TORN: (The Fire Born Novels, Book Two)

by Laney McMann

  I’d kill Sam with my bare hands for breaching the boundary lines around my house under Fomore command, for putting Layla’s life on the line, and sentencing me to rot in hell.

  It was a promise I’d made to myself, and the only reason I continued to stay upright and alert, and not pass out due to the likely internal injuries I’d caused during my frantic fits.

  Stay awake—alert—alive, and beat the living hell out of whoever walked through my cell door.

  That was the plan.

  The stink of burning cotton mingled with the sickly metallic stench of blood, and brought me out of the unconscious state I’d fallen under. Again.

  My Oghams had to have caught on fire. Nothing else could be so hot. Lifting my heavy head, I squinted at my arm in the darkness. The Ogham Etchings glowed green through two holes burned across the shoulders of my T-shirt. Holes the size of my fists. They hadn’t stopped blazing since I’d been unceremoniously tossed into the jail cell, there just wasn’t any fabric left on my shirt to ignite, for which I was thankful; I’d rather not go up in flames by my own warning device.

  I’d never heard of Oghams physically burning their owners, but it wasn’t as if I could’ve asked anyone. Besides Layla, there were no Ancient Fire Born left, and her Oghams had been removed by Lorelei years ago. Another one of her mother’s wicked plans to keep us apart—to keep Layla hidden. For that, I couldn’t blame her. Not anymore.

  As the pain in my shoulders bit further into my flesh and slid down to my biceps, I was almost glad Layla’s Oghams had been removed. The heat became unbearable at times, and I kept hoping it would flare up in my wrists and burn through the ropes. Be of some use. It didn’t.

  Most of my energy had drained out along with the blood seeping from varying wounds covering my body. A residual sensation throbbed on the side of my neck from the Leanaan Sidhe’s bite days ago. Venom, I guessed. Poison. Maybe my grandmother hadn’t removed it all. Clearly that was the case.

  A storm continued outside my cell window, and a puddle of water had leached out over the dirt floor from the continuous drip through the steel bars. I’d only been able to produce small squalls with my wrists clasped behind my back. Nothing large enough to do any damage or break the cell apart. Fingers fumbling, I attempted to summon the wind again. A small gust rushed through the window with a whistling sound, and stopped.

  I was sure that almost every bone, tendon and ligament in my body had to have been either broken, torn, sprained or ruptured, due to all my attempts at escape, and as I lay on the cell floor, staring into darkness, a sickliness crept in my bones—some kind of illness that left me in varying states of unconsciousness, thinking of Layla.

  I remembered playing on the beach when we were about nine years old. Layla wore her light blue headband—the one her mom always made her wear. It sparkled in the sun and picked up the reddish hues in her blonde hair. She’d hated that headband because of all the glitter.

  We’d run up the cliffs in the Otherworld that day, racing toward the waterfall, and Layla had sprinted in front me, her long hair tumbling down her back in a mess of tangles. She’d always bragged that she could run faster than me—loved that she could. I never told her I’d let her win.

  Every time we raced, I’d let her beat me. It was worth it just to see that glittery headband fly off as she ran past me laughing. Her bare feet kicking up the green grass behind her. The smile that lit up her face.

  Listening to the storm continue on outside the cell, I could still picture her as clearly as if she were lying next to me. I’d have given anything to race her to falls again. To hear her laughter catch the wind.

  The steel door of my cell crept back, and a sliver of light slipped underneath, creating a triangular ghostly haze across the dirt floor. I lay motionless, waiting, hoping to attack anything, or anyone, that roamed beyond the walls detaining me. I’d caught glimpses of creatures—malformed bodies of some species I’d never seen before—dragging their weight as if their legs were unevenly matched. The shadows that shifted underneath the crack of the door from time to time were massive. Even with my arms useless behind my back, I could still stand on one leg, and I figured between my hard head and my bodyweight, I had a decent chance of at least taking one of them out. Better than nothing.

  Shifting my body away from the light, I drew my legs up close to my chest in a semi-crouched position, readying myself to pounce. A loud scuff, and a huge shadow, forced me to open my eyes wide.

  “Faigh suas!” Get up!

  A swift strike caught me in the shoulder, shifting my body back like a sack of potatoes.

  “Faigh suas!”

  On the second yell, I kicked my leg out, hard, made contact, and clipped someone—or something—at the ankles.

  A huge creature fell onto its back, shouting in unintelligible Irish. I popped to my feet as fast as my injured leg and no hands would allow, and limped toward the open doorway.

  The blow to the back of my head sent me flying. A prick to the side of neck followed, and my body twitched and slumped backward.

  “Shocrú dó suas.” Fix him up. I heard someone grumble, before another jab to the neck silenced everything.

  “Keep going, Grandmother, finish the story.”

  “MacKenzie, my child, you need to get to sleep. Growing boys need rest.” My grandmother tugged the blankets up to my chin and grinned down at me. Her eyes were lavender in the fading light of the bedroom.

  “Please.”

  She smiled wider. “For you, I will finish the story, but then it is straight to sleep. Okay?”

  “Okay.” I smiled back, waiting anxiously.

  My grandmother opened the old leather-bound book and rested it in her lap as if it weighed a hundred pounds. I ran my finger along the grooves of the cover, the same way I’d done so many times before, breathing in the smell of worn leather and paper.

  She cleared her throat. “And the Crone bowed at the Queen’s feet upon the steps of the castle, a wicked look upon her brow. With a loud roar, and an evil grin, the old woman sneered and rose. The castle began to crumble and sway under their feet, and the heavens shook.”

  I sucked in a breath. “The Nightmare Goddess.”

  “Yes. And screams rang out. The King rushed to save his Queen but was stabbed through the heart, and the stars fell from the skies of Mag Mell.”

  “The Afterworld,” I whispered, eyes wide.

  “Yes, dear, The Afterworld. Shush now; allow me to continue the story.”

  I nodded and fell silent.

  “Heartbroken, the Queen knelt at her King’s side, shielding him from falling debris and the wrath of the wicked Crone, who disappeared in a swoosh of black smoke.”

  My eyelids grew heavy.

  “Left to die on the stone steps of the castle, the King took his last breath, and the Queen swore her vengeance upon the Crone. Little did she know, the poison was already traveling through her veins … and …” My grandmother’s voice grew silent, and the book closed with a soft thud.

  “Keep going.” I yawned. “I wasn’t sleeping.”

  She chuckled. “Goodnight, my child. Sleep well.”

  “Goodnight.”

  She walked to my bedroom door and pulled it so only a small shred of light bled through.

  “Don’t forget to leave the book.” I rolled onto my side, and my arm brushed something hard. I grinned and pulled the book close to my chest, eyes drooping closed.

  “I never forget, sweet child,” she whispered. “You get better now, my boy. Find your strength. You must meet your father tomorrow. Rise and fight against your enemies.”

  My eyes flew open, the memory fading as I came back to my surroundings. My father? Rise and fight? She never said that.

  The cell I woke up in had no windows, but it did have a grate the size of a shoe box at the top of the door, which let in a small amount of light, and it was clean. So were the clothes I’d been dressed in—jeans and a navy blue button-down shirt. The sounds of feet scuffed out
side the door, and the stench of smoke infiltrated the small cell.

  All my Oghams burned.

  Danger.

  Not that I needed the Etchings to tell me that. The welts and bruises all over my body remained. So did the ropes tying my wrists behind my back, but the pain caused by the numerous breaks and tears had lessened—except for the stiffness in the crook of my neck that made it slightly immobile and awkward.

  Across the room, a tray sat on a narrow shelf anchored into the stone wall. A loaf of bread rested on it, along with a jug of water. I flexed my bound hands behind my back. How did anyone expected me to eat?

  Stumbling forward, I was surprised to find I could bear a good amount of weight on my injured leg. Positioning my shoulder underneath the tray, I knocked it sideways. It fell to the ground, and I slid down the wall next to it, managing to shift the bread onto my lap and bring it to my mouth with my knees.

  The cell door creaked and swung open. “Done fighting yourself?”

  A growl rumbled in my chest, and I popped onto my good leg before swaying back against the wall as a rush of blood throbbed in my temples.

  “Aw, my poor baby is a mess,” the Leanaan Sidhe crooned, closing the cell door behind her. “The clothes look nice, though. I dressed you myself.” She walked forward.

  “What are you doing in here?” My voice came out horse and strangled, and my vision tried to adjust after days, or weeks, of darkness.

  “I’m trying to help.” Her arms wrapped around my waist, coming face to face with me. “We need you better, not worse.”

  “Help me?” I yanked away. “You lied to me. Trapped me. You’re one of them.”

  “Trap is a harsh word. You left—I followed.” She shrugged, light brown waves of hair hanging over her bare shoulders. “What was I supposed to do?” Her body pressed up against mine, and an unwelcome charge sparked near my stomach.

  “I told you it was over between us.” I tried to slip out of her grasp, but fell against the wall on my shoulder.

  “Had Teine not recognized you—had you not gone back to her—you’d still be mine. I can’t just forget what she’s taken from me.”

  “I’ve always been hers. That’s not going to change.”

  “Careful now. I’m trying to be nice … Anyway, I have my own agenda—apart from the Fomore,” she whispered. “We can help each other.”

  “That agenda is me. Not interested.” I leaned away, looking for something to hold onto.

  She let out an exasperated sigh. “You don’t want my help?”

  “No.” Her perfume drifted toward me, along with a familiar pang of tickling butterflies. “Stop doing that.” I held my breath, trying to avoid the faerie magic.

  “What?” She giggled and slid closer. “You don’t like my new perfume?”

  “No.” I cleared my throat, my thoughts beginning to ramble, and scooted farther down the wall. “Look … I don’t know why you’re here—what you could possibly have to do with any of this, or what you’re trying to pull, but in case you didn’t understand before—understand now—it’s over between us.”

  “It’s not over until it’s over, sweet Prince.” Her finger traced my jaw.

  “What did you say?”

  Her yellow-green eyes shined in the dark. “This is your world. That’s why the guards don’t touch you,” she said, voice low. “You are the Fomore Prince, my love. Didn’t you know?”

  Disbelief and anger spiked in my chest. “Get away from me.”

  “Don’t get mad. The Tuatha Dé stole you when you were a baby. Hid you. Lied to you. Teine’s father was protecting her by using you.” She trailed a finger down my chest. “I am your people.”

  “You don’t have any people.” I swallowed, trying to refuse the signals ringing so clearly in my head.

  No mother. No father. No memory of them.

  Sweat beaded across my forehead, and Layla’s words stuck out in my head. The day she realized what my grandmother was. She’s your Bean Tighe. She’s been protecting you, Max.

  No real grandmother, either. “You must meet your father tomorrow,” she’d said in my dream. “Rise and fight.”

  Thunder cracked somewhere outside.

  Did Layla know about this?

  The Vampyress lowered my chin. “Your beloved didn’t tell you the truth?” She kissed my neck on the spot she’d bitten. It tingled under her touch. “And I thought you two were so close.”

  I leaned away, trying to slow my rising pulse.

  “In your heart, you know it’s true. You’re one of us.” She trailed her mouth up my jaw. The flowered scent of her hair swirled through the stale air. Her hands moved down my chest. Soft pink lips brushed my mouth. A stab of confused bliss flooded over reason, and she pressed her body against mine.

  I watched the wicked smile I used to love light up her face.

  It’s true. You know it’s true. You’ve always known. You are one of them.

  “Get. Away. From. Me.” I released an uncontrolled snarl. “Now.”

  12

  The cell door kicked open, and a grotesquely disfigured guard encompassed the doorway. Grayish skin hung down his arms and under his neck in folds. Solid black eyes stared across the room. “Mé a leanstan,” it said.

  I followed him out the door as he asked, glad for any reason to get out of the cell, and left the Leanaan Sidhe sulking behind me.

  The guard led me along a narrow shelf carved from solid rock, overlooking a sunken chamber that appeared to be built into the side of a mountain. Surrounded on all sides by a second story overlook, it was spherical in shape. On ground level below, four stone fireplaces raged in a circular room, giving off a ghostly haze of smoke.

  My hands remained bound at my back, as the thing prodded me down a set of crumbling stairs leading into the chamber. Halfway down, I caught a view of Sam in my periphery. He sneered up at me as I approached, a gloating, self-righteous leer on his face. I descended the narrow track, trying not to lose my footing on the loose pebbles cascading to the ground floor while my eyes remained focused on him.

  “I’d wipe that stupid smirk off your face. You’re dead when I get out of here,” I said.

  The guards steered me past him and pushed me toward the center of a sweltering room illuminated in orange firelight. Cobwebs filled the corners of the space, swaying and dancing in the lingering smoke.

  In front of the largest of the hearths stood a man dressed in long black robes, the dull steel of an armored breastplate partially hidden underneath them. The guards pulled me to a stop, and the man inclined his head and smiled, crow’s feet outlining his clear grey eyes.

  The same color as mine.

  “MacKenzie.”

  I stared back at the man without acknowledging him. A strange blast of emotion stirred somewhere near my chest. Confusion mixed with anger. This was the person who’d hunted Layla. All her life. The person who wanted her, and all of her people, dead. The person I’d been stolen away from as an infant, apparently—unbelievably.

  My father.

  The King of the Fomorians.

  “Unbind his wrists.” The man waved a hand in a bored gesture toward the guards standing on either side of me and took a seat facing one of the massive fireplaces. “Leave us.”

  The ropes fell away from my wrists, revealing tears across my skin, welts and bruises. A swell of relief flooded through me as I flexed my fingers, opened and closed my fists. My right wrist seemed to be frozen into an awkward bend, more stiff than painful; I doubted it was healing correctly after the break.

  “Come and sit.” The King motioned to a large, crudely carved wooden chair across from him.

  I did as he asked.

  He smiled, small creases appearing in the ridges of his forehead. “Introductions are in order. I am King Elethan—”

  Finding it hard to look at him, I averted my gaze. “I know who you are,” I said, without emotion. This can’t be happening.

  His head bowed toward his folded hands. “Of cou
rse you do. And you believe that I am a monster, as well? The look in your eyes tells me so.”

  I raised my head, glancing at him. “Yes, I believe that. So, you can save the speech of how you aren’t.”

  He let out a deep breath. “The Tuatha Dé have done a good job with you. I would have expected no different. However, you are my son, as you clearly know, and you will take your place by my side.”

  “I’ll take my place where I choose.”

  He grinned. “I cannot say that I do not appreciate your tone. You sound like me. Strong willed, forceful—qualities I admire, but make no mistake, you will take your rightful place amongst your people.”

  “You aren’t my people.” My tone remained surprisingly neutral as I tried to absorb the shock of seeing him—of knowing who he was—who I was. “You may be my father—looking at you, I can’t deny it—but I don’t know you, have never known you.” I leaned forward, anger rising, and looked him in the eye. “Father or no, you’re the enemy I’ve been raised to hate. I don’t want to know you.”

  “You are my only son!” He rose to his feet in a rage. “You were stolen from us! Do not assume you were unwanted.” Resting his head in his hand, his breath slowed, and he ran his fingers through his brown hair. “This is who you are. Embrace it.”

  I glared at him and rose to my feet. “You’ve been hunting us. Hunting Layla! You sent your henchmen to destroy my house. To steal me from my people. Left me to die in your dungeon, or whatever you call the prison I’ve been holed up in for god only knows how long. Excuse me if I don’t run into your open, waiting arms. I want nothing to do with you, or your people!” I flexed my hands, and an odd sensation vibrated through the broken wrist.

  An angry scowl washed his harsh expression. “Rule by my side as the Prince of the Fomore, or be forced to kill your precious Twin Soul.”

  With the flick of my left hand, wind tore through every possible crevice in the rock structure, blinding the space in whirling sand and pebbles. “You can’t force me to do anything.”

  The King’s eyes widened, but he didn’t move. “Oh, but I can.”