Page 60

Amara’s sigh crackled through the line. “I asked her to bring it home. You’ve done well, Rory, but now you need to think. Think about where your loyalties lie, the balance of the two sides. What path will you follow?”

Rory’s eyes glanced around at each of us. “I can’t believe you don’t trust me.” Her voice trembled with anger. “I thought—”

“I am the High Priestess,” Amara cut her off. “When you become High Priestess, I will follow you. But right now, it’s the other way around. It’s time for you to decide.”

Rory’s face paled as the call ended. She shook her head, almost laughing at the absurdity of it. “I don’t even know where to start with this. One minute, I’m to follow my heart, and the next, choose my loyalties. What the hell?” She shoved the phone back in her pocket.

I bit the inside of my cheek before meeting her gaze. “We’re going back to Georgia.”

“Georgia?” she asked, her brow furrowed. “Do you really think that’s smart?”

I shook my head. “It’s the only move we have. Gather your things. We’ll leave shortly. It’ll take Jacob some time to get here with the plane.”

Conall looked at him. “Do you want to take mine?”

I considered his offer. “No. We need to keep up appearances.” I went to an intercom. “Dani, please come to the morning room.”

The button returned to off just as Dani appeared across the room, her form rigid. “Sir?”

“Find Jacob and Paul. Have the plane at Cork ready to depart for Savannah in an hour and a half.”

She hesitated. “But—”

I knew where she was going. “Compel the results if needed, but we will leave on time.”

“Yes, sir.” Dani disappeared as quickly as she had arrived. I turned toward Rory.

“Rory, please go.” I gave her a quick kiss on the lips and nudged her toward the door before returning my attention to my brother. “Conall, I need to speak with you.”

Declan’s mouth dropped open. I’m sure he felt the sting of being excluded, but I didn’t have time. Conall gave me a curt nod, and we made our way out of the front door of the manor, the tension between us thickening with every step.

“This isn’t a normal talk, is it?” Conall asked, his tone sharp.

“I saw Runa earlier, down on the beach,” I replied, my voice low, my fists clenched. “I need to know why she’s here.” If it had anything to do with Rory, it may have meant an end to the truce.

He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “You really couldn’t handle this on your own?”

“No,” I snapped, glancing over my shoulder. “Not this time.” We reached the cliffs in near silence, our speed carrying us across the grounds as though we had wings. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery light over the violent, crashing waves below. And there she was—Runa, standing at the edge of the beach as though she’d been waiting for us all along.

“Cormac. Conall.” Her voice was a whisper carried on the wind, but it was enough. “It’s been too long.”

I clenched my jaw. There was no need for niceties. “Tell me about the Cure. Where can we find him?” I called out, my nails digging into my palms as I approached her. Conall stood at my side, his posture stiff, ready for a fight.

She blinked at me, her hair fluttering in the wind. “So the coven still doesn’t remember their true purpose. How interesting.”

“What does that mean?” I narrowed my eyes as I looked at her, hating that my parents had not told me any of this, and now I had to rely on her.

“To keep the balance and protect the Cure. How is the coven protecting that which they cannot even remember?” Her eerie bell-like laughter echoed across the beach.

I wanted to reach out and sink my hand into her chest to remove her undead heart. What would we lose if I did? No one from my family came to Waterford with any regularity as we had in the past. Did we still need her protection?

I pressed my teeth together, drawing in a calming breath. “What are you doing here, Runa?”

“I’m just picking something up,” she said smoothly, her gaze shifting toward the crate resting in the sand beside her.

The full moon glittered on the water as I glanced toward the wooden box. My heart clenched. Inside were rows of flasks, their metallic surfaces reflecting the moonlight. I kneeled and picked one up, recognizing the knotwork etched into the surface. It was unmistakable—the O’Cillian crest, the same one given to our chosen progeny to walk in the sunlight. I held it up toward her, my fingers curling tightly around it.

“Where did you get these?” I asked, my voice low, the fury barely contained.