A Battle of Blood and Stone Read online

  Every time period I soaked in always ended abruptly when I died. Sometimes, I knew it was coming like with a protracted illness. Other times, it was sudden and unexpected. Rune had endless possibilities, but he seemed to favor the more dramatic deaths that would crush Carrick.

  At times, Carrick was with me when I passed. Others, I was alone when I died because he was out and about and we had no clue it would happen that day. We had always made a pact that we would lead our lives fully and not just wait for it to come.

  And—always—he was the person I was thinking about when things went black.

  “I think I’m done,” I finally say, feeling like my brain can’t handle any more stimulation. I hand the crystal, which had gone opaque once the memories were complete, back to Temen. Looking up at Carrick, I ask, “Perhaps we can come again?”

  “Of course,” he assures me.

  I turn to Temen, dipping my head. “Thank you so much for your time.”

  He bows with a smile. “It was my pleasure to help a friend of Nuesh.”

  Carrick gives Temen a nod, then takes my hand, preparing for us to bend distance back to Seattle.

  “Wait,” I exclaim as a thought occurs to me. I pull away from Carrick, then pivot back to Temen. “Do you have the ability to look up events with some nominal information?”

  “I can certainly try,” Temen replies.

  “Can you pull up a crystal for the time when a book called the Libri Mysteria was written and its surrounding events?”

  “Holy. Fuck,” Carrick breathes out in astonishment. “So simple.”

  I look over my shoulder, grinning. “Right? It just suddenly came to me.”

  Temen turns to the wall, replaces my crystal, and closes the door. After more whirring and sliding of gears, he opens up the door when it’s quiet. The crystal that sits there looks similar to mine, except it’s much shorter, maybe only about three inches in length.

  After he hands it to me, I hold it out for Carrick to touch so we can see the event together.

  The crystal glows blue as we both touch it and scenes start to flash. Various places and people running past me in a blur, and, finally, a man—presumably, the demi-god who loved Charmeine—hunched over a wooden table with a single candle providing light as he copied words from a long scroll into a leather-bound book.

  Carrick was right. It had been copied over at some point.

  The crystal stops glowing. It takes a few seconds for all that to settle in as it appears the book was created over several years, transcribing it from many papyrus scrolls.

  “Did you recognize the demi-god?” I ask Carrick.

  His expression is disappointed as he shakes his head.

  Damn it.

  Handing the crystal back to Temen, I ask if he recognizes the demi-god. The crystal glows as he closes his eyes, but when he opens them, he also shakes his head. “I’m sorry, but no.”

  “It was worth a try,” I reply glumly. I slide my hand in Carrick’s. “Let’s head back.”

  “Wait a minute,” Carrick says, his gaze going to Temen. “Pull up the event for the original writing of that story on the papyrus scrolls.”

  My eyebrows draw inward in confusion.

  Carrick explains. “Just because that demi-god we just saw transcribed the story, it doesn’t mean he was the original author.”

  “Brilliant,” I say with a beaming smile.

  “Pull up all pertinent events surrounding the original writing on the scrolls,” Carrick instructs.

  Temen does his thing, then switches out to a new crystal. This one is much longer than mine, at least eighteen inches, and the cylinder part isn’t smooth but rather gnarled and cracked. It doesn’t look well cared for.

  It’s long enough that Carrick and I can both wrap our hands around it as it starts to glow.

  Once again, places, people, wars, love scenes. A barrage of images flash through us, and my blood starts racing as I see a black stone chalice with a red jewel affixed to it. All of it blowing by so fast I’m afraid I’ll forget details. Yet, at the end, we see Micah.

  He’s more grotesque than the Libri Mysteria’s author had described, his face deformed and hideous. He’s covered with matted fur and his back is hunched. Slime oozes from the corners of his mouth.

  And then he’s battling someone—presumably our demi-god—for the chalice, but Micah uses some sort of magic. He expels that person from his realm in a flash of blinding light and without us being able to see many details other than the demi-god was built like a freightliner.

  Finally, we see a man bent over a stone table, meticulously journaling his experience on papyrus scrolls.

  Not the same author from the first viewing, and we can only see his back as he’s hunched over. When he reaches the end of the scroll, he lifts it and carries it over to a wooden trunk in what appears to be a tent of some sort.

  He deposits it gently inside, closing the lid. When he straightens to head back to the table, I gasp so hard I start to choke.

  “Fuck,” Carrick mutters as we take in the author of the Libri Mysteria.

  Hair buzzed to his scalp, his gray eyes filled with ice and a look of isolation that I’d recognize anywhere.

  Carrick’s brother, Lucien.

  CHAPTER 8

  Carrick

  Settled on the couch in his office, Carrick tucked his hands behind his head and stretched his legs out, crossing one over the other at the ankles. It was almost three AM, and he’d just left a warm, naked, and sleeping Finley in their bed.

  Not for his decency or hers, Carrick donned a pair of pajama bottoms and a t-shirt before leaving his bedroom. The way things were heating up with the prophecy, people were coming and going at all hours from his condo, which had become command central of sorts.

  He could have as easily stayed in his bed to contemplate things, but the lure of Finley beside him was too distracting, which was why he had relocated to his office. Through the pocket doors and to the windows overlooking the Sound, he couldn’t see much of Bainbridge Island. It was mostly blacked out, everyone asleep, and the sky was overcast so the water was darkened. There was some glow from adjacent buildings and some of the smaller ones below him, but there wasn’t much of interest to look at for the most part.

  Which was fine. He didn’t need that to think.

  He tipped his head back, letting his gaze lift to the ceiling. Plain. White. Blank.

  His mind began to wander.

  If he didn’t hear back from Lucien soon, he would have to go on a search for him, which would waste time. He’d put in a few texts and one phone call, telling him that he was needed urgently in Seattle.

  Carrick did not tell him what it was about, though. That conversation was best done face to face.

  Lucien had never been unresponsive before. If he were in the Earth realm, no matter if it were halfway around the globe, he would have replied by now. Carrick could only ascertain he was in some other AltVeritas where cell reception depended on the level of magic within that realm or whether its creator allowed Earth realm technology within its borders. There being thousands upon thousands of realms, Carrick would not know where to start. He would have to appeal to Veda for help, and she’d already done a lot for him. The favors she would bestow were probably running dry.

  Carrick let those frustrations go because there was nothing he could do about them. Instead, he thought about his time in the Hall of Histories today with Finley. She had such delight in seeing her past lives, even though each one was abruptly ended when she died.

  Sadly, some of those deaths weren’t abrupt but rather a prolonged illness. She hung tough, though, and watched it all.

  In the end, she had seen enough to prove that her gut instinct about their love was right. Seeing it over and over again, feeling the same level of devotion in each life, meant that what she and Carrick had was special enough to withstand eternity.

  When Carrick watched Finley walk out of there, he knew she could never doubt his love for
her and because she allowed herself to trust in her past incarnations, she could have faith that her present-day feelings for him could be trusted.

  It was a good evening when they returned to the condo, riding high on Finley being able to learn some of her history.

  Learning who was the author of the Libri Mysteria was a huge bonus, shocking as it was. Finley was brilliant to think of asking Temen for the recorded event and frankly, Carrick was embarrassed he had not thought of it himself but, admittedly, he’d been distracted by watching Finley take in the memories of some of her past lives. He was reliving them in his head right along with her.

  Carrick wasn’t surprised he didn’t know about Lucien’s past with Micah and Charmeine. They were created together as brothers with Maddox, but Lucien was more often than not off on his own, handling individualized dirty work for the gods. Sometimes, all three brothers fought wars together, but they spent more time apart than in a group.

  Still, it was hard for Carrick to imagine Lucien in love. It was even harder to imagine him taking the time to write the Libri Mysteria, which was as much travel diary as a listing of powerful objects. Lucien didn’t seem the cerebral type, but that was not to say he was dumb. On the contrary, he was extremely intelligent as all demi-gods were. He was just a doer rather than a ponderer, and Carrick couldn’t imagine him being able to sit still long enough to write all those words.

  Lucien was the isolationist, the one with the fewest words and the easiest to provoke to violence. This was in complete juxtaposition to Maddox’s easygoing nature and penchant for mischief. Carrick fell right in between. He wasn’t the oldest or the wisest, but he acted it and was often in the role of others looking to him for leadership when needed.

  Despite their differences, Carrick had told both Maddox and Lucien about Eireann when he decided to marry her and make a life with a mortal. After he’d told Eireann the truth of who he was, he’d introduced Maddox and Lucien to her, as well as revealed that Zaid—who had been his companion for many years—was a daemon.

  Lucien and Maddox then stopped Carrick from trying to destroy the world after Rune killed Eireann, and rode out each loss with him every time one of her new lives ended.

  He supposed he loved his brothers for that alone, although there had to be a million other reasons as long as they’d lived.

  Carrick just wished Lucien had shared his tale of woe because he could have been a source of comfort for his brother had he been allowed. He was sure Maddox would feel the same once he told him about Lucien being the book’s author.

  Continuing to stare at the ceiling, Carrick contemplated going back to bed. Finley was there, and she was warm, alive, and his for however long the fates would allow it. A small part of him believed she would make it through the prophecy, but only so Rune would have the satisfaction of ensuring her death thereafter. It would be like Rune to give Carrick a small victory only to take it away from him again.

  But Carrick wasn’t going to play that game with Rune anymore. He refused to hide from his fate by Ascending, and, as he promised Finley, he would wait for each reincarnation for them to be together again. There was something about Finley—this present incarnation of Eireann—that had shown Carrick that even small moments of happiness were worth the pain to be suffered. He could handle her deaths knowing he’d have her alive again at some point. The real suffering would be if Rune ever figured out that Carrick could be satisfied with this, since he might stop Finley’s reincarnations. But Carrick didn’t want to worry about the awfulness of that punishment should Rune bestow it.

  He had enough on his plate.

  Regardless, Carrick had resolved to do things differently in the future the next time his Eireann came back to him. He’d offer her the Hall of Histories when she was ready, not because it would push things along but because he saw how meaningful it was to Finley today to understand their relationship the way he did.

  Hell, maybe he’d search for another way for them to make her an immortal. There were thousands of realms with different types of magics. Who was to say there wasn’t something out there for them?

  Maybe, just maybe, if they defeated Kymaris and came out with the Blood Stone intact, it could be enough to make her immortal. Finley might not want that, of course, but maybe the gods would grant favor on him and render him mortal. That would only work if Rune would lift his curse and let them have their short lives left together.

  That would actually be a dream for him. His preference, really. To live a normal life where they would age and experience life together. They’d have children, a dog or two, and even a fucking white picket fence. That was a long shot, though. Rune was unlikely to give up his curse because he was a fucking asshole.

  Carrick had his share of turmoil to think about regarding his future with Finley, but at least he had a future. Lucien had his crack at love, and it ended badly and permanently. It made his heart heavy for his brother.

  But then, it lifted like mist rising from a mountain, and he knew that wasn’t happenstance.

  He sensed her before he saw her.

  Dropping his gaze from the ceiling, he saw Finley—his Eireann—standing at the pocket doors, leaning casually against the jamb with her hands crossed over her chest. She wasn’t there long because he had just felt her arrive.

  Eireann.

  She would always be that to him… the very first time he loved her. Carrick often caught himself almost calling Finley by that name because it was so synonymous with everything they stood for. It had always been hard to get used to her new name each time they met, but it was never hard to get used to her again.

  She was the same, over and over again, in looks, spirit, personality, and love. She came back to him perfect every time.

  Finley looked delectable in one of his t-shirts that came down to her mid-thigh. Her hair was sex-tousled, and there’d never be a time he didn’t want to muss it up more.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” she said with a smile, pushing off the jamb and sauntering his way.

  Carrick didn’t move. Kept his casual recline on the couch, hands behind his head, enjoying watching her graceful and seductive movements. But he did answer her. “Thinking about Lucien. If we don’t hear from him today, I’m going to have to go searching.”

  “You mean we are going to go searching,” she corrected as her knees bumped the edge of the couch.

  It didn’t stop her trajectory as she merely climbed up to straddle his thighs. She sat back, hands resting gently on her own thighs, and studied him.

  “Yes,” he agreed. “We are going to go searching.”

  Because they were partners in this.

  Finley reached out and gently brushed along his forehead and over one eyebrow with a fingertip. “You’re worried.”

  “It’s a constant these days,” Carrick replied with a wry smile.

  “I’d like to be one of those girlfriends right now who say ‘honey, you look tired—you should come back to bed,’ but we both know you’re not tired and you don’t need the sleep. Lay your worries on me.”

  Carrick stared at her for an overly long period, but mostly settled on her eyes.

  They fucking did him in every time.

  Pushing her hands away, Carrick covered the tops of her thighs with his palms. The softness of her skin wasn’t distracting but oddly comforting to him right now. She was offering her heart to him, and it was something he had not gotten enough of since they met.

  He definitely wouldn’t worry her about his worries over their future. They’d face that together at some point.

  But Finley was his partner in every way, and so yes, he was going to lay his worries on her. It was something they had always done in every past life she lived. She was his sounding board, always lending a quiet, nonjudgmental ear, and if she couldn’t give advice, she’d give all her support.

  This was exactly what he needed.

  “I’m worried about Lucien and how he’s going to take the news that we need the Blood Stone, and,
more importantly, that we need him to lead us there to get it.”

  “Because Charmeine is supposedly trapped inside?” Finley guessed.

  Carrick merely nodded, giving her thighs a light squeeze.

  “But wouldn’t he want to use this attempt to try to rescue her? I mean, maybe she can be freed.”

  “Maybe,” Carrick agreed thoughtfully. “But we don’t know that. I’m wondering why he’s never made an effort before to rescue her. Micah is still a fae and can be killed by Lucien, so why didn’t he go back for her after he was cast out?”

  “Maybe Micah threatened to kill Charmeine if he did,” Finley suggests. Then a light bulb goes off, totally apparent in her expression. “You’re worried Lucien is going to refuse to help us to protect Charmeine.”

  “It’s crossed my mind,” Carrick woefully admitted.

  Finley frowned slightly as she pondered. “But what kind of life does she have in that stone? Wouldn’t he be willing to risk it to save her?”

  “What if she doesn’t need saving?” Carrick countered. “What if Micah eventually let her out, and she’s fine?”

  “That’s a long shot,” Finley muttered, but then her expression softened as she stared down at Carrick. “You’re still worried about something else. More than just the mechanics of how this is going to work.”

  She was astute, but more than that, she was pulling on their connection to come to that conclusion. Finley may not have real memories of their times together, and they’ve only known each other a handful of months in the now, but she knew him.

  Knew him to his core.

  He nodded, taking her hands in his to hold, then letting them fall back down to her thighs. “I’m not so much worried, but I do wonder if Charmeine is the reason Lucien is the way he is. I mean, he had it harder than Maddox and me because the gods used him in ways they didn’t use us, but they built us tough, you know? We have a conscience and feelings, but demi-gods know how to shield themselves.”