Page 27

CHAPTER 26

F intan didn’t want to leave Taryn, not for one second of one minute. But he needed to broker the peace between the Aether and the Siren prince. Damian had to have unwavering faith in his skills if he intended to bring his beloved daughter into the mix. But then again, Taryn was Sabrina’s aunt, and as her father, Damian would want to save her the pain of loss.

Fintan shoved aside the image of her grave, praying to the Goddess, the Fates, or anyone willing to listen that his vision had been wrong. It begged the question: once seen, was the outcome set in stone? He had avoided Taryn for fear she’d be his downfall, as predicted. Yet Ardghal and Peter believed the ancestors fed him a load of shite. Did it mean he wasn’t a true Seer? During many situations in the past, he hadn’t relied on them, and only when they hijacked his mind were the truly horrendous predictions imparted.

“Fin?”

He glanced up to find Brenna lingering in the doorway.

“Dinner is ready. I thought I’d sit with Taryn while you confer with Damian and Ardghal.”

After pressing a kiss to Taryn’s temple, he rolled to his feet. And in a spontaneous show of affection, he hugged Brenna. “Thank you. It’s a kind offer.”

“It’s my fault,” she whispered achingly. “I should’ve fought harder. Everyone believed I was stronger than Odessa but?—”

“Shh. Taryn wouldn’t blame you, love, and she sure as shite wouldn’t want ya to blame yourself.”

“She’ll appreciate becoming a Siren.” Brenna drew back and ran a shaky hand across her cheeks, wiping away her tears. “She always said it was a badass gift.”

“You always know the words to say to make me heart lighter,” he told her. “It’s blessed we were the day you walked through our doors, Brenna Sullivan.”

She grinned. “I bet you say that to all your cousins.”

“Only the beautiful ones.”

“All Sirens are beautiful,” she said with a frown.

Unbelievably, he laughed. “Aye, but I meant on the inside, love.”

“Okay, then, I’ll give you that one. Now go. Don’t keep them waiting. The sooner we wake Taryn, the better we’ll both feel.”

Fintan teleported to the hallway outside the dining room. The open doors revealed a lavish setting fit for a king.

Or a prince.

Normally, household chores were left to him as the caretaker, but Brenna had made sure to set out the finest china, light the candelabra tapers, and set out decanters of red and white wines, which he suspected came from his prized stash in the cellar. He couldn’t fault her for the care she’d taken. This meeting was too important to fail.

“Are you ready to discuss the next step in Taryn’s care?” Ardghal asked as Fintan entered.

“Aye. Are you willin’ to listen to the Aether and work together to bring her out of stasis?”

“I am. But if he breaks the truce, I’ll do what I must to save myself and my legacy.”

“I feel the same,” Damian said as he joined them. Summing up Ardghal, he held out his hand, “You’re taller than I imagined, Prince Ardghal.”

The Siren prince grinned and shook the proffered hand. “Just Ardghal or Bloodstone. And you’re shorter than I imagined.”

“I believe my height is fairly standard for a human.”

Ardghal’s gaze narrowed. “But you’re not human. Not fully. You’re the most formidable creature on this planet.”

“Close enough,” Damian agreed. “But there are others to watch. The Authority controls many of them.”

They chose their seats, surprising Fintan when neither selected the head of the table.

“Was it a test? To see if I’d react to your comment,” Ardghal asked as he poured them each wine.

“Perhaps.” Amusement brightened Damian’s obsidian eyes. “My daughter tells me you’ll be instrumental in dismantling the organization.”

Fintan halted in uncovering the vegetable medley Brenna had conjured. “Yeah, and what will that mean for the magical community?” he asked. “What are the consequences of such a thing?”

“It remains to be seen,” Ardghal replied as he filled his plate. “But I’ll not let them continue to manipulate you or Narissa, nor anyone else as they see fit.”

“Is that what you believe they are doing, Bloodstone?” Damian asked. His tone was neutral, but his expression held deep curiosity, as if he were peering into the Siren’s soul and attempting to figure out his true purpose.

“My wife’s family was instrumental in forming the Authority with the sole intent to control those like me. Hybrids from gods and mythical monsters terrified them.”

“How is it you were able to marry her if they knew what you were?”

“They didn’t at first.” Ardghal nodded at Fintan. “I looked exactly like him and passed for a full-blood. They had no objections to a human warlock. This form”—he waved a hand to indicate his body—“was the one wasting away in the grotto beneath the estate after my wife…” Looking uncomfortable, as if he’d said too much, he dropped his gaze to his plate. Elizabeth’s defection had hurt him, and though he forgave her long ago, erasing the pain of her actions wasn’t as easy.

“Are you able to transform back to human at will?” Damian asked curiously. As someone possessing an empathic ability, he’d have read Ardghal’s emotions and recognized them for what they were. Not delving deeper was a kindness.

“I haven’t tried,” Ardghal said, “But with the amulet back in my possession, I’ll assume it’s possible.”

“I’m thrilled to see it returned to its rightful owner and Odessa dispatched. She was becoming a thorn in the side of many.” After sipping his wine, Damian set it aside and picked up his utensils. “I’d have been happier if a Death Dealer had been present to obliterate her soul. The corrupt and rotten return worse in their next lives.”

“To be honest, I didn’t give it any thought other than to stop her from hurting anyone else,” Ardghal admitted. “But she’ll not return. I made sure of it.”

“You possess Death Dealer magic?” Damian asked sharply, stilling as he awaited the answer.

Ardghal met his look with a challenge. “From my father’s side, yes. I’ve only ever used it in cases like these. Is that a problem for you, Aether?”

“No.” Appearing satisfied with the answers, Damian cut into his steak. “Getting back to your new goal, I’ve only known the Authority to be fair for the most part. However, there were some council members, in recent years, who only had their own interests at heart.” He chewed a bite in a slow, deliberate motion. Everything about the man was deliberate, as Fintan had come to learn. Ardghal would know this, too, had he been paying attention when his Siren was bonded to him.

A glance showed his princely self to be amused by the act, and he outright grinned when Damian dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “It’s a grand show, but speak plain, Aether.”

“All right, I will. I’m not certain I can condone toppling the entire establishment when it means there will be no law in the magical world.”

“If you say there are trustworthy individuals, then I believe you. I don’t propose destroying it completely, but it needs to be rebuilt from the ground up, with each family represented fairly.” With care, Ardghal set his fork down and picked up his wine. “But I want those controlling Fintan punished.”

Damian frowned, and he sent Fintan a sharp look. “Controlling? A Seer receives their information from their deceased ancestors, or so I’ve been led to believe. What’s changed?”

“Ardghal and my uncle believe they’ve been feeding me what they want to influence outcomes and keep me doin’ their biddin’.” Fintan shook his head, tired of the fucking cloak-and-dagger bullshit associated with working for the Authority. “And they believe it’s the Authority that made a deal with my ancestors.”

As someone who abhorred injustice, Damian’s anger was a living thing. Its energy snapped and snarled like a rabid dog on a chain, eager to be free and bite. The temperature dropped by at least fifteen degrees, as he shoved back his chair and rose to pace.

He halted beside Fintan.

“For how long?” he asked.

“Forever,” Ardghal said, watching him warily.

“All the times, when I turned to you after the Fates suspended my psychic ability, those visions were manufactured?” the Aether asked Fintan.

“Sure, and I can’t say for certain, but we think so, yeah.” He held up his arm, displaying his burning skin. “You might want to calm the fuck down, Dethridge. It’s uncomfortable when you’re riled.”

“Bloody hell.” Damian didn’t lose his cool often, not without consequence. Regret and compassion were in his expression as he laid a hand on Fintan, healing his burnt skin. “My deepest apologies, Sullivan. I was worried about my daughter’s well-being.”

“I’m grand.” He stopped Damian from moving away. “I don’t believe they’ve purposely targeted her, but I can’t say they haven’t, either. They’ve been tormenting me with Taryn’s death.”

The Aether stilled, and the intensity in his eyes was frightening. “How so?”

“Visions of me standin’ over her casket in an open grave.”

“We need to get to her. Now .”

Ardghal was already gone.

Taryn was trapped.

Stillness pressed in from every side, and it wasn’t natural. It wasn’t the quiet peace of sleep, but something more oppressive. Though not floating in an abyss like Fintan had described, it felt very much like it. The scene around her could’ve been crafted from a painter’s imagination, yet it was too perfect. Trees were too symmetrical, and the sky was a perpetual twilight, never growing darker. But the lack of scents and her inability to touch anything were the giveaways. The air didn’t move, which meant no oxygen. And she wasn’t breathing, so there was that.

This place was a carefully constructed prison, designed to cage her soul. And her wardens lurked in the shadows.

But there was another presence close by. One known to her, though she couldn’t grasp who yet.

“Fintan?” she whispered, hoping like hell it was him. The sound of her voice was swallowed by the glowing atmosphere.

Not him, then.

Ardghal maybe? Did she dare call out? What if this was all a construct by the Sullivan ancestors, and by speaking his name, she alerted them to his resurrection? But if they were all-seeing, wouldn’t they already know?

Fuck.

She hated the intrigue and landmines waiting for her one wrong step.

With nothing left to do, she floated toward the treeline, yet another clue she was in a weightless mind state. It remained out of reach, moving when she did. If she had a physical heart in her spectral body, it would be hammering right about now.

Sensing the presence behind her, she spun around.

Nothing.

She didn’t care for the bug-under-a-microscope feeling she was experiencing. Someone was here, she was certain of it. Fingers brushed along her cheek, and she jerked. But no one stood next to her. They were soft, familiar, and she sought their warmth when they stroked her skin again.

Fintan .

Definitely him.

She’d know his touch anywhere. On the other side of this imagined world, he waited for her.

The crackle of electricity was loud in the air, and blue bolts disrupted the sky, as if the gods were attempting to penetrate the shell surrounding her.

“Taryn.”

Her non-existent heart lurched.

He’d found a way to repair their bond.

“Fintan!” she screamed. And once again, the landscape muted her voice. “Fuckers! When I get out of here—and I sure as shit will—I’m going to sic the Aether on your ass. Don’t think I won’t!”

Her threat didn’t hold water, but it made her feel better to say it.

“Taryn.”

The person calling her wasn’t Fintan. Yes, the cadence was the same, but he wouldn’t call her by name, not like that.

“Who are you?” This time, her voice reached farther.

A chuckle answered her. It wasn’t audible in the traditional sense, more of a feeling of movement through her, and his intent accompanied the humorless sound.

“I know you’re there. Waiting, like a fucking spider for an unsuspecting fly. Just show yourself and tell me what you want already.”

Her warden waited.

She sat down and pressed her hand to the floor. Whatever ether she floated on, it was made up of liquid.

Taryn almost grinned. Suppressing her glee was difficult, but whoever had trapped her here had erred in their planning. With her elemental abilities, she could manipulate everything from mist to ice and pull back the curtain on this charade. A second of doubt stayed her hand. Was it possible to control magic when one wasn’t corporeal?

Peter Sullivan had managed to teleport in and out, but Taryn couldn’t recall if he’d performed any spells while in his ghostly state. Was that different from her? Yes, she was in a spirit world, but she wasn’t dead.

“I can see your mind working overtime,” her warden finally said. “You should relax. You’re going to be here a long, long while.”

“How long is long? Where is this place? Is it the Otherworld?” She’d heard the Otherworld was beautiful, but rumor had it the holding area was similar, still with no other life but those who’d passed with you. If this were Purgatory, she should be grateful no one she loved had crossed in the fight with Odessa.

“If you prefer to see it that way. And you’ll stay here as long as the Authority needs to control Fintan Sullivan.”

No Purgatory. Her captor’s sneering of Fintan’s name provided the final puzzle piece.

“Micha.”

“Clever woman.”

He came into view, and Taryn cursed herself for not noticing the resemblance to Fintan earlier. The coloring had thrown her off. This guy’s hair was short and blond, unlike Fintan’s multi-dimensional mane. His eyes were a dark shade of brown, vastly different from the sea-foam green she loved. But the features? Yeah, they belonged to her man.

“You’re related to him,” she said flatly. “How?”