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

Why, oh why, is he denying it?

“I’ve already told you,” he replies flatly. “It can’t work between an immortal and a mortal. Don’t you think it’s been tried before throughout history?”

I stare for a long moment, wondering if he practices that in front of the mirror because it sounds legitimate when he says it.

“But you’re not immortal,” I say angrily, and Carrick’s eyes flare wide with astonishment. “You’re going to ascend. Become undone. You’re essentially going to die, so you are not immortal.”

“Finley,” he murmurs, his voice replete with sympathy.

I hold my hand out, palm facing him in a ‘just shut the hell up’ gesture. “I am most definitely mortal, and if the prophecy holds true, there’s a good chance I’m going to die, too. We’re both on borrowed time. We’re both going to die.”

It takes him a moment, but I can see when it registers.

When he understands what I’m saying.

The implication.

That we are both the same… living on borrowed time.

“Nothing is keeping you from me,” I say softly. “And if there is, it’s because of some secret or knowledge you hold but won’t tell me about, which means that maybe I really can’t trust you.”

My words don’t have an impact. I’m met with stony resistance written all over his face. Not even a little bit of indecision warring within those eyes that have gone the color of burnt amber.

“So be it,” I say, my voice strong and confident as I realize there’s not ever going to be anything between Carrick and me. I tell my heart it can hurt later when I’m all alone.

Turning on my heel, I move to my duffel. I pick it up, sling it over my shoulder, and, without a backward glance, walk out of the gym. “See you at dinner.”

CHAPTER 6

Carrick

The laughter coming from the living area was distracting, but it didn’t annoy Carrick, who had been working in his office. He was glad to hear Finley laughing with her friends, and he no longer chastised himself for caring about those small moments. The one thing he just could never deny—not even to Finley when directly confronted—was that there was a connection, and he cared for her far more than was healthy for either of them.

Carrick saved the notes he’d been typing on his laptop, a summary of what he’d learned in his travels the last few days. The handwriting process in journals had long ago become antiquated with the advent of computers, Carrick had preferred to keep his memories and adventures in digital format.

Pushing up from his desk, he made his way out of his office to quietly stand at the corner that rounded into the living area. Crossing his arms, he leaned against it and watched for a bit.

Finley, Rainey, Myles, and Maddox were playing a game—something he was unfamiliar with because Carrick didn’t play games. It appeared there were teams, and he was surprised that it seemed to be Finley and Myles versus Rainey and Maddox.

A guessing game, he surmised, as one player stood at an easel with a large pad of paper and drew an object while the other partner tried to guess what it was. There was a small sand timer on the table that he guessed was used at each turn.

Finley was at the easel, furiously drawing an object. It was easy enough to identify as a pen.

Yet, Myles yelled out idiotic things like bullet and torpedo.

Frustrated, Finley snarled, but then Myles yelled, “Pen,” and she beamed.

Next, she drew a plus sign to the right of the pen and then drew an eye.

“Pen… eyeball?” Myles mumbled.

Finley shook her head, drew a plus sign to the right of the eye, and then followed with what was a rough but very obvious camping tent.

Myles got that, too. “Tent,” he yelled.

Finley got excited and put the marker to the pad, but frowned in consternation. Instead of drawing an object, she drew a horizontal line after the tent, indicating another portion of the word she was drawing.

Finley then pointed with her finger at the pen, then the eye, then the tent, and finally the blank line.

Pen. Eye. Tent. Blank line.

Pen. I. Tent. Blank line.

Fucking easy, Carrick thought. Penitentiary.

Myles frowned, fisting his hands in his hair with frustration as he made ludicrous guesses.

“Time,” Rainey called out gleefully as the last of the sand ran out.

Myles slumped back in his chair. “What the hell is that?” he growled at Finley.

“Penitentiary,” she snapped. “I practically had it spelled out for you.”

Rainey and Maddox snickered and high-fived, which Carrick took to mean they were winning. Ribald jokes were thrown across the table, and, once again, they were laughing.

He focused in on Finley with her beautiful smile and those hypnotizing eyes he dreamed about every night. He was glad she was having fun because he knew those times would become rare.