No wait… two more join them.
There are now six, and they are all staring at me in shock. Each one bears thick dark auras, and their countenances are especially grotesque. One looks to the office, sees the open door, and hisses in fury.
“Shit,” I mutter as I pull my whip free as they charge.
I swing the thong back along the floor, preparing to level a strike at the lead daemon when he gets in range, but, to my surprise, they all pull guns out of holsters I hadn’t noticed until now.
Daemons don’t have magic, but they are not without protection and the ability to guard. Bullets explode, the sound reverberating in the hallway, but I manage to throw my shield up in time.
The bullets hit the magical force field and clatter uselessly to the floor. I don’t even wait around to take in their reaction. I drop the field, send a blast of air at them that has all six blowing backward like tumbleweeds. They all sort of get clogged up in a tangle of arms and legs.
It’s the perfect time to bolt and I do, bursting through the double doors. The dock door is open, and I see Boral running with Blain toward the G550.
Zora is out of the vehicle with the back door open so when Boral reaches her, he can throw the rescued package in the back.
I hurtle through the opened door, hit the dock with one foot, and go flying through the air toward the pavement about four feet below.
I hit hard, twisting my ankle, and roll three times before coming to my feet. Pain shoots up my leg as I take my first step and realize it’s not going to be a flat-out run for the Mercedes. Instead, I hobble as fast as I can, but I know it’s not fast enough as two bullets ping off the pavement within inches of me.
“No,” Zora screams, and I watch in horror as she rushes toward me to help.
“Go,” I yell, waving with my arm toward the SUV, but she ignores me.
More bullets, one whizzing by my ear, and I throw a hasty blast of magic backward toward the dock hoping to hit something. I have no clue if all six daemons are there or only one is shooting, but I dare not even take the time to look.
For a blessed few seconds, there’s no gunfire, so I assume my magic hit the mark. Zora reaches me just as I see Boral shove Blain into the backseat of the vehicle. He leaves the door open for Zora before running for the driver’s side.
Zora’s hand goes around my waist as she grabs my arm and forces it around her shoulder. She then helps support my weight to keep it off my injured ankle as we try to make our escape.
More bullets fly and I take the time to look over my shoulder to see all six daemons leaping off the docks in pursuit.
While they don’t have magic, they are incredibly strong and fast and there’s no way we’re going to outrun them. I know that I have to turn and make a stand if I’m going to keep Zora safe.
I toss her arm off me and give her a shove, turning to face my adversaries.
It’s just in time to see the closest one aim his gun at me, and the one behind him aim his at Zora.
There’s no rhyme or reason for what I do, but when the guns discharge almost simultaneously, I’m already diving sideways in a flying leap to put myself between Zora and the bullet headed her way.
It catches the outer edge of my upper arm, slicing through my flesh. It feels like fire, but I can tell it’s nothing more than a graze.
I am, however, now hurtling toward the pavement again, which is putting me at a distinct disadvantage to fight and protect my sister.
I roll to face the onslaught of daemons, thrusting my hands out and trying to conjure a shield big enough to cover Zora, the G550, and me.
But before I can let my magic loose, there’s a flash of light and Carrick appears between the daemons and me. His back is to me and he doesn’t even give me a glance, but I watch, astounded, as he does nothing more than lift his arms just a bit from his sides, palms upward as if he’s making some type of offering, and then, somehow… unbelievably… all six daemons combust into flames. Their screams are shrill as they stumble around for a few moments before dropping first to their knees and then toppling forward to the pavement.
The flames extinguish, and the blackened, grotesque bodies start to writhe in pain. Carrick turns his hands until his palms face the burnt daemons, and a wave of iron spikes appear in the air. Hundreds of them. Without him even moving a muscle, they heed his will and shoot toward their targets.
More shrieks as the iron pierces their skin, muscles, and bones. So many spikes that their hearts and brains can’t escape the onslaught until, one by one, they go still and start to dissipate into black smoke and ash.
When the last one floats away on the breeze, I roll over to my back and stare at the sky, sighing a huge breath of relief. Carrick could have just killed them with the spikes, but he burnt them first as punishment for daring to try to hurt me. God help me, but I love that savage side of him, too.
The sky darkens, and my vision is filled with Carrick hulking over me, fury on his face. His teeth are gritted when he snarls, “You have a lot of explaining to do, Miss Porter.”
I close my eyes, sighing again. His use of my formal name is ridiculous at this point. He knows my body, heart, and soul intimately, and I’m merely Finley or “my love” to him.
Still, that’s his way of letting me know his displeasure, as if his irritated expression doesn’t speak loudly enough.
I think about coming back with some smart-ass comment, but he doesn’t give me a chance. I’m lifted in his arms, groaning at the aches and pains, and I choose to remain quiet as Carrick carries me to the Mercedes.
* * *
It’s a quiet and somber ride back to the condo. Carrick drives and Boral takes the front passenger seat with Zora in the backseat in between me and Blain, who is still blessedly unconscious. He didn’t witness one moment of what just went down to save him, and I’m especially thankful he didn’t see Carrick incinerate and then mutilate the daemons.
Zora leans across me to press gauze to the groove from the bullet in my upper arm. My ankle is throbbing, but that’s the least of my worries.
I half expect Carrick to light into Boral for allowing me to rescue Blain while he was gone, but the only thing he does is dial someone on his cell phone. When whoever it is answers, he merely says, “At my condo… ASAP.”
He then disconnects. I assume whoever he just ordered will, in fact, be at his condo as soon as possible. Such was the command in his voice that I knew whoever was on the other line would not disobey.
Carrick chooses not to use the valet service at The Prestige, instead parking himself in the underground lot on the north side of the building. It would be too weird to explain me limping and bloodied from being shot and Blain bruised and unconscious. I refuse to let Carrick carry me, but I do allow him to support my weight as I limp to the private elevator that is for Carrick’s penthouse. Boral once again hefts Blain over his shoulder to carry him up.
The ride up is silent and tense. Zora chews at her nail, casting glances between Carrick and me. She can sense the rift, but since she doesn’t really understand relationships, I think she’s uneasy as to what this means for me. I don’t have time to reassure her, though, as the elevator doors slide open when we reach the top.
We’re met by Zaid and Maddox.
Maddox’s gaze moves over me quickly, assessing for damage. When he sees I’m upright and intact, he gives me a wink as if to say, I’m impressed you did that on your own.
Zaid, however, is not amused.
He, too, gives me a once over, but it’s done with his arms crossed over his chest and a glare so vicious that I actually shrink back a little.
Carrick isn’t about to let me punk out, though, and he forces me out of the elevator with his arm still around my waist for support.
Without looking at his brother, Carrick instructs, “Help Boral get Blain situated in a guest room. Remove whatever spell or drug has him comatose as I don’t know what was done to him, but then put him under something safe until Finley can b
e there. He needs to see her when he wakes up.”
“On it,” Maddox says. He leads Boral off to the south side of the condo where there’s an extra room near Maddox’s.
“She needs to be patched up,” Carrick says to Zaid as he moves me over to one of the couches. Zora follows quietly behind. “If you can handle cleaning the cut on her arm, Deandra will be here soon to heal the rest of her injuries.”
“Deandra,” I exclaim as he deposits me down onto a cushion. I try to pop back up again in protest that I have to deal with her, but Carrick’s hand on my shoulder pushes me back down.
Zaid turns and heads off to grab some medical supplies, and Zora sits on the couch beside me. She doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t say a thing. But I know she heard the distress in my voice, and she’s sitting next to me in a show of solidarity.
Carrick’s expression remains flat and resolute.
So I ask again, “Deandra? Really?”
“Really,” he replies. “Her powers of healing far surpass that of Stan, and I don’t have time to go track him down.”
“Surely you can heal me,” I sputter.
“Yeah, I can,” Carrick snaps, anger suffusing his face. “But not as well as Deandra. Besides that, I need to talk with her about joining our cause so her trip here serves two purposes.”
“We don’t need her—”
“We do fucking need her,” Carrick snarls, and I shrink back against the fury in his voice. I’ve never seen him this mad before. “While you were off almost getting yourself killed like an idiot, I was getting my ass handed to me by Kymaris and the Blood Stone. We need every fucking soul that’s willing to help us at the ritual or else Earth is going to get decimated.”
I can actually feel my skin pale. It tingles with chills, and something uneasy skitters down my spine. I put aside the fact he called me an idiot, as we can argue about that later, and I know we will as that’s the main source of his anger.
“What happened in Hungary?” I ask him softly, just as Zaid returns to the living room.
He shakes his head, eyes heavy with disappointment. “I’m too angry at you right now to even look at you.”
“Carrick,” I exclaim softly, shocked he’d shut me out over something like this.
Ignoring my plaintive cry for understanding, he turns his attention to Zaid. “Once Deandra gets here, have her heal the remainder of Finley’s injuries and then send her down to the library so we can talk.”
And with that, he turns on his heel and moves toward his office, not even bothering to give me another glance. My gaze follows him the entire way, even as I have to crane my neck around to watch his departure. I take in the lines of his body, the clenched fists, and I know I have some apologizing to do about running off for Blain.
Except the problem is… I’m not sorry about it.
“You deserve that and more,” Zaid mutters as he motions Zora away from me so he can sit on the couch to get a better look at my arm. She moves down toward the end to make room.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur as Zaid cuts away the sleeve of my shirt.
Keeping his eyes on his work, he says, “You need to be saying that to Carrick, not me.”
“Actually, I’m saying it to you because I need to say it to you. I should have never tied you up like that.”
Zaid’s gaze lifts, admonishment heavy in his expression. “I would have let you go, Finley. I would have gone with you and helped to rescue him. You should have trusted me.”
Alarm causes me to flush hot that he would ever think such a thing. I reach out to grab his hand that holds the scissors, putting mine over the top to squeeze him. “I do trust you,” I exclaim. “I trust you implicitly. I tied you up to save you from Carrick’s wrath. I was protecting you.”
His eyes flash with surprise, and a tiny smile comes to his mouth. “I can hold my own with Carrick.”
“You said he’d kill you if you let me go,” I remind him.
“Dramatics,” he says with a wave of his other hand, then he pulls the one with the scissors away so he can continue working.
It’s silent as Zaid cleans the wound on my arm. As I expected, it’s nothing more than a deep groove in my skin, more burned from the speeding bullet as it grazed me than anything else.
He doesn’t bother putting a permanent bandage on it, presumably because Deandra will make the wound disappear soon enough. He merely tapes some gauze over it to keep the oozing to a minimum.
Boral and Maddox return, and I look to Maddox in question. “Blain will stay asleep until we’re ready to wake him up. He looks like hell, though.”
“I know,” I lament woefully. All my dislike for the man has evaporated, and I have nothing but empathy for what he’s been through and guilt churning in my gut that he got caught up in all of this.
“Where’s Carrick?” Maddox asks.
I toss my head toward his office, which leads to the library. “Avoiding me because he’s pissed. He called Deandra to come heal me and then talk battle strategy.”
Maddox glances toward the office and then back to me, and he must decide to avoid Carrick’s generalized ire. Instead, he plops down on a chair, throwing his booted feet up on the coffee table. “So tell us how it went down rescuing your ex-future-brother-in-law.”
I repeat the gist of what happened, starting with Echo’s visit and glossing over the fact I tied Zaid up and left him behind. I pick up on the details once we gained entrance to the gallery. As I focus on Boral’s strict adherence to keeping me safe above and beyond all other goals of this mission, I can’t help but notice Zaid has a funny look on his face as he studies his father.
I try to downplay the end when bullets were flying and Carrick barbecued daemons, but Zora won’t let me.
“That bullet wound to her arm was meant for me. Finley threw herself in the path and saved me.”
I lean forward to look past Zaid to my sister. I had actually forgotten that. It was an action I’d taken that I didn’t dwell on. My sister’s life was more important to me than my own. To me, the success of the day was getting Blain out and us all being alive, but, looking at Zora now, I can see how much it means to her.
I reach across Zaid to grab her hand. I squeeze it. “I love you, Zora. I’ll always protect you.”
My dear, isolated, and withdrawn sister looks incredibly uncomfortable as her face turns red, but then something warm and soft fills her eyes.
I recognize it as acceptance of my love and loyalty to her, and for the first time since she arrived, I can tell the concept no longer confuses and scares her.
That prompts me to try to hug her, but Zaid is in the way and it gets really awkward as I try to pull her past him and he shrinks back into the couch with a look of horror to avoid getting involved in this sisterly sandwich.
We all sort of freeze, though, when the doors to the elevator whoosh open and Deandra strolls out, looking like she just finished a shopping trip on Rodeo Drive she’s so fashionably decked out.
She takes the group in, looks around the immediate area for Carrick, and then her eyes come to me. “Any idea why I was summoned here?”
I hold my arm up, the bandage clearly showing. “I need healed.”
She glares at me as if I’ve offended every sensibility she possesses.
So I amend, “Carrick would like for you to heal me, then he has something very important to discuss with you.”
Deandra considers this. At one point, I feel like she’s just going to pivot on her Louboutins to head back into the elevator.
Instead, though, she sighs as if this is just too painful for her, but she comes my way and motions with a jerk of her head for Zaid and Zora to move out of the way.
CHAPTER 21
Finley
I know I shouldn’t be jealous of Deandra. Carrick loves me and has done so through eternity. He’s made that very clear to Deandra, and I know I have nothing to worry about at all.
But there she stands, all stunningly gorgeous in a form-fitting bicolor dr
ess with cap sleeves. The top is cream and has a deep cut in front that’s sexy but not slutty. The skirt hugs her hips in black pinstripe, and her legs look freaking fantastic in those heels. She’s a Light Fae princess, which makes her like one of the most beautiful people in the universe, and here I am sweaty, dirty, bloody, and wearing workout gear.
I don’t know the name brand of her purse, but I can tell whatever it is, it’s pretty expensive. She lowers it onto a chair as she passes it, moving to the couch where Zaid and Zora have scrambled to get out of her way.
“You look a mess.” Her eyes rove over me critically. “What in the hell did you tangle with?”
“Six daemons,” I mutter as she sits down next to me.
She makes a tsking noise. “Where do you hurt?”
“All over but my left ankle is sprained and I have a bullet wound in my left upper arm.”
“Bullets,” she sneers in disdain, taking my arm and poking at the bandage there. I grit my teeth but hold my moan of pain. “Daemons are so low class.”
When Deandra presses her palm against the bandage, a lovely warmth flows through to the wound. It tingles a little, but the pain recedes completely.
“Foot,” she demands, and I lift it up to the coffee table where I settle it gently. Deandra wraps her hand around my ankle and, again, her magical touch takes away my injury.
“Where else?” she clips.
“I’m sore all over,” I admit. Nothing that can’t be cured with a few days rest and some ibuprofen. But who has time to rest these days?
Deandra presses her hand to my chest. My entire body goes warm, and I feel so cozy I could drift off to sleep. I probably would, too, but her hand pulls back and the cozy feeling disappears along with all my aches and pains.
Yeah… she’s way better than Stan. I hate to admit it, but she’s more pleasant, too.
“Thank you,” I say appreciatively. She just stares at me as if not understanding the meaning of gratitude.
Waiting for additional direction.
“Um… so how are you settling into Seattle?” I ask with an encouraging smile.
The Rise of Fortune and Fury Page 21