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

“Where else?” Carrick pressed.

“How about every inch of my body?” she retorted with a wry smile, and Carrick took that as a good sign.

He needed a bit more, though, so he pushed. “Anything internal? Any pain in your stomach or chest?”

“Not the type that would mean a ruptured spleen,” she muttered. “I’m just really sore, but the ankle is the worst.”

He’d take her to the condo then, which was for the best. Going to a hospital was most likely going to cause quite a stir, including involvement by the police. As it stood, there was a good chance they’d be trying to locate Finley soon to let her know her shop was on fire.

Finley’s eyes closed for a moment. When she opened them back up, they were filled with misery. “One Bean is destroyed.”

“I know,” he murmured.

“I almost died,” she said.

“I know,” he replied softly.

“You saved me.” Her tone was filled with a bit of awe.

“I won’t ever let anything bad happen to you,” Carrick vowed.

He said it while looking her straight in the eye and with the purest of intent, for he cared about Finley more than she could ever imagine.

But he also knew he was most likely telling her a lie because he didn’t think he could protect her from the horror that was coming.

CHAPTER 2

Finley

You would think I’d be embarrassed to be stripped down to my underwear and bra while Carrick carefully attends to every single cut on my body. Several he had to pick out shards of glass with tweezers, and it was a painstaking process. A plate sits on my bedside table where he deposits the bloody pieces of glass, along with a bowl of warm water he uses to clean around the wounds.

But I’m not embarrassed at all because Carrick waved off Zaid’s offer to help and insisted on caring for me himself, despite the fact he is clearly seriously injured.

The first thing he did upon carrying me into the condo was take me right to my room and gently lay me on the bed. He then placed his palm on my forehead, murmured some words I didn’t understand, and immediately a sense of peace and well-being washed through me. While my injuries still hurt, the traumatization of what happened tonight feels blanketed right now.

I watch as Carrick bends over a cut on my left thigh. His focus on his work is intense as he examines the length and depth before dabbing liquid from a brown bottle without a label on it. It stings for a moment before numbing the wound quite nicely.

There’s a light knock on my bedroom door, and Zaid peeks his head in. Strangely, I’m not embarrassed to be in my underwear in front of him either, and now I’m wondering if that’s because of whatever mojo Carrick put on me with his hand to my head.

“There’s a healer on the way,” Zaid announces.

Carrick doesn’t take his attention off his work. “Good. Because some of these cuts need stitches, and I’d rather not put her through that. Plus, I want the ankle fixed ASAP. She doesn’t have time to let it heal naturally.”

Zaid nods and disappears, the door shutting quietly.

“What about you?” I ask, resisting the urge to reach out and brush away a lock of hair that’s fallen over his forehead. Normally, his hair is always perfectly swept back in gentle waves from his face, but I have to say he looks incredibly roguish with it messed up a bit.

“What about me what?” Carrick asks vaguely, more focused on my injuries than on my words.

“You’ve got horrible burns,” I point out. I’d seen his back, which is raw and blistered, when he left my room to get medical supplies. “You have ten times as many cuts as I do, and your left arm is drooping, so I know there’s something wrong with it.”

“Broken collarbone,” he replies, sounding matter of fact.

“Carrick,” I exclaim, finally getting his attention. Those beautiful golden eyes come my way. “You need a healer, too.”

I expect him to fight me on it or ignore my proclamation, but he only smiles. “You’re sweet, Finley, but my injuries are going to heal before yours are.”

To prove his point, he holds out his arm and pulls up the shredded sleeve. There’s dried blood everywhere, but I don’t see a single open cut.

“But your back,” I protest.

Carrick angles slightly toward the wall so I can see his back, which is bare because the material burned away. It’s almost completely healed except for a few patches of pink skin.

Before I can say another word, he adds, “And I can feel the fracture is almost done knitting.”

“Oh,” I murmur, having forgotten Carrick is nearly impervious to injury. He’s a demi-god, after all.

He gets back to work, moving to a large scrape on my hipbone that I think happened when we bounced onto the sidewalk. Carrick took most of that impact, but I wasn’t immune to the cement burns.