A Battle of Blood and Stone Page 10

  God, everything he says is so rational and true.

  And yet, I’m still insanely jealous of that witch.

  “But,” Carrick says softly, bringing his hand to cup the side of my jaw. “I don’t think Deandra will be too hard to take. We’ve made a deal.”

  “What sort of deal?” I ask skeptically.

  “Well, first… she’s agreed to a binding like her mother, so she knows everything. While it may seem Deandra is as flighty and vain as her mother, she actually has a shrewd, calculating side. Her tongue wasn’t enough, so I asked for her heart to be bound to our secrets as well.”

  My eyes bug out. “And she agreed to that?”

  Carrick nods. “I have something she wants very much, and the offer I made was too tempting.”

  “Which is?” I prod.

  “She wants freedom from Faere. She hates it there, and she wants to experience the adventures the Earth realm has to offer. But she’s stuck there. Faere is operated strictly by magic. She has no possessions that would help her to pass here, and she has no money to set herself up in the lifestyle she would want.”

  I’m incredulous. “You offered her money?”

  “A lot of it.” His smile is sly. “And part of the deal for her to get the money is to treat you with respect while she’s here. I also had a long talk with her about what you mean to me, so I don’t think you’re going to get the full-blown vapid Deandra.”

  I snort in disbelief. No one can change their stripes that much. “You told her about our past lives together?”

  “I told her every bit of it. Once I had her heart in the binding, I didn’t hesitate. I figured the more she understood that nothing will ever come between us, the less she’d antagonize you.”

  I chew on my lower lip as I ponder this, grudgingly admitting, “That doesn’t sound so awful.”

  “Well,” Carrick drawls in a hedging sort of way. His hands come to cup both sides of my face. “She still hates you because you’re a human. And she’s jealous of you because you’re important to me. She’s still going to piss you off, but again… that’s what I think you need to tap into those powers. You need to be provoked, you need repetitive practice, and no one can piss you off consistently like Deandra can.”

  Before I can respond, he kisses me, and it’s one of those toe-curling ones that make my head go foggy and my wits jumbled. By the time his mouth lifts from mine, he knows there’s nothing left to argue.

  Still, he placates me. “Please… give it a try. You have nothing to lose but some frustration and everything to gain if this works.”

  I give him a mock glare, but then break into an accepting smile. Rising to my tiptoes, I give him a quick brush of my lips. “Fine. I’ll give it a shot. But out of curiosity, why didn’t you ask Pyke to do this? He’d have the same skill level with magic, and he’s at least a friend of yours. Don’t you trust him?”

  “I trust him as much as I trust anyone in the royal family, and, yes, his skill level would be sufficient. But he wouldn’t take it seriously, and he wouldn’t provoke you the way Deandra will. Also, he’d flirt with you the entire time, so then I’d have to kill him.”

  There’s no helping the laugh that escapes me, and I know without a doubt Carrick will be a million times more proprietary with someone like Pyke, who overtly likes to push his buttons by flirting with me. It would probably cost him his life.

  “Deandra is bound and she knows everything, even about me being reincarnated. Nimeyah is bound, but she doesn’t know that piece of information. Can they discuss the mutual things they both know?”

  Carrick shakes his head. “No, they are both forbidden from speaking of any of this with each other unless I give specific permission. Not that it would ever be needed. Nimeyah would like to pretend none of this is happening, and Deandra wants out of Faere for good.”

  “And you’re not offering the same information in exchange for a binding to Pyke right now?”

  “Not unless we need him in some specific role, but, right now, we don’t.”

  Leaning in, Carrick presses his lips on my forehead. It’s not in a way that makes me feel like a child, but rather one of reverence.

  Appreciation I’m doing this.

  As he takes my hand, we head for his bedroom door, but then he stops, turning to face me. After a short squeeze to my hand, he says, “One other thing… Deandra is going to stay here in a guest room while she trains you.”

  He lays that on me without an ounce of apology in his voice, and I can tell he expects I won’t make a big deal about it. Because if I believe in everything he’s just said—if I believe in him—it shouldn’t matter that the woman he slept with eons ago is under this roof.

  I can give him that, but, jealousy aside, I feel the obligation to remind him, “You want an extremely powerful Light Fae who hates not only humans—but also really hates me—to be within close enough proximity that she could slit my throat in my sleep?”

  Carrick cocks an eyebrow. “Well, seeing as how you sleep with me, I seriously doubt it’s going to happen while you sleep.”

  I can’t help but snort at his flippancy, but I know Carrick is never going to let Deandra hurt me. I wouldn’t have put it past him to add my protection and safety to the binding.

  “Fine if she stays,” I mutter, exaggerating my distaste just a little. Carrick’s right. Deandra shouldn’t bother me one little bit.

  * * *

  I’m going to kill the bitch. Sneak into her room and drive an iron spike into her heart.

  Of course, that’s wishful thinking. What a mess that would make for Carrick—having to explain to the royal family that I killed their princess—but she is driving me to the brink of insanity.

  In the last hour that Deandra has been trying to “teach” me how to use magic, a good fifty minutes has been spent with us lobbing insults at each other and making veiled threats.

  Frankly put… I can’t stand the woman.

  Unfortunately, Carrick was right because the more she needles me, the more pissed off I become, and the more my abilities seem to open up. The only thing I can think of is if I am not under great emotion or stress, I’m actually a little too untrusting of my powers and have some kind of block going on.

  But if I get scared or pissed off, I don’t have time to doubt myself, so I’m able to reach more easily into myself.

  I know this because the first taunt she sent my way caused something to happen. After Carrick had led me back to the man-cave where Maddox was teaching Deandra how to play pool, he set some ground rules and reiterated some warnings to Deandra. She merely smacked on some bubble gum with a sly grin, refusing to acknowledge what he had said.

  It didn’t matter. She was harmless.

  I suggested we get started right away because if Carrick was right and she could help me get in touch with my own magic, then the sooner we started, the sooner she could leave. We had a few hours until Lucien arrived, so what better time? I took her to the gym, having to stop repeatedly as she oohed and aahed over Carrick’s condo, exclaiming he was going to set her up in one just like this.

  I highly doubted it, but I did know he’d throw a lot of money her way to get what he wanted.

  She threw the first taunt at me no sooner than we had crossed the gym’s threshold.

  “Frankly, I don’t see what Carrick finds to be appealing about you. I know I’m much better in bed with him than you could ever be.”

  I wanted to ignore the barb, but I couldn’t. A warm glow flared in my chest, and, yes, part was anger, but part was something that felt strangely liberating. As if I had nothing to lose by tapping into my powers.

  I whirled around on Deandra, feeling something hum along my skin, and she blinked at me with wide eyes. “Whoa.”

  “Whoa what?” I demanded.

  “Your eyes,” she murmured, walking up to me and tipping her head left and then right as if she were studying a bug in fascination. “They’re glowing.”

  The minute she said that,
the warmth faded, the hum disappeared, and I’m sure my eyes stopped glowing as Deandra looked positively disappointed in me.

  It went downhill from there.

  “Come on, human,” Deandra commands, looking down upon me as I lay flat on my back on the gym floor.

  Yeah… going to sneak into her room tonight and kill her.

  We’d been working on strengthening my defensive powers since those come a little more naturally. This consisted of Deandra lobbing balls of stinging magic at me while I tried to deflect them.

  She did it over and over again, usually with insults and a constant barrage of badgering. More often than not, I could repel what she threw at me.

  But every once in a while, she distracts me.

  Like now as she forms a fiery blue ball in the palm of her hand, glances down at it fondly, and then at me with a malicious sneer. “Once you die, Carrick will be back in my bed.”

  That hits me deep because it could be true. No telling how long it would take for me to come back, and do I really expect him to remain celibate?

  Actually… I think I do expect him to remain celibate. That’s a huge conversation we’re going to have to have.

  I’m distracted with thoughts of Carrick’s sex life after I die and her blue ball of energy smacks me in the stomach, causing me to stumble back before falling on my ass.

  I just lay all the way down on the floor to stare at the ceiling, slightly humiliated to have let her get to me.

  “Get up,” she demands. “Your concentration is shoddy.”

  “You’re being a bitch,” I snap as I roll over and push myself up. “It’s disconcerting.”

  Deandra moves so fast I don’t see anything but a blur, then she’s right in my face—glaring at me fiercely. “Do you think Kymaris is going to be polite to you? Do you think any of her Dark Fae will? They’re going to tear you to pieces unless you can learn to drown out the things that make you weak and have faith in your strengths.”

  That’s actually not a bad pep talk, and it touches me in some weird way. But I can’t give her too much credence so I say, “Aww… sounds as if you care about me, D.”

  Grimacing, she turns away, walking about ten paces from me. She turns back around, another blue ball of fire in her hand. Her eyes are lasered onto me. “No insults this time. You should have no fear because you know I can’t really hurt you. Just plain old Finley Porter, lowly human with some measly powers.”

  “Not measly,” I counter. “They’re angelic.”

  “Prove it,” she challenges me.

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to do,” I snap.

  “No, you haven’t been trying,” she snarls back. “You let emotion rule your abilities. You’re hit or miss, and that will get you killed.”

  “Well,” I drawl with condescension. “If you have any good suggestions, I’m all ears. But so far, all you’ve been good at is humiliating yourself into thinking that you could ever catch Carrick’s eye.”

  I expect her to throw the blue fireball. I expect her eyes to fill with rage. I expect to get blasted with some painful Light Fae magic.

  Instead, my insult about Carrick doesn’t cause a reaction at all, and it suddenly hits me… she’s not interested in him. She’s just been using their brief past as a means to break through my tightly held control over my abilities.

  And it worked to some extent, but I can’t take Deandra everywhere with me to screech nasty things so I can access my power.

  “Your powers haven’t been defined, right?” Deandra asks, letting the blue fireball disappear. “Carrick told me that Sarvel put something into you, but you have no clue what it is other than it seems to be rooted in light. Is that safe to say?”

  “Yes,” I reply slowly, not sure where she’s going with this.

  “And it seems to me, your inability to access it consistently has something to do with your level of confidence. Which is understandable, given you’re a lowly human and don’t know anything about magic.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “In the almost hour we’ve been working, your best magic comes out when your emotions are focused—say, for example, on my insults.”

  “Yes, we’ve already sort of figured that out,” I exclaim sarcastically. “It’s the reason Carrick brought you here.”

  “But I think it’s more than that,” Deandra says, crossing her arms over her chest. “I think you’re afraid to use your powers.”

  I frown as I shake my head. “No, that’s not it. I want to use them. I need to use them.”

  “You’re afraid,” she replies confidently.

  “Afraid of what?” I throw my arms out wide. “I’m most likely going to die in this prophecy, and I’m not even afraid of that. What could possibly spook me past that?”

  “You’re afraid of failure, Finley. You’re afraid of violence. And you’re afraid that tapping into these powers is going to change you in a way you might not like.”

  “No,” I say adamantly. “I have changed. I’m not the same person I was three months ago.”

  “You’re enough of that same person that fear is what’s holding you back,” she asserts. She says it with such resolution that I almost believe her. “And I have an idea on how to confront that.”

  I do not like the tone of her voice. It’s almost gleeful, and the low boil of something close to nausea in my stomach makes me wonder if she’s right. I’m afraid to use the powers.

  The fear-of-failure part actually hit me pretty hard because I simply can’t fail. The world is counting on me.

  “What did you have in mind?” I ask tentatively.

  Deandra looks down her nose. “You’ll know when I’m good and ready for you to know. I’ll be back tonight around midnight. Be ready to go.”

  “Go where?” I ask, almost panicked at the thought of going anywhere with her.

  “Can’t stick around,” she replies lightly, ignoring my question. “I’ve actually got a realtor set up to go condo shopping.”

  “You’re going to stay here in Seattle?” I ask, my nose wrinkling.

  “I’m going to look at some space available in this building.” Her grin is obnoxious. If she moves in, I wonder if I can talk Carrick into moving somewhere else.

  “Midnight,” Deandra reminds me. Before I can question her further, she steps away, bending distance to somewhere unknown.

  I absolutely hate the time I just spent with her, mainly because I hate her, but I hate more that she’s actually given me some things to think about.

  CHAPTER 11

  Carrick

  In the beginning, Carrick accepted the gods offer to help Finley Porter with the prophecy and, in exchange, he would be allowed to ascend.

  Then came the time when he started to care for her again.

  Then he loved her again, and Ascension wasn’t an option. The moment he promised to wait around for her next reincarnation, he knew this would be his life for eternity.

  But somewhere in all of that, Carrick actually started caring about mankind. He spent his entire life—almost five thousand years—in the Earth realm. It was his home, and he had not realized how proprietary he had become of it.

  So yes, he was helping Finley because there was something in it for him, then because his love demanded it, and now it was also because he had a personal stake in keeping this planet just the way it is.

  It put even more pressure on him to make sure this meet with Lucien went well. His brother was prickly and cold, and there had never been an easygoing way between them the way there was with Maddox.

  There was loyalty, yes. That came from coming into this world together and having each other’s backs to fulfill the gods’ wishes time and again.

  But loyalty was not absolute, and Carrick honestly had no clue how Lucien was going to react.

  At the last minute, Finley decided to sit out of this meeting, and she urged Zaid to do the same. They were all having a drink about half an hour before Lucien was due to arrive, discussing different way
s to approach Lucien about the Blood Stone.

  Carrick should have known Finley’s beautiful brain was ticking because she had been silent the entire time until she wasn’t. “I think this is a matter best handled among the brothers. Zaid and I should sit this out.”

  Before Carrick could respond, Zaid put in his opinion. “Agreed.”

  And so, Maddox and Carrick awaited Lucien down in the library. Checking his watch, he hoped that this wouldn’t take too long. Deandra had something she wanted to do with Finley at midnight, and he wanted to be in attendance for that.

  The thud of heavy boots came down the spiral staircase, and Carrick watched Lucien come into view. Maddox, sitting across the table from Carrick, twisted in his seat to watch.

  “What’s up, bro?” Maddox said genially as Lucien came off the last step and headed toward the table.

  He kicked out the chair next to Maddox, then returned the same greeting as he plopped down. “What’s up?”

  Then his gaze slid across the table, and he gave a chin lift to Carrick. “Where’s Finley?”

  “Gearing up for an evening with Deandra,” Carrick replied, knowing how provocative that statement was.

  “Deandra? Nimeyah’s daughter?” Lucien asked with mild interest. He had not been around since the trip to Faere, so he wasn’t up to speed on the animosity between the Light Fae princess and Carrick’s woman. It had been over three weeks since they’d last seen Lucien, which was ironically on the day Deandra and Finley almost went at it in Faere.

  “There are a few things we need to update you on,” Carrick said.

  He then told Lucien about their trip to Faere, how Finley somehow tapped into dark powers when Deandra taunted her, and that they believed Arwen to be dead.

  It was a little more personal when Carrick told Lucien about Finley’s sister, Zora, and how she contacted her. It was a bit of a bittersweet experience when he relayed to Lucien that Finley knew about her reincarnations and he took her to the Hall of Histories to see some of her memories.