Page 7

CHAPTER 6

“B loodstone’s necklace, as it’s known, belonged to Ardghal”—Taryn mistakenly pronounced it ARD-gall—“Sullivan.”

“It’s AHR-dahl. The G is silent, and the D begins the second syllable, aoibhneas mo croí, ” Fintan corrected, unable to contain his grin. He’d frequently hidden and listened to her slaughter the Irish language in conversations with Brenna and Eoin. Later, after she’d left, he and Eoin would craic on about the women’s attempts. Never within Brenna’s hearing, because they were considerate of her feelings.

Taryn waved a hand as if the name were of no importance. “Potato, potahto. But his nickname was Bloodstone, and he was the first Seer.”

Fintan set the guitar aside and straightened. “Sure, and where did ya learn this?”

“Alastair Thorne is armed with an incredible arsenal of journals, and his son, Nash, has access to all sorts of artifacts at Thorne Industries. Nash is one of the most knowledgeable people I know, next to his cousin, Spring.”

Nash, Nash, Nash! Sure, and didn’t she sound infatuated?

Fintan took exception. “Are ya in love with the man, then? If so, I’m after tellin’ ya?—”

“Where the hell did that come from? Do you have a screw loose?” Fire burned in the grand eyes she rolled. “Nash is crazy about his wife.”

He zeroed in on what she didn’t say. “Yeah, but you’re not denyin’ it, are ya? People can love from afar.”

Like him.

She sent him a sharp glance, and Fintan’s stomach dropped when he remembered she could access his thoughts if he didn’t keep them locked behind a wall. Disillusionment or disappointment pulled her mouth down at the corners, and she looked away.

After carefully erecting a block, he considered his options. He could tell her the truth about his feelings, or he could let her believe he pined for another. The second was safer and would avoid entanglements, but he hated her haunted expression.

Still, Fintan remained quiet.

“You’re an idiot,” she growled. “Back to the necklace… Like I said, Bloodstone, as your ancestor was known, was the first Seer. It’s rumored that he traded part of his soul for the ability, but nothing exists in writing. For all I know, those tales were made up to scare his enemies. However, based on what I did find, he used his psychic visions to determine the outcome of battles. And he always won.”

Though Fintan had never heard of Bloodstone or the man’s history, instinct told him that Ardghal had done more than use his psychic ability to predict winners of war games. He’d bet his favorite instrument that Bloodstone the Badass had used his voice to lull enemies into a trance before he sicced his murderous Incubus on the lot of them. And if that was the case, why had Uncle Peter encouraged Fintan to find and wear the necklace? What magic did it hold?

As if the bleedin’ thing could access his thoughts, it warmed to the point of discomfort, and Fintan’s desire to remove it from his pocket was great. If Taryn weren’t present, he’d have done it, only to avoid having it so close to his person.

“What does a piece of jewelry have to do with the man himself?” he asked her.

“That’s just the thing. No one knows. But the ancient bloodstone was believed to have formed from the spilling of Christ’s blood. It’s said to provide protection and keep evil at bay.” Excitement shone in her eyes. “And now that I’ve given it more thought, and considering what you are, what if Ardghal’s stone was charmed? Maybe it kept his Siren locked away, and if that’s true, maybe it could do the same for you!”

“Aye, but not the Siren, I’m bettin’,” Fintan mused aloud. “The Incubus.”

Her brows snapped together, and she looked decidedly uneasy. “I’m not sure how that could happen. I mean, if like you said…” She swallowed as heat rose in her cheeks, causing a lovely glow to her smooth skin. “Like the, uh, the notes… your, uh, monster…”

He almost laughed at her uncomfortableness, hearing exactly where her thoughts had gone. “Monster? I’ve never had a woman call me cock?—”

She jumped up. “I’m done here.”

Fintan did laugh then.

“You’re a contrary prick, Fintan Sullivan,” she snapped. “One minute you’re growling and threatening to consume me, and the next?—”

“Not you,” he said sharply, climbing to his feet and approaching her. “Your power. And I’m the one consumed, Taryn-Taryn. Sure, and I thought I’d made it clear this thing inside me wants you. It nags me day and night, tauntin’ me. Tellin’ me to seduce you and have it all.”

He drew out the pendant and dangled it in front of her. The stone was oval-shaped inside a larger metal disc, and its color was a deep forest green with specks of red, orange, and copper. But the smaller center section leaned toward opaque, and it chilled Fintan to behold it. Many had claimed his eyes became a cloudy white during a vision.

As if enthralled, Taryn reached for the amulet. Electricity arched from the center and zapped the fingers she extended. With a pained yelp, she fell backward onto the sofa and thunked her head on the wooden back. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she sagged to one side.

“Jaysus! Taryn!”

Jumping into action, Fintan flung the necklace and dove for her, searching for a heartbeat. He thanked Anu when he found one.

“Jaysus,” he muttered again.

After easing her onto her side, he touched the wound, finding an egg-sized lump and pulling back a blood-coated hand.

“Fuck!”

A touch of his Tanzanite ring opened the line of communication between him and Jordan Brothers, but before he could do more than speak the man’s name, the ancestors rattled his cage, and he fell across Taryn.

Once again, he found himself in the black void with omnipresent voices echoing around him.

“You disobeyed, Fintan Sullivan!” they intoned as one. “A price must be exacted.”

“Fuck off, ya fuckin’ wankers!” he growled. “I’m tired of your shite. Wake me so I can attend to Taryn.”

But they didn’t. They held him in limbo as he screamed and shouted his rage, leaving him to worry about her fate. He only prayed Jordan had understood who called him and had gotten to her in time.

* * *

Taryn stared down at Bloodstone’s necklace, afraid to pick it up. Two hours had passed since Jordan and Damian had arrived and healed her, but Fintan had yet to wake. The answer lay in the amulet. She’d stake her life on it.

Damian had claimed he wasn’t worried. Indeed, he seemed confident Fintan would awaken when he was good and ready. They’d left with orders for her to call if he didn’t come around by evening.

During the first hour, she saw the wisdom of their caution, but now, not so much. Through their link, she was subjected to Fintan’s blinding fury as he screamed dire threats at his ancestors.

It did no good.

If the electrified amulet was really the key, she didn’t relish touching it again. Her brain had been scrambled the first time her head connected with the sofa’s wooden scrollwork. Still, she didn’t see where she had a choice. He’d go insane with his mind imprisoned as it was.

But perhaps that’s what his sadistic ancestors wanted.

Maybe she should ask Brenna to put the necklace on?

Yet if it had been intended for Fintan, what damage might it do to his cousin? His next hoarse cry cemented her decision, and she raced through the house, searching for her friend.

“Brenna!”

With each empty room she encountered, Taryn grew more despondent and fearful for Fintan. It would be just her luck Brenna and Eoin popped off for a weekend getaway on some remote, sunny island.

“For fuck’s sake, Brenna! Where are you?”

As she was hauling ass through the kitchen, she jerked to a halt. Water was her element, and Taryn cursed herself for not thinking of it before. She rummaged through the cupboard to find what she needed. After placing the large metal bowl in the sink, she filled and carried it to a seven-foot prep table.

“Show me Brenna,” she commanded.

The liquid swirled, becoming cloudy before displaying a mirrored surface. The result was a sheet-draped Brenna posed suggestively while shooting a laughing glance over her shoulder.

“Expand the scene. Where is she?”

The water rippled once, and the view zoomed out, displaying the inside of Eoin’s studio. The man himself was wearing only a pair of sweats, and although he was in the act of painting, there was little doubt his wife’s scantily clad form aroused him.

“Shit.”

Taryn hated to interrupt, but necessity wouldn’t allow her to wait.

A secondary idea occurred to her, and she hoped she could pull it off.

“Show me Ardghal.”

Inside the bowl, the liquid swirled, sloshing over the sides. It finally settled, reflecting an image of Fintan, sleeping in his bed.

“Okay, not what I was expecting or hoping for,” she muttered.

After swiping her hand across the bowl and dumping the liquid in the sink, she raced for the door, halting just shy of crashing into the man blocking her exit.

“Creed!”

“In the flesh,” he said dryly.

“I, uh, what, um, why are you here?” Taryn glanced behind him, hoping to extract herself politely to find Brenna, but unsure she should leave the man wandering around alone. “Are you looking for someone?”

“Fintan. And you’re nervous. What’s going on?” His tone had hardened along with his visage, revealing that, at the man’s core, he was no-nonsense and ready to take immediate action when a threat arose. Other than the knowledge Creed Caldwell was formidable when riled, she knew nothing about him.

Her worry for Fintan overrode her caution. “The ancestors pulled him under hours ago, and he hasn’t woken up yet.”

“Did you phone Damian or Jordan?”

“They arrived here and checked him for signs of serious injury, but didn’t find any. Damian feared permanently destroying Fintan’s link to the ancestors if he pulled him out, so he’s taking a wait-and-see approach. I’m to let them know if he doesn’t wake up soon.” She clenched her hands, feeling helpless and afraid for Fintan. “I’m worried, though. His screams are echoing in my head, and that’s new.”

Creed scowled. “What the fuck are you waiting for then? Let’s go!”

“Where?”

“To get the other Sullivans. Maybe they know what to do.”

Taryn halted him. “That’s why I was in the kitchen. I was scrying for Brenna.” She pointed in the opposite direction. “They’re in Eoin’s studio.”

“And Narissa?”

Did she imagine his voice was grittier than normal? “I don’t really know her. I’d only met her once at Damian’s when Morgan—uh, Morcant —attacked, and I don’t know how to contact her.”

“Okay. I’ll call her. You get Brenna. Then we’ll meet…” Creed’s brows met. “Where’s Fintan?”

“His room.”

“Which is?”

“Oh. I’d forgotten you’ve never been here before. It’s in the north wing, top floor.”

“I’ve been here plenty, but this place is the size of a fucking mausoleum,” he said with an irritated glance around. “I’ve never ventured above the second floor and haven’t felt the need to seek out Fintan’s bedroom.”

Taryn would’ve laughed if she were in a joking mood.

They separated, with Creed heading for the gardens and her going toward Eoin’s studio. When she reached her destination, she hesitated. Goddess, the last thing she wanted was to discover them getting busy. But she didn’t see where she had a choice.

Fintan’s bellow echoed loudly inside her mind, removing any hesitation. Taryn gasped and fell against the studio door, holding the frame for dear life.

His pain was great. She reached through their link, praying to ease his suffering in some small way, and was promptly electrocuted.

A scream was torn from her throat.

Within seconds of her shout, the door was yanked open, and Taryn sprawled at Eoin’s feet. He looked none too happy she’d disturbed them. But his scowl immediately shifted to concern, and he wrapped an arm around her as he helped her to her feet.

“Taryn? What’s happened, love?”

“Fintan— ah! ” Piercing pain shot through her skull, forcing her to clamp her head in her hands. She expected her brain would explode at any moment, or at the very least, an aneurysm.

“Fintan?” Brenna snapped her fingers, and by the time she’d reached them, she was fully clothed. Based on her forbidding expression, she was prepared for an epic battle. There were a handful of people she adored in addition to her husband, and Fintan ranked at the top of that list.

“What’s happened to him?” she demanded.

“He’s trapped in his mind.” Taryn panted through the agony of another shockwave. “The ancestors…”

“Where?”

“His room.”

Brenna touched her with one hand and clasped her husband’s wrist with the other. Taryn’s cells warmed to the point of burning, but cooled as soon as they landed in front of Fintan’s door. Group teleports caused additional friction and were much more uncomfortable than a single-person jump, though still tolerable.

Through the wooden panel, Fintan’s cries sounded as if they were ripping his insides out, and Brenna wasted no time charging to the rescue.

Taryn’s ability to concentrate on anything but the searing pain was nil, and she sagged against the wall.

Creed and Narissa’s bickering heralded their arrival, but the instant she saw Fintan, Narissa left off arguing and rushed to his side.

“What the hell? This has never happened to him before,” she said, her brow knitted with confusion.

Taryn’s stomach sank. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

Had she caused this? Was she truly to be his downfall?