Page 9

CHAPTER 8

“D ude! What the hell?” Taryn couldn’t believe Creed could touch it, to say nothing of swiping it from under their noses. “When… How… What?”

Amusement filled his hazel eyes, and she was struck by how handsome he was. Of average height, he wasn’t necessarily beefy or muscle-bound, but he was pretty damned fit, nonetheless. Taryn was sure if she got a glimpse of his abs, they’d be washboard, and his BF percentage was probably low single digits if it registered at all. His visage was an interesting mix of hardness and handsomeness that some would call chiseled. A hint of laugh lines bracketed his mouth and eyes, suggesting he’d once been happy but not anymore.

“Are you a jewel thief?” she asked, half-serious.

Since first meeting him, she’d played the guessing game with her sister Viv. No one knew much about Creed other than he preferred big cities and had never stayed in one place for long. If Damian knew about the man’s past, he wasn’t saying. He was annoyingly close-lipped.

Creed’s laughter was rich and robust, like a vintage wine, and she glimpsed how he might’ve looked when his troubles were few. Had she met him prior to Fintan, she could’ve easily fallen for him. Hell, nothing was stopping her now except any residual feelings he had for Narissa.

“You and Narissa, what happened there?” she found herself asking.

All humor left him. “She betrayed me.”

“Is she stupid?” she gasped.

In today’s day and age, not much shocked Taryn, certainly not betrayal, but who the hell cheated on someone who looked like Creed? He possessed a rough-and-ready hot-biker vibe, and she, for one, loved a bad boy with a heart of gold.

“Wait,” she said. “I’m assuming when you say ‘betrayed,’ it was an affair. Am I right?”

“No. Or not that I know of, anyway. In that regard, she was loyal.” Absently, he rubbed his chest as if pain still resided in his heart. “She abandoned me when shit went down with the Authority. Hell, she may have been the one who turned me in. Who knows?” He spoke like it was all matter-of-fact, but there was an underlying hurt he couldn’t hide, and Taryn was crushed for him. Granted, she didn’t know the details of his banishment, but if Damian had allowed him into his inner circle, Creed couldn’t be bad.

“But you suspect she did, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, touching his arm. “Maybe you should talk to her. Find out for sure.”

“It no longer matters. Narissa abandoned me when I needed her the most. I should thank her because it taught me a valuable life lesson.”

Taryn released a bitter laugh on his behalf—and perhaps her own, too. Having been a dupe, she knew exactly how badly that shit hurt. She was nowhere near over it.

“Not to trust another living soul?” she quipped.

“Close enough. It felt a helluva lot worse at the time. I feel mostly numb these days,” he confessed, in what she suspected was a rare bout of vulnerability for him.

“I wish I knew what to say to make it better.” She eyed the amulet in his hand. “I’d give you a comforting hug, but the last time I got close to that thing, it nearly killed me.”

He grinned. “I’ll throw it out the fucking window if it means you’ll rub that gorgeous body against mine.”

Heat spread across her cheeks, and for a reckless moment, she considered flirting with him.

“Sure, and I wouldn’t be doin’ that if I were you, Taryn-Taryn.” Fintan’s comment was a surprise and nothing short of surly. His expression was forbidding when she glanced his way.

He looked like hell. Gray-faced and lion’s mane hair a mess, he rested against the door jamb as if using it to prop himself up. And it seemed he needed it.

“Fintan!” When she would’ve rushed to his side, he shook his head.

“I’m grand, love. Don’t fuss.”

She did her damnedest to hold still when everything in her screamed to help him.

“Back to your question, wouldn’t do what? Flirt or rub my body against him?” she asked. She hadn’t meant for it to sound taunting, but what gave him, a man unwilling to stay in the same room with her for longer than five minutes, the right to warn her away from Creed?

His gaze turned solemn. “Either. You’re the kind of cailín who demands commitment. You’ll not be gettin’ it from him.”

“Or you,” she retorted. “And you don’t know me anymore, Fintan Sullivan. Maybe I’m just looking for a good time.”

“I’m wounded you both think I’m a commitment phobe,” Creed said dryly. Bunching up the necklace, he chucked it at Fintan. “I believe this belongs to you.” With a half smile, he winked at Taryn. “Seems I’m not the only one hiding a past with the Sullivans, hm?”

“Nothing to hide,” she replied with a single-shoulder shrug. “We met at one of his concerts. He pretended he was into me to get what he wanted, and then he ghosted me. Now, twenty-something years later, he’s still an asshole.”

“It wasn’t pretend, and you know it,” Fintan growled.

“Yeah, but maybe acting like Creed’s the one with commitment phobia is hypocritical on your part.”

“Time out.” Creed formed a T with his hands. “First, to clarify, I am not a commitment phobe. I simply distrust people in general. Second, I need details about what went down. Fin never said.” He glanced between them before focusing on Fintan.

“He was in a boy band,” Taryn replied, unable and unwilling to keep from mocking Fintan. Sure, she was catty, especially when he looked like death warmed over, but his holier-than-thou attitude rubbed her the wrong way.

“Jaysus! For the last time, it wasn’t a feckin’ boy band!” Fintan staggered into the room and plunked down on the sofa. “Stop spreadin’ that rumor, already.”

She uncrossed her arms and felt his forehead. His skin was cooler to the touch than earlier, but he was still warm. “But it’s so much fun.”

“Will ya tell her, Caldwell?”

Creed shrugged. “We were young and on the heels of the boy-band craze.”

“Aye, but we didn’t jump around the feckin’ stage, shakin’ our arses like a bunch of?—”

“Wait! I remember you!” Taryn gasped at Creed in shock. “The drummer!”

He grinned. “I can understand why you didn’t put two and two together. You only had eyes for our lead singer.”

“Don’t remind me. Clearly, I chose the wrong bandmate.”

“Clearly.” Creed chuckled. “But I remember he was pretty into you, too. To the point he’d refused to stay late for practice and was always disappearing to make a phone call.”

“Yeah, but he turned out to be a royal dick,” she replied, as she shoved away the warm feeling Creed’s words evoked.

“Who ordered this feckin’ shite? I’m right here, aren’t I?” Fintan growled, looking like a sick, surly bear.

And she was relieved he was finally awake. Her stress level had grown by the minute, despite the wall she’d managed to erect.

“Oh, hush. It’s not like I’m a Traveler and can change anything. When did you wake up?” she asked him, taking pity and changing the subject.

“Right before Eoin and Brenna arrived in my room.” When she would’ve backed away, he gripped her forearm and kissed the inside of her wrist. “Thank you, Taryn-Taryn, for trying to help.”

She yanked away, fighting the desire to scrub her wrist on her jeans. Yes, she’d experienced a thrill from the gesture, but it felt too reminiscent of their first few dates. Recalling that time hurt too much.

“Where did they go?” she asked instead.

“To make tea,” he replied with a weary sigh. “Brenna’s got an obsession for all the wee cakes and sandwiches.”

“I’m aware. Okay, if you’re in good hands, I’ll head out.” She’d barely gotten the words out when he lunged forward and dragged her onto his lap.

She squeaked with surprise.

“You’ll not be goin’ anywhere, aoibhneas mo croí. ’Tisn’t safe for you out there.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Fintan Sullivan? I’m perfectly fine?—”

“Will you shut the feck up and listen to what I’m tellin’ ya, woman? I had a vision.”

She shut up. But only because he’d shocked her into silence. Staring into his troubled eyes, she understood one thing. If there weren’t a threat to her life, Fintan would’ve had her out the door faster than a witch denying she hexed her ex, even though his hair had mysteriously fallen out.

Taryn eyed Fintan’s head for a bald spot and sighed when she didn’t find one. She hated that he was perfect and impervious to her petty magic.

Sagging against him in defeat, she sighed. “What’s this vision?”

Over the top of Taryn’s head, Fintan met Creed’s worried gaze, and an unspoken understanding passed between them. They’d both protect her at the cost of their lives. Indeed, if they didn’t, theirs would be short-lived anyway. The Aether would wear their femurs as a crown if she were hurt under their watch.

It seemed that in the short time Creed and Taryn had been alone, she’d wormed her way into his friend’s heart. Fintan wasn’t surprised. Her charm was effortless and addictive to the unsuspecting.

She poked him in the ribs. “Quit stalling. Tell us about the vision.”

“I was standin’ beside your grave as dirt was shoveled over your coffin,” he said roughly.

Her body stiffened, and the blood drained from her face. “That’s pretty fucking specific.”

“Aye.”

Creed sank into a nearby chair. “Anything leading up to it?”

“Not much. Just a general sense someone evil was targeting her.”

Taryn swallowed hard and relaxed into him as if seeking his warmth. Holding her felt better than he remembered, and he rested his chin atop her silky hair.

“It has to be linked to Bloodstone’s necklace. It’s the only artifact I’ve been researching lately,” she said. “Don’t you think?”

“Aye, but why? Who would know besides the Sentinels that ya found it?”

Her brows met as she considered Fintan’s question. “Just the Archive Keeper at the Witches’ Council and Ryanne Thorne.”

“Ryanne Thorne? That’s not a name I’m familiar with. You?” Creed asked him.

“No.”

Taryn curled her legs up and rested her head on Fintan’s shoulder, and it felt natural for him to tighten his arms around her, cuddling her close. The scent of her freshly washed hair was a delicious mix of apples and cinnamon, reminding him of his favorite pie. Inside, his Siren stirred, tempted by her closeness.

“Don’t do it,” he warned the creature.

He must’ve been too forceful and telegraphed the thought to her via their link, making her pull away. The separation caused a literal ache in his heart, but he told himself it was for the best.

“That wasn’t for you, aoibhneas mo croí. It was for my Siren.” Why he’d felt compelled to say it aloud, he had no clue. Maybe it was the flash of hurt he’d witnessed or the whirlwind of insecurities dancing inside her head. “He’s a feckin’ gobshite who craves one thing.”

“Got it.”

Her stiff response told him she didn’t understand. Not really. But he let it go. The distance would benefit them in the end.

When he met Creed’s watchful gaze, he felt the weight of his old friend’s disapproval.

Taryn steered their conversational ship back on course. “Ryanne is Nash Thorne’s wife. I told you about him earlier, Fintan.” To Creed, she said, “He’s Alastair’s son and now heads Thorne Industries. It’s one of the Council’s largest archives for documents and magical artifacts. Nash’s knowledge is extensive, and what he doesn’t know, his father does.”

“So he’s the Archive Keeper?” Creed asked.

“No. That’s actually someone at the Council. I went there after I spoke with Nash and Ryanne.”

“Sure, and ya could’ve led with that earlier,” Fintan muttered. “You had me believin’ you were in tight with the man.”

“I only told you I spoke with him. You were the one who built it up to be more than it is,” Taryn retorted.

Creed shot him an amused look, and Fintan flipped him the bird behind her back.

“Okay, so to catch up here, you two spoke about this necklace earlier, and she apparently mentioned Nash Thorne,” Creed said. “You, dour-faced fucker you are, then lost your shit because she dared to voice another man’s name in your presence.” He glanced at Taryn before Fintan could protest. “ You were electrocuted by the same necklace you were researching, making it seem you didn’t know it held that party trick in its arsenal. Your morning concluded with Fintan falling into a three-hour coma and being tortured by visions and the ancestors. Have I got that right?”

“Pretty much.” She smiled at Brenna when she arrived with the tea trays. “Lemon macarons! My favorite.”

“What did we miss?” Eoin asked, sitting on the sofa across from Fintan and Taryn. “Should Narissa be here for this?”

Creed looked like he’d rather eat nails than include her, but he gave a short nod. His frown followed it up as he glanced at his watch. “Shouldn’t she have been back by now?”

“Back?” Fintan felt a stirring of unease. “Where did she go?”

Brenna’s expression held the same level of worry he had. “To confront Aunt Odessa.”

“ Fuck!”