keep him distracted indefinitely? Resign her life to this castle and eventual mind-numbing boredom?
Or did she push wounded feelings aside and just seduce Fionn? Try to change his mind with sex and distraction?
Would that even work?
This had been Rose’s turmoil for the last sixty-two hours. Longer, really, if she counted her time in Lanzarote.
Until the dream last night.
Since she’d only dream-walked two people—Alejandra and Fionn—and both were in the same room with her when she did it, Rose guessed that was the deal. She had to be in the same room as the person she dream-walked.