by Donna Grant
Chapter Twenty
The maniacal laughter sent chills of dread racing over Cat’s skin. She turned in a circle, looking for Bran, but he was nowhere to be found.
Then her gaze landed on metal bars. It was the person behind them that made her stomach drop to her feet.
“Fintan,” she whispered.
She could only stare at him in dismay and alarm. Fintan didn’t flinch, didn’t contort his face in anger. In fact, he stood there as if there weren’t bars surrounding him.
All the time she believed Fintan had abandoned her, and he’d been right there. She should’ve known. He’d given his word. It was just that she was so used to others who didn’t think twice about going back on their promise that she’d assumed the same about him.
He wasn’t like others. Not by a long shot. He’d shown her that so many times in so many ways. If only she’d had faith in him from the beginning. If only she hadn’t lied to him.
If only . . .
She looked into his red-rimmed white eyes and was glad they’d had the time so she could apologize. Though it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Just as she wished she could’ve told him how she craved his nearness, his touch. His voice.
“Well, well, well,” Bran said as he appeared beside her.
Cat jerked away, more wary of him than ever. Bran cut his silver eyes to her, but his attention was on Fintan—who she had unknowingly led right into a trap.
“Of all the Reapers I thought I might catch, I believed you were smarter than this,” Bran said to Fintan as he neared the cage. “A pity, really. I had high hopes for you.”
Fintan’s expression remained impassive. He stayed calm and unfazed. “Let me ease whatever questions you might pose regarding my loyalty. I’m a Reaper. I pledged myself to Death. I follow Cael in all things. I stand by my brothers and sisters. Not you. Never you.”
She wanted to cheer as Fintan eloquently stated the words. Had she been in his place, she would’ve allowed her anger to get the better of her and would have shouted her thoughts, laced heavily with vulgarities. Nothing made her feel like she got the point across without a few choice cuss words thrown in.
But not Fintan. He’d shown her another way. She only knew he was livid because she’d heard the hate in his voice when he’d spoken of Bran before. A stranger would assume that he was utterly indifferent, but she knew the truth.
Bran’s head turned to her. Cat liked it better when his focus was elsewhere. Right now, he had not one, but two people she would do anything for.
And she feared that Bran knew it.
“What does he mean to you?” Bran asked and jerked his head toward Fintan.
Cat kept her gaze on Bran to reinforce her words. “As I told you before, Fintan offered to keep me alive, as well as promised to prevent you from taking me.”
“Ah.” Bran faced her and smiled. “Did he vow to kill me?”
“He wants to, but he made no such promises.
Bran’s smile widened. “The ever pragmatic Fintan.”
“How do you know so much about him?” she demanded.
“I make it my business to know everything about my enemies.”
Somehow, she didn’t think that statement was entirely truthful. Bran might very well have learned a lot about Fintan, but she doubted that he knew everything.
“Does that statement also include Death?”
Bran grinned. “Curious about her, are you?”
Cat nodded. “Humans portray Death as a tall, cloaked, skeletal figure with a scythe. And it’s assumed that Death is male.”
“Death is something else entirely, but you’ll get to see that for yourself shortly.”
Apprehension tightened her stomach. “What do you mean?”
“Haven’t you guessed, my dear? You’re here to bring Death to me.”
Cat took a step back before she realized it. She shook her head at Bran, panic and trepidation clawing at her. “I won’t help you kill Death.”
“Sure you will,” Bran said without missing a beat.
She gawked at him. He was so sure of himself that it gave her pause. She glanced at Fintan to see his gaze fastened on his enemy.
Despite knowing what Bran’s response would be, she lifted her chin and said, “No.”
“So many innocents have died,” Bran said. “I went after Halflings simply because I wanted to. And because I knew it would infuriate Death.” He leaned toward her and said in a loud whisper, “I hate her, you see.”
Cat stared into the eyes of a lunatic. A certifiable madman with delusions of gradeur.
“She took a life, and she must pay for it,” Bran stated.
Cat shook her head. “She’s Death. And she has rules, rules that you agreed to.”
Instead of becoming angry, Bran laughed. “I see Fintan has totally gotten you to drink the Reaper Kool-Aid. A pity, really. Now, I’m going to have to use force to get you to see my side.”
“I see your side.”
“Hardly. When I accepted Death’s offer, I’d been ruthlessly betrayed and killed. I wasn’t ready to die. I wanted to live. And she gave me that chance with added magic and power that I could feel running just beneath my skin. I would’ve agreed to anything.”
Cat rubbed her thumb along her fingers at her side at the mention of the feel of magic. She longed to sense it within herself. “I suspect anyone would be overjoyed at the prospect of coming back to life.”
“But she put so many restrictions in place,” Bran said irritably. “Thousands of years of loneliness, of needing something I could neither name nor understand. Until I met Anorrya. I loved her the moment I looked at her, and I knew I couldn’t live without her.”
Cat fought not to slide her gaze to Fintan to see his reaction. She nodded in understanding. “I know loneliness.”
“I kept my relationship with Anorrya secret for nearly a year, but then I grew tired of that. I wanted her with me, to be a part of my life. So I told her everything.”
“Didn’t you know Death would kill her?” Cat asked.
Bran’s silver eyes narrowed. “I thought Death would speak to me first.”
“It wouldn’t matter what she did. You’d hate her either way.”
“Are you saying I shouldn’t loathe her?”
Cat shrugged and nodded. “The blame lies solely on your shoulders.”
“Does it?”
Once more, Bran’s calm reply confused her. Most people would be angry and shouting at this point. It was almost as if he were leading her to one conclusion. And she was hesitantly playing along. “You knew the rules.”
“Rules. Yes, rules are important.” He looked at the floor and walked slowly around her.
She watched Bran, never taking her eyes off him. He was up to something, and she wanted to be prepared for it. To see how far she could push her magic, she silently wished that her dagger were in her hand but hidden from Bran’s view.
A heartbeat later, she felt the weight of the hilt in her grip. Cat hurriedly turned the weapon so the blade rested along the inside of her arm.
Bran quirked a brow. “Those rules you spoke of are no longer in place. Didn’t you hear Fintan? He said he was loyal to his brothers and sisters.”
“I heard.”
“Death made concessions for this new set of Reapers. Why couldn’t she do the same for me?”
“I don’t know,” Cat said.
Bran stopped before her, their toes inches apart. He leaned his face close to hers and said conspiratorially. “Let’s ask her.”
“I don’t think that’s wise.”
“I do. And I always get what I want.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to mention that he no longer had Anorrya, but Cat wisely kept her mouth shut. There was no need to poke the beast.
Not yet anyway.
“Call for Death,” Bran ordered.
Cat shook her head. “I won’t.”
Bran smiled and snapped his fingers. Almost instantly, Searlas and her g
randfather appeared on the far side of the room.
She knew with a sinking heart what Bran planned to do, and she loathed him for it.
“Call for Death, or I kill your grandfather.”
Cat lifted her chin, defiance in every fiber of her being. “Our deal was that I help you, and you let my grandfather return—alive—to his cottage.”
“Perhaps,” Bran said with a sinister grin, “I’ve changed my mind. I think I’ll keep your grandfather right here to ensure that you do just what I want.”
Her grandfather quickly said, “Don’t do it, a stóirín.”
Searlas backhanded him so hard that he fell to the ground. Cat tried to go to her grandfather, but Bran grabbed hold of her arm, keeping her in place. She jerked her bicep out of his grasp and stepped away from him.
“I despise you,” she stated angrily.
Bran shrugged. “I suspected as much. You can try to send your grandfather to safety or even attempt to remove someone else in this room, but you’ll find that I’ve prevented it. Others can come to us. But no one leaves.”
Her mind raced with possibilities. There was no way she would bring Death to Bran so he could kill her. There had to be another way.
“What’s it going to be, Catriona?” Bran asked as he strolled to her grandfather and walked a circle around him and Searlas. “Will you bring me Death, or will you watch me kill your sole family member slowly and painfully?”
Searlas jerked her grandfather to his feet. Her grandfather wiped at the trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. His green eyes met hers as he silently repeated his words from earlier.
He was asking the impossible.
“Last chance,” Bran said. “Will you bring me Death?”
Cat swallowed, tears filling her eyes. “No.”
Her grandfather’s smile was wide as pride shone in his gaze.
“So be it,” Bran said.
Cat’s knees buckled when her grandfather doubled over and cried out in pain. She tried to go to him, but once more, Bran prevented it. When her grandfather fell to the floor, wracked in agony, Cat’s knees buckled.
She hit the floor hard, but she didn’t feel it. She felt nothing. For the next ten minutes, she listened to her grandfather’s screams before the last bit of life drained from him.
She remained kneeling on the floor. There were no more tears to cry, no more words to scream. She had done the unthinkable and caused the last remaining member of her family to be murdered.
Hate burned inside her. She detested herself, but most of the abhorrence was directed at Bran.
“I really thought you’d do what I wanted,” Bran said with a look of disbelief and acceptance. “But that’s all right since we have someone else you care about.”
While Cat had watched her grandfather die, she’d already figured out Bran’s next move. It was no surprise that he now threatened Fintan.
“I was willing to do anything for my grandfather,” Cat said without looking at Bran, who walked to Fintan’s cage. “What makes you think I’d do the same for him?”
There was a brief pause. “You mean you don’t care about Fintan?”
She wanted to reach inside Bran’s chest and rip out his heart, to crush it into nothingness. She wanted to see him suffer the most horrible and cruelest of punishments for five hundred years before he was allowed to die. She wanted him to beg and plead for his life in a place where no one would ever hear him.
“You think I care about him because I trusted him?” she asked. Cat then got to her feet and faced Bran. She didn’t look at Fintan, because if she did, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to carry out her plan. “You’re wrong. I barely know Fintan.”
Bran’s brows lifted high in his forehead as he studied her. “I do believe you’re telling the truth.”
“I’m not going to bring Death to you.”
Bran smiled and nodded. “You will, Cat.”
“Who are you going to threaten this time? The entire population of Galway? The world? Do it. See if I care.”
In a blink, Bran was before her, his hand around her throat, squeezing tightly as his face loomed over hers. The fury she’d been expecting to see earlier blazed in his silver eyes. “You’re going to do what I want.”
She smiled at him. All the while, she let a single wish drift through her mind.
Chapter Twenty-one
Reaper Stronghold
Inchmickery, Scotland
As soon as Kyran appeared within the concrete walls of the fortress, he began shouting for everyone. Within seconds, the others stood before him. He searched faces until his gaze landed on Cael.
“What happened?” Cael demanded.
“The absolute worst.” Kyran raked his hand through his black and silver hair and paced the length of the spacious room. “I knew we were all affected by what happened with Eoghan, but the one I didn’t worry about was Fintan.”
Cael took a step away from the others. “What happened?” he asked again, this time in a low tone, signaling that his patience was running out.
Kyran halted. “I tried to talk him out of it.”
“We’re sure you did,” Talin said. “Just tell us what happened.”
Kyran met Cael’s silver gaze. “Fintan’s plan to trap Bran backfired. Bran knew all along who Cat was, and he never intended to kill her.”
“Why the hell not?” Baylon demanded.
This was the part Kyran dreaded telling. “Bran wants Cat for something.”
“And he was using her to trap a Reaper,” Cael concluded.
Kyran nodded, anger twisting his gut. “Cat has magic. She had it all along.”
“I know,” Cael said. “Her magic is nearly as strong as a full-blood Fae’s. Because of it, her grandfather bound it when she was just a baby. When Bran then took the grandfather, it broke that binding.”
“So she has her magic once more. What all can she do?” Neve asked.
Kyran pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “She has only to wish for something, and it happens.”
“A Fae can do that,” River said. “What’s so special about this half-Fae?”
Kyran wished he had an answer. He could only stare at his woman and shrug. “Since Bran was holding Cat’s grandfather, she went with him. And Fintan followed.”
“Why the hell didn’t you say that to begin with?” Talin shouted.
Cael’s gaze lowered to the floor. “Because Fintan doesn’t want us there.”
“I don’t fekking care what he wants,” Baylon said. “We need to be there.”
Cael turned and faced the group. “After what happened with Eoghan, Fintan is trying to protect the rest of us. He knows that you three have your women.”
Talin expelled a loud sigh. “I’m vexed. I don’t like this. Any of this.”
“We aren’t really going to let Fintan handle this on his own, are we?” Jordyn asked as she looked from Baylon to the others.
Kyran frowned as he felt something tug at him. It was soft, like a whisper. He gave a shake of his head when it disappeared and once again concentrated on the conversation.
“We can find Fintan,” Neve said.
Talin glanced at his woman. “You’re not going anywhere near Bran.”
“Excuse me?” Neve put her hands on her waist where dozens of knife handles peeked out from their sheaths in her corset. “Did you forget that I’m a Reaper now? Did you forget what Bran did to my parents? My brother?”
“No,” Talin said and tried to keep talking, but Neve’s voice rose as she spoke over him.
“I deserve retribution against that maniac just as much as any of you.”
Kyran felt the tug again. It was stronger, like a hand on his arm. He glanced down but saw nothing. Was he losing his mind?
“What is it?” River whispered as she came to stand beside him.
He looked into her pale blue eyes. “I don’t know.”
“Something isn’t right.”
His gaze lowe
red to where her hand rested over the slight swell of her belly where their child grew. “You’re safe here. We put up enough protection spells to ensure that.”
She raised a dark brow. “Would it keep Death out?”
He hesitated.
“That’s what I thought,” River said. “Bran’s power is growing. Nothing will keep him out if he finds this place.”
“He won’t,” Cael said.
Kyran jerked his head to Cael. “You sound sure of it.”
“I am. In Fintan’s place, I would’ve demanded you not come with me either,” Cael said. “Bran wants us all together once more. It’s his chance to wipe us out and get to Death.”
Jordyn was the one to ask, “You wouldn’t be saying that if Erith were all right. She isn’t, is she?”
“She’s worried about how Bran is getting his power.”
Kyran knew Cael was lying. He didn’t know about which part, but when it came to Death, Cael went out of his way to protect her. In any other scenario, Kyran would think Cael had an interest in Erith, but that wasn’t Cael or Death.
“I’m not leaving Fintan alone to fight Bran,” Baylon said.
Kyran covered River’s hand with his own as he looked into her eyes and said to the group, “I’m going after Fintan.”
“Neither of you is,” Cael stated. “I—”
There was a rushing sound that drowned out everything. Kyran reached for River, but she faded from his grasp like smoke. The next time he blinked, he was standing in a room, staring at Cat and Bran.
Kyran looked around and saw the other Reapers—including Daire. Then he saw Fintan, who stood within the confines of a metal cage. Searlas stood on the other side of the room next to a dead mortal.
The fact that Bran and Searlas didn’t notice them meant that they were veiled. But who had sent them? His gaze slid to Cat.
Perhaps he should be asking who brought them?
As one, the six of them spread out around the room as they watched Bran tighten his fingers around Cat’s throat as he peeled back his lips in a snarl.
Kyran looked at Fintan, who stood still as stone, seething with unleashed fury—all of it directed at Bran.
“Why are you smiling?” Bran asked Cat as he narrowed his eyes at her.