“Flint?” he all but snapped, clenching his molars tight.
“I’m just… Wow, Cain. I mean, not to be weird and all, but you actually sounded like you meant that.”
Releasing the big ball of nerves trapped in his gut with a nervous chuckle, he shifted in his seat.
“You drive me crazy, and I meant every word. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you that night. That I even made you go to the da—”
“You’ve got to stop apologizing about that.” She sighed. “You can’t do that to yourself, make yourself crazy this way. Your mom was going to get to me one way or another.”
“Don’t call her that.”
“What? Your mom?”
Inhaling deeply, he breathed through the building anger festering inside him. “She almost killed you, Flint. She took Abel. I can’t find my brother, no matter how many leads we track. It makes me sick.”
“Babe.” She said it softly, and it was just a dumb, stupid word, but the sound of it directed at him, it quieted his rage.
Made his body tremble.
It was terrifying how much he needed her in his life.
“You can’t blame yourself, no matter what. She wanted to get at me, and I have a feeling I know why.”
“Why?” he snapped. “What did you ever do to deserve that? What did Abel do? I need to know these things, Flint, because it’s making me crazy.”
Rubbing his brow, he closed his eyes, trying to block out the pain building just behind his temples.
He heard her take several breaths as though she were battling internally whether to speak or not.
“Hey.” He frowned. “You know you can tell me anything.”
She sighed. “I know that. I do. It’s just…”
The longer she prolonged this, the more anxious he became. “Princess?”
“Cain, what do you know about the fae?” She rushed the words out in a hushed tone.
That’d come out of left field. Confused, he blinked, scrubbing a fist over his itchy skin. It’d been two days since his last rage. Which normally wasn’t a an issue, but when a berserker stayed in a constant state of wound-up nerves as he was, then it was a huge problem. It meant that the slightest, stupidest thing could make him snap and lose his cool.
“Not much. More myth than fact really. Because of that, my kind practically looks at them like gods and would probably do a whole lot of foul stuff to get their hands on one. Why?”
“Hm,” was all she said.
No questions. No witty comeback. It was so unlike her that he sat up on the edge of his seat. “Why are you asking me this?”
“Because…” She sighed. “Because I might be one.”
It was like he’d just been sucker punched. The different smell. The reason for Layla’s interest in her. It was all starting to making sense.
“You still there?” she asked carefully.
He grunted. “I’m here. But Flint, how sure are you about this?”
The hive’s interest in her all along. Why she hadn’t died from the bite of the royal guard. Why there’d been so much of her blood on the ground and she’d still survived. The one question that kept hammering at him though was, did Layla really know, or did she only suspect?
“Pretty sure. It’s why Adam and Grace have thrown a revolving door of teachers at me. They’re trying to figure out just what kind I am.”
He closed his eyes, more scared than ever for her. His skin prickled with the rising thrum of his power.
“We’ll keep this between us for as long as possible.”
The implication being that she shouldn’t tell the rest of the gang. Smart as she was, she picked up on the unspoken cue immediately.
“You don’t trust them?” She sounded so unsure and scared, and he hated this space between them.
“I do. Absolutely. But the thing is, the more people who know a secret, the more likely it is of getting out there. Eventually they’re going to figure it out. Maybe not that you’re fae, but I’m sure they can already tell you’re not hive. Just for now, it’s probably best to tell as few people as possible.”
“I shouldn’t have told you.”
“No. God, no.” He shook his head vehemently. “No secrets between us. Ever. Not anymore. You and I are a team, no matter what.”
“I’m scared, Cain. I’m worried. I miss Abel. And I need you. Everything is just so wrong right now. You know my grandmother—God that feels so weird to say now—she told me I have no soul?”
Leaning his head back on the seat, it was all he could do to keep himself in the car. His need to go to her grew with each minute they spent talking.
“You have a soul, Flint.”
“No. Fairies don’t have them, and even a drop of fairy blood means I don’t either. I think my dad thinks I’m going to stop caring about him. That eventually I’m just gonna become this uncaring monster who’s gonna run off and leave him behind. Because apparently that’s what the fae do. Love ’em and leave ’em.”
“Flint, stop.” It was his turn to get tough with her. “You do have a soul. I don’t care what anyone says. I’ve seen your soul, I’ve felt it.” He gripped his chest. “And it’s beautiful. So don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. And as far as becoming unfeeling, that’s pure speculation. No one, not even the Order, knows much of anything when it comes to the fae. They’re a lot like—”
“Sparkly vampires?” she finished for him and he heard the lilt to her words.
He chuckled. “There you are. I was starting to worry.”
“I’m glad I told you. Even if Adam warned me away from you.”
“I should kick him for telling you that.” He shrugged. “But I know he was thinking the same thing I was. Guard your secret, and I’ll do my part. They’re right to train you, you know. The sooner you learn to control who you are, the less likely it is that anyone can do to you what the queen did.”
“I don’t like this. Any of this.” Her voice was soft and sounded sad.
“Me either. But I do want you to know something.”
“Yeah?”
“You can sleep easy tonight. I’ll be watching your trailer myself.”
“Won’t my smell bother you?”
He grinned. In any other context that would sound so wrong. “Not with a metal wall between us. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“You promise?”
“Absolutely.”
42
Flint
The trailer they’d taken her to looked like every other one she’d ever walked into. Except Dad or Katy had given them a few of her things to help decorate it. She flicked at the pink princess tassel hanging off the doorknob.
Mom had given her the goofy thing for her thirteenth birthday. She knew how much Flint had hated pink, so she’d probably done it to get at her.
Some days the pain of her mother’s death felt as fresh as it had the moment Flint realized she’d lost her forever.
She peered out the window, watching Cain’s shadowy form. He sat on the bench in front of her door, staring at her trailer with deep, red glowing eyes.
Once those eyes would have terrified her; now they only made her feel safe.
She touched her fingers to the cool pane of glass. He looked up then, and God, it was like the world stopped existing for a moment.
Like they were connected, bonded by something stronger than just her merely liking him and him her. When Cain wasn’t with her, she felt empty. Not like she couldn’t live, but like the colors of the world were muted. Less than.
Flint trembled when he lifted his hand in greeting.
This world she lived in now, it wasn’t safe—it was scary and terrifying and totally outside her comfort zone. Cain was her anchor, and the thought was both terrifying and exhilarating.
After only another second, she forced her feet to walk to the bed. Plopping down on the lumpy mattress, she stared at the drop-tile ceiling, counting the many tiny holes in the one right above her.
In two more weeks it w
ould be her birthday. Eighteen. A legal adult. Somehow that thought didn’t seem nearly as important as it once might have.
Now all she could think about was Abel. Wondering where he was right now. What he was doing. What was being done to him.
After her test this afternoon, she’d walked past Janet’s trailer, hoping to go in there and visit with her for a bit, even if only to watch her sleep. But Flint had heard her screams and the reality of what was happening smacked her in the face all over again.
Nothing was right anymore. Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes into hours before she finally drifted off into a lulling, trancelike state.
Images came to her almost from the moment she closed her eyes.
Darkness interspersed with bright pinpricks of light.
There was a conscious awareness in the back of her mind that she wasn’t exactly sleeping, but she also wasn’t awake. She was somewhere in between, like she’d been that night with Layla in the woods.
Flint was again a shade, a spirit, a ghost—whatever you wanted to call it. She glanced down at her fleshy body on the bed, not as scared this time as she’d been before. Maybe this was part of her fae ancestry, or maybe this was something else entirely. All she knew was that rather than panic she would attempt to learn.
Turning, she walked through tunnels of lambent radiance, moving as a phantom through a varied array of landscapes, following the mercurial tug of power that pulsed just ahead of her.
The power source felt familiar and yet… not. It called to her, beckoned her closer. She might have traveled hundreds of thousands of miles or merely a few yards when she finally stepped out of the shifting kaleidoscope of colors and into the cold, hard reality of a place she’d never seen before in her life.
There were cell bars in front of her and figures dressed in white lab coats shuffling around and even through her as they moved from one room to the next. She clutched at her chest each time it happened, merging for a brief second with the soul of another, even hearing their thoughts for the briefest of moments whenever it happened.
Hunger.
Pain.
Exhaustion.
Fanaticism.
She frowned at the last thought. What in the world was this place?
Turning, she studied the area more closely.
This was definitely a prison. But no sooner had she asked herself why she was here than her heart began to race.
Was Abel here? Had simply thinking of him brought her to where Layla had stashed him away?
Peeking through the cell doors on either side of her, she saw unfamiliar faces, and the moment she tried to walk farther up the hall, she found that she couldn’t. She was trapped by invisible barriers.
Flint pounded with her fists on the unseen wall, even kicking at it with her bare foot a time or two, but it was no use. It wasn’t budging. She couldn’t move from where she’d landed.
“Why the heck am I here then?” she grumped, planting her hands on her hips.
That movement caught her attention, and she gasped when she finally thought to glance down at herself.
Flint stared at her hands and then at her bare feet. She didn’t have any clothes on.
“What the crap!” she squeaked. She knew for a fact she’d put on her favorite ratty nightshirt and shorts. She was totally naked, but yet… she was steeped in radiance. Her body glimmered like cut opal in moonlight. Her red hair curled down around her shoulders like jeweled sparks of ruby flame. She had black claws for nails and felt a dim glow pouring through her eyes.
Lifting her arm, she noticed the tattoo, now fully encapsulating not just her bicep, but curling like a winding snake from her wrist to her collarbone. The vines swayed as though from an invisible wind. And from one blink to the next, she suddenly found in her hand the sword she’d taken to the carnival this morning.
It gleamed a heated blue, but it didn’t burn her. The touch of it felt right, felt almost good in her hands. Like it belonged to her, had always belonged to her, she simply hadn’t known it before now.
Another body passed right through her and this time she squeaked, ’cause dude, she was totally naked. Clutching the sword to her middle, she would slice somebody if they even so much as acted like they’d noticed her, but no one did.
She was still nothing more than a ghost.
“Why am I here!” she snapped again.
She knew nothing about being a fae. So maybe she was doing something wrong. Rolling her eyes, she was just about ready to step back into the spiraling tunnel of colors when she caught a flash of movement from the corner of her eye.
A group of burly men in military uniforms came around a corner, dragging the limp body of a young man between them. This was the first actual prisoner she’d seen.
Heart clenching, Flint froze, for a second terrified that the brown-haired man could be Abel.
The man’s features were unrecognizable thanks to the swelling of his lips, nose, and mouth. Blood caked his nostrils and ears. The man was the size of Abel, but when the military men drew closer to her, Flint realized the man had pointed ears.
Long and dainty, just at the tips.
The guards stopped just in front of her then as one of them moved to unlock the cell door with a thick, black, archaic-looking key. The locking mechanism ground loudly through the otherwise eerily hushed halls.
And as he did that, the elf-eared man finally opened his eyes and their gazes locked unerringly. Last time she’d ghost-walked, no one had noticed her. No one had seen her.
The man’s nostrils flared and his mouth parted just slightly. Flint could do nothing other than gasp, breath knocked out of her lungs as she realized not only could he see her, but something about him called deeply to something inside her.
His eyes were the green of early spring, but it wasn’t the color that’d made her tremble, rather the images of falling leaves that danced and swept through his irises like magick. Like the same kind of magick that’d crafted a vine of thorns and leaves to sway upon her own flesh.
“Who are you?” she hissed.
The guards never turned or flinched in her direction. No one else noticed her. They tossed the man onto the hard stone floor and slammed the bars back into place, then they turned and walked right through her.
The tingling buzz of displacement lit her senses, making her feel temporarily dizzy. Shaking her head, she tried to run to the man who still lay in a heap on the floor.
His eyes were closed now and his breathing ragged. As a spirit, she could slip through any physical barriers. Except when she tried to cross the iron doors, she slammed up against a wall of such agony that she dropped to knees and screamed.
The tips of her fingers were sizzling and an ugly red.
Elf Ears blinked open his eyes then and shook his head. Unintelligible gibberish slipped off his tongue, and then something hard and violent pressed against her, shoving her back through the tunnel of color.
Flint clawed at the shifting, swirling tunnel, trying to hang on, to ask him who he was, where he was, and whether he knew Abel.
“Abel,” she screamed. “Do you know Abel?” Her words were sucked out of her mouth, torn from her. But still she felt the ache, the throb of the strange man’s power calling to her, and she knew with every fiber of her being that he’d heard her.
And then she was snapped out of her dream and panting violently, shivering all over. Lying across her lap was the sword, and when she lifted her hands, her fingertips were raw and blistered.
She trembled in bed after that, hugging her arms to her legs and staring out the window, wishing desperately she could call out to her mother, her father, even Cain. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t open her mouth because she was paralyzed by fear. All she could do was stare at the blade that still gleamed blue and pray for the sun to come up quickly.
Cain
* * *
The light of the moon was weak tonight; Cain held his cell phone up, using the flashlight app as he cracked open the le
ather-bound tome. And just as he’d suspected, Flint’s telling him of her heritage had finally activated the book’s magick.
Most of the pages were still empty, except for the first two.
Tuatha Dé Danann—an ancient race nearly exterminated thanks to the Great War of 1512. Forced underground, they remain mostly in Ireland, rarely venturing into the mortal world. Secretive, very little is known of them or their numbers. Known by many names, among them “bearers of the faerie” and “Aes Sidhe”—literally translated means people of the mound.
All fae share a strong affinity for nature and have even been known to slaughter those who’d destroy it.
It is generally believed that there are two courts, the light and the dark. The fallacy, however, is in believing that light is good and dark is bad. The fae are neither and both. Soulless creatures, they bear very little regard for those not of their kind.
Beware of their treacherous natures; their mere presence has been known to be devastating to those with weak-minded constitutions…
The rest of the words were devoted to the war of 1512, but what struck Cain was who’d written this and just how exactly could Flint affect those around her?
He turned off the app on his phone, then rang for Grace, who picked up immediately. Her words were somewhat slurred as she said, “Aye, who is it?”
“Grace, the book has started to open itself,” he said, knowing she’d understand.
She did. Immediately she became alert.
“Yes, and what is it telling you?”
“That the fae are treacherous, not to be trusted, and that Flint’s presence alone will affect those around her. What does that mean exactly?”
“She’s not causing you to fall for her, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she all but snapped at him.
The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. He shook his head. “That wasn’t even a thought. But I need to know what exactly that means—how is she affecting others?”
He could almost sense her indecision before she finally said, “I don’t know, Cain. Of all of monster society, very little is known of the fae aside from historical facts on the war and secondhand accounts. It is believed that fae can enhance one’s emotions, make whatever it is they are feeling become tenfold. But from what I’ve heard, it isn’t innate so much as a learned trait. I doubt very much Flint has that kind of talent; she’s only just woken up. But it wouldn’t be amiss to keep a close eye on her just in case.”
The Complete Tempted Series Page 45