A Battle of Blood and Stone (Chronicles of the Stone Veil 4)

“Bravo,” Deandra drawls, clapping her hands slowly. I can’t tell if she’s truly congratulating me or herself for getting me to break through.

“I wonder what else I can do?” I ponder, looking at Carrick.

Deandra snorts. “Use your imagination, lowly human.”

An idea strikes.

Without glancing at the infuriating princess, I toss a hand toward her over my shoulder. I hear a muffled sound of shock, pivoting to see that my magic didn’t fail me.

She has a ball gag in her mouth.

Carrick chuckles but admonishes me. “Okay, Finley… you’ve had your fun.”

When I wave my hand, the ball gag disappears. Deandra is furious again, though, and she raises her hands to throw some magic back my way. I fully face her, squat low, and hold my hands out, palms toward her with one poised just a bit higher than the other.

Our showdown is ruined when Carrick steps in between us, effectively causing us to lower our arms as he’s not the object of our ire.

With a pointed look at Deandra, Carrick says, “Give that one to her, Deandra. You’ve made her life hell on more than one occasion with that mouth of yours.”

“Or she could merely say thank you,” Deandra snaps in irritation. “I accomplished in a matter of minutes what no one could do for months.”

“I think the ten million dollars you’ve just earned is thank you enough,” Carrick points out coolly.

But Deandra has a point. I am grateful to her.

I lean to the left to see her more clearly past Carrick. In a very genuine voice, I say, “Thank you, Deandra. What you did pissed me off, but it was highly effective. I owe you one.”

“And you can bet I’ll collect one day,” she replies haughtily. “Now, I have a date tonight with a hot exiled Light Fae who is extremely endowed, so if you’ll excuse me.”

With that, Deandra blinks away as she bends distance to her well-hung lover.

“Fuck,” Carrick mutters, and I glance up at him.

“What?”

“She just left, and while I can move back and forth between the veil to Faere, humans can’t.”

That’s a true statement. Stan has had to bring me through my past two trips here.

“But I’m no ordinary human,” I point out. “I can bend distance, and now I have all these crazy, cool powers I’m able to use. I’m sure I can go through on my own.”

“Not really willing to risk that, Finley,” he growls, raking his fingers through his hair in frustration.

“Oh, come on,” I cajole, stepping into his body and putting my hands at his waist. I tip my head back. “It was a risk the first time I bent distance, and that didn’t kill me. And since I’m destined to play a key role in the prophecy, I doubt I’m meant to die by getting shredded in the veil.”

“Maybe not,” he replies darkly. “But I’m not sure if I’m willing to risk it. We can head to the castle and ask Rebsha—”

I step away from Carrick and turn slightly away, envisioning the kitchen in his condo—our best gathering place for meals and meetings, which makes it my favorite—and imagine myself dragging a knife down the invisible curtain that separates our realities.

There’s no tingling in my palms like when I throw magic, but the warmth is behind my breastbone. In my heart, I know this will work.

“Finley,” Carrick warns, but he’s too late.

The air seems to split in a V-shape as if a zipper were being dragged down in the air. As it opens, I can see Carrick’s condo.

I shoot him a quick grin and jump through, wincing slightly as he yells at me in frustration.

Carrick is right on my heels as we step into his kitchen, but rather than congratulate me on mastering travel between alternate realms, he grabs my elbow and jerks me around to face him.

His face is livid.

CHAPTER 13

Finley

“What in the fuck, Finley?” Carrick rages, those pupils tinged red, but I’m not worried. He’s simply scared I took that risk, and he’s reacting.

There’s something deep inside of me that makes me feel this might have been a common thing with us during my past lives with him. Impulsivity hasn’t always been a huge problem for me, but when I see an opportunity, I will take it. I imagine if I could give Carrick gray hairs, I’d have given him quite a few through the centuries.

I immediately walk into him, put my hand behind his neck, and pull him down for a kiss. At first, he tries to hold back to make a show of his irritation, but when my tongue swipes against his lower lip, he groans and opens up.

Something about his response hits me in a way that’s different. Obviously, my lust fires hot, which doesn’t take much from this man, but that magical warmth dead center in my chest sparks to life.