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

God… no wonder why his eyes were glowing as he talked about his first love, Eireann. He was talking about me.

A thousand-year-old me that I have no memory of.

But… that explains the connection. How I kept feeling things snap into place, and the unexplainable bond that went deeper than anything I could ever hope to understand. It explains why when Carrick and I first met, and he looked at me with loathing, I felt a deep ache in my chest. My soul probably recognized him.

It explains why Carrick has always been so fascinated with my eyes. It’s how he always recognized me.

It just… explains a lot.

“Rune’s curse meant that I would find you throughout eternity,” Carrick murmurs, and the pain on his face makes my nausea well up again. I straighten, taking another deep breath. “He knew I would be helpless but to fall in love with you again. And then he’d ensure your death somehow… again. Sometimes, I’d have a year with you. Sometimes, I’d have several. You always died in some tragic way that I couldn’t predict would happen and couldn’t prevent and it was always at his whim. He chose the exact moment to crush me and I never knew when it was coming.”

The utter devastation I hear in his voice propels me into him, and I wrap my arms around his waist, burying my face in his chest. “I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

I feel his hand on the back of my head, holding me there a moment. But I pull back, needing to see his eyes. “I never recognized you?”

He shakes his head.

“But we fell in love again?” I ask.

“Yes.” His smile holds both fondness and anger. “I had to start over with you every time, but you always fell in love with me. I ultimately told you the truth that I was a demi-god, and we pledged to stay together for whatever time we had. The only thing I kept away from you was the knowledge I had that you would die much sooner than either of us wanted.”

“That’s… that’s… torturous,” I moan, tears finally slipping free of my eyes.

Carrick wipes one away with his thumb. “You have no idea, Finley. Sometimes I would go many decades without you in my life, but you’d always show up. Over time, I started to go crazy. I just couldn’t handle the grief, so I tried to avoid you. It never worked. Part of my curse was I was always drawn to you because my love never, ever died even when you did. One time…”

His words trail off and he steps away from me, pushing my arms off his waist. I frown as his jaw locks in anger. “Once… I saw you on the streets of London. I followed you home, and when you went to sleep that night, I went into your room and killed you. I just couldn’t handle watching you die again after having you fall in love with me once more.”

I’m freely crying now, only out of sadness that he was driven to do that. I can understand it. Who would want to keep going through that torment?

“How did you kill me?” I whisper, my hand fluttering to my throat, where I pull a little at my collar.

His gaze drops there, eyes turning almost black. “I strangled you.”

“Oh God,” I moan piteously. “I can’t stand anything to be around my throat. Is that why?”

Carrick shakes his head, and I find it odd he suddenly looks aged in defeat. “I don’t know. I suspect. You’ve carried things with you through your lives.”

“Like what?” I murmur, forcing my hand away from my throat.

“In Ireland, after we were married, you wanted a rose garden, so I built you one, and you made it flourish. You loved roses more than anything.”

“But I suck at them now,” I protest vigorously. “I couldn’t make my mom’s grow the way she did.”

“But you kept it,” he pointed out.

“And the roses on my whip?” I ask.

“I had the whip created for you during a life we had together in New Zealand. You were the daughter of a rancher in the late 1800s, and you used a bullwhip to drive cattle. They were your favorite flower and I was forever bringing them to you, so that’s why I added the details onto the whip.”

“It’s not fair,” I exclaim, dashing more tears away. “You have all these memories of us together, and I have nothing.”

“You have peace, Finley,” he says sadly. “You have the peace of not knowing—until now. I needed you to know this because things are moving fast. And—”

“—and I’m destined to die,” I finish the thought. “Rune will see to it that, if by some miracle I don’t die in the prophecy, I’m going to die after just so he can punish you again.”