The Revelation of Light and Dark (Chronicles of the Stone Veil 1)

Michael picks up my jacket from the back of my chair, then holds it up for me to slide on. I turn, pulling my hair to the side so it doesn’t get trapped.

“What in the fuck is that?” Carrick growls, stepping forward and pushing Michael’s hands aside. Bending, he peers at my right shoulder blade, touching a finger lightly to the area I struck with the whip earlier today.

I jerk back from him, the touch of his finger not hurting but causing a tremor to rush through me. I hate that the slightest touch from this man can affect me so much. I also hate that it’s such an intimate move for my supposed business partner to make, Michael must think the worst.

I level a glare at Carrick that says, “Don’t touch me again,” and move back in toward Michael so he can help me put the jacket on.

He does and when he’s finished, he takes a step away. I give him an apologetic smile. “Thank you so much for a lovely dinner and great conversation. I’m so sorry we have to cut it short. I would still love to schedule a time for me to come over to your studio to paint.”

Michael tucks his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, sure. I’ll call you.”

And I can hear it in his tone. He has no intention of calling me. His date—an expensive one—has been interrupted by a business colleague of mine who acts proprietary, giving the impression there’s something between us. What’s worse is that I didn’t blow Carrick off. Instead, I agreed to let the date be ruined. No matter how important this could be to me personally, it’s never something Michael will understand or forgive.

I nod, letting a sad smile tell Michael I can totally understand his feelings. Stepping in, I put a hand on his chest and place a kiss on his cheek. Had I ever thought to make this move with Carrick, I would have gone high onto my tippy toes, and he’d have to bend to meet me to accomplish it.

And what in the hell does it say about me that as soon as I kiss one man—albeit on the cheek—I compare it to what it could be to another.

My frustration is evident in my sigh as I turn back to Carrick. He’s gone, though, and I see him moving through the restaurant to the exit doors. I snatch my clutch purse off the table and shoot Michael one more glance—a final goodbye really—before rushing off after Carrick.

Carrick is already waiting for me at the curb in front of the restaurant. His driver is behind the wheel, and it’s Carrick who opens the door to let me in first. It takes a little bit of wiggling and pushing with my hand on the plush leather to scoot over. Carrick crowds in behind me, and as soon as the door is closed, he asks, “What the hell happened to the back of your shoulder?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it,” I snap back because he just ruined my date and is acting like an ass.

Carrick’s hand shoots out and he presses his fingers to my shoulder blade. There’s no shiver this time, but there is pain from the bruise back there.

“Ouch,” I growl, pulling away from him and glaring.

“What happened?” he repeats.

“I hit myself with the whip, okay?” I exclaim, giving him what he wants as he’s relentless. “Happy now?”

“Of course I’m not happy you’re incompetent with a weapon and hurt yourself,” he replies, his eyes glittering callously. “You should pick another weapon.”

“I don’t want another weapon,” I grit out. “And I haven’t been trained on it yet, so I expect this won’t happen again.”

Carrick makes a grunting noise, facing forward. He’s not dressed in jeans as I’ve seen the last few times, but he’s not in a suit, either. He has on a pair of dress pants in dark navy, a blue-and-white plaid button-up shirt, open at the collar, and dark brown wingtips. It’s not what I’d imagine someone would wear at eight-thirty at night if they were at home relaxing.

I wonder if he was on a date that was cut short, too?

Ridiculous.

Carrick doesn’t date. He shows off trophies at events. Or at least that’s what I read online and what he sort of admitted to in a prior conversation.

“I know someone who can heal it,” Carrick says out of the blue, and the comment doesn’t penetrate.

Hesitatingly, I turn his way. “Heal what?”

“Your back,” he replies, still staring forward as if his offer embarrasses him. He can’t quite seem to meet my eyes.

“Who?” My curiosity is piqued.

“A Light Fae. Most have healing powers, and I know one that owes me a favor.”

“Is everything about favors and scratching backs with you?” I ask curiously. Because more and more, I wonder if there’s anything selfless within him.