Page 2 of Through the Veil (Endangered Fae #2)

Diego smiled, knowing she would have much rather claimed the honor herself.

He said goodbye to the flight attendants, one of whom blushed, clutching her newly signed copy of A Pooka’s Life to her chest. The notion of fans still amazed him, people who gushed and stammered upon meeting him and said absurd things such as ‘you’re so much cuter in person’.

Officially, the events in New York had all been for the Dragon Rites release but many of his readers had fixated on his first book.

One girl at a book signing had had tears in her eyes when she’d confessed she wished the pooka was real.

If only she knew.

He had given Finn a pseudonym, Thistle, for the book, but all the material came from recorded interviews about Finn’s life, and the artist had used photographs of him for the illustrations.

More than one plea had come in from agencies and advertisers for the model’s name and phone number.

Miriam said it added to the book’s mystique when Diego steadfastly refused to divulge any information, and though Finn would never reveal himself to the world, he found the whole thing incredibly funny.

A spring in his step, he hurried to the parking garage, eager to get through the three-hour drive home. Finn had been so despondent over his departure; he hoped the surprise of coming home early would make up for any heartache.

The girl struggled toward waking. Her thoughts took form as she fought clear of her dreams. Mother of waters, though, she was loud. Finn’s forehead creased as another mental shout battered the shield he had thrown up against her psychic noise. The birds singing outside were drowned out by her.

Of course, some humans were naturally loud, like mental blue jays, but some only reacted to trauma this way and fought their way back screaming. She would most likely quiet when she woke. He hoped. Diego was never this loud, not even in his moments of greatest anguish.

“Fire and storm, Diego,” he muttered. “Why did you choose this week to leave me on my own?”

The house was still standing. Good. Finn hadn’t had any major battles with household appliances.

Diego pulled the truck into the freestanding garage at the back of the house.

He smiled as he caught sight of the black jeans discarded in an untidy pile on the back porch.

Finn was out, then, swimming and hunting.

A terrible thought had struck him on his way home.

What if Finn had truly been pining, neglecting himself?

He had sounded cheerful enough when Diego called each night, but he was a practiced liar and could have been covering up to keep Diego from worrying.

A Beauty and the Beast scenario had crept into his thoughts, where he would come home to find Finn stretched out in the garden, dying.

Stupid, of course, since Finn could go years without food, but knowing that he was doing what came naturally and not sitting inside sulking lifted a shadow from his heart.

He picked up the jeans and draped them over the porch railing. Finn might want them when he came back. “All right, carino, you’ve had to wait days for me. I can wait a few hours while you’re fishing.”

The house was in order, no mess, no plates of half-eaten chicken strewn about and no oil paints smeared on the living room rug.

A completed canvas leaned against the wall, a new one.

Diego frowned at it, head cocked to one side.

Predominantly black and gray, with anguished streaks of red and yellow, it screamed emotional distress. Perhaps not doing so well after all.

He climbed the stairs to take his bag to their bedroom and stopped cold in the doorway. A young woman lay in his bed, wrapped in his electric blanket and in his Finn’s arms. As he watched, she turned with a little cooing sound and nuzzled at Finn’s throat.

“Holy. Shit.”

Finn’s head jerked up, expression frozen in horror. “My love, I didn’t hear you arrive—”

“I guess not,” Diego said softly. “You’re a jackass.” He dropped his bag, hurried down the stairs and out of the back door.

“Diego, wait!” The anguished wail followed him but he didn’t stop until he hit the gravel drive.

Finn shot through the door, stark naked, still half-erect. Great, wonderful, go ahead and throw it in my face.

“Diego, please.” Finn spread his hands, looked down at himself, and at least mustered the sense to reach for his jeans draped on the rail. “Let me—”

“No. Don’t.” Diego held up a hand to stop him. “I don’t want to hear your excuses, your justifications. Not just now.”

Finn’s mind reached for him, a soft, tentative touch, while he took a step closer, holding a hand out to him.

“No, damn it!” Diego flung up the mental wall to keep him out and backpedaled three steps. “You need to leave me alone right now. I came home early. I was worried about you. Stupid me.”

“But I—”

“I don’t care why you took her to bed! I don’t want to hear what happened!

” He ran his hands over his face, chest constricting with anger and pain.

“I knew. I knew what you were when I fell in love with you. A liar and a satyric who’s let his dick lead him around for centuries.

But why make me promises you knew you couldn’t keep? Dios … Finn…”

“My love—”

“Leave me be for a few! Let me think without you hammering to get in!”

He spun away and strode off into the woods.

Finn shivered in the wake of Diego’s fury and yanked the jeans on, marking the path of his retreat. Diego was so hurt, so angry, Finn could sense the lightning beginning to spark in his head. If he let it go too far, he would have an attack of the falling sickness. Out there in the woods. Alone.

Of course, if Diego was angry enough, he might turn the lightning on Finn.

He chewed his bottom lip and came to a decision, taking the steps two at a time to race back to the bedroom. The girl was just sitting up, befuddled and groggy. She looked up as he skidded to a stop in the doorway.

“You were drowning. I pulled you out. There’s a phone beside you. Call someone to collect you. You are in a house at Box 22 on Old Route 249. They should find it by that.”

He didn’t stop to see if his rapid-fire instructions were heard or followed.

Heart pounding against his ribs, he flung himself back down the stairs and after Diego.

The trail was as much physical scent as thought scent.

Diego’s anguish could have been heard for miles by any creature not head-blind and the little sparks of magic leaping from him crackled more and more loudly.

“Don’t turn me into fried pooka, love, please, please,” Finn muttered as he ran. Diego had never been able to use his enormous potential while fully awake, but once he seized, the unleashing of his mental lightning was daunting.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up, the sudden pull on the flows of surrounding magic nearly sucking all the air from the woods. Finn broke into a full-out sprint.

“Diego! Diego, no!”

A wall of force slammed into him and hurled him through the air. His back smashed into something with a sickening crack. The sun went dark.