The Evolution of Fae and Gods (Chronicles of the Stone Veil 3)

He didn’t wait to see her get up because he knew she would. That was merely a love tap to a fae, and he didn’t know if she was willing to continue to tangle with him. If she did, that put Finley in more danger as the smoke and fire would kill her before Fallon could attempt to get past him.

So he spun toward Finley, heaved a sigh of relief when he saw her rising to her feet, and grabbed her by the arm to help her the rest of the way. Turning her toward the door, he put an arm around her back and said, “Come on. We have to go.”

Finley was hobbled, her first step to the door a limp, and Carrick was about to scoop her up in his arms when something slammed into their backs. This time, it wasn’t fire or a return volley of burning furniture, but rather felt like a magical wall slamming into them with the force of an ocean tsunami. It lifted them off their feet and propelled them straight toward the glass window beside the door.

Carrick barely had time to pull Finley to him, once again wrapping himself as much around her as he could, before rolling slightly so his body took the impact of the glass.

It shattered all around them, slicing into him everywhere and he knew there was no way Finley was going to escape without some cuts. Through shards of flying glass and billowing black smoke, he saw the sidewalk rushing up to meet them. Carrick managed to twist just enough that he took the brunt of the impact, coming down hard on his right side. He heard the breaking of his collarbone and ignored the pain, pushing Finley off him and bolting to his feet to face the blasted-out window.

He braced, preparing for the Dark Fae Fallon to continue this fight. Waited for her to come flying through the window.

The smoke was so thick he couldn’t see into the shop, so he garnered his power and thrust his hands toward the window. A hard gust of wind blew through to clear the inside for a quick look.

Dark Fae Fallon was gone.

In the distance, Carrick heard the wail of a fire truck, and he knew they had to leave. There was no way they’d be able to explain in any sane way what had happened here.

Turning to Finley, he found her leaning on one hip, hand to the pavement to support herself. Black soot on her face, tears streaming from the smoke, and blood dripping down her forehead, she appeared completely shell-shocked. Carrick knew she wouldn’t be able to run, so he made a hasty decision.

Despite the broken collarbone and several cuts all over his body, not to mention the third-degree burns on his back, Carrick was still able to easily lift Finley from the pavement, cradling her gently in his arms.

Just before he prepared to run in the opposite way of the rescue sirens, he felt Finley sob against him. He looked down to see her staring in grief as One Bean burned.

Carrick wished he had time to comfort her, but he needed to get them away from the scene first. He had to get her back to the condo to assess her injuries and take care of her.

Turning on his heel, Carrick ran two blocks in the general direction of his condo and then ducked into a side alley so he could better assess Finley and call for help.

Squatting, he gently lowered her to the pavement. She groaned from something that caused her pain, but eventually settled her back against the filthy brick wall.

“Sorry,” he muttered as he fished his phone out of his pocket, hoping it hadn’t been crushed during his flight through the glass window.

Breathing relief when he saw the phone was completely intact, he dialed Zaid. With terse instructions, he told Zaid where to pick them up and pocketed the phone.

Turning his gaze to Finley, he grimaced as he took her in. She was battered in a way that made him want to hunt that abomination of a Dark Fae down and kill her slowly with iron daggers.

“Where are you hurt?” Carrick asked, wanting an assessment of the injuries that weren’t obvious.

He could already see the glass had shredded her clothing, and she was bleeding from numerous cuts from top to bottom. He imagined he looked much the same, but worse. Finley had a large scrape across her cheekbone and a purple bruise starting under the eye on that side.

But he remembered her hobbling—he was afraid she had broken bones and maybe even internal injuries. He needed to know if it was prudent to take her to his condo for care or if he should bypass it for the hospital.

“My ankle,” she said, nodding wearily to her right side. “I don’t think it’s broken, though. Just sprained.”