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

He called my name and not Zaid’s. My gaze snaps to Zaid, and I whisper, “He doesn’t know you’re here. Get the chalice and get out of here. Go hide.”

Whether it’s my tone or because he accepts it as the best option, Zaid gives a curt nod as I turn toward the flap door. Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly and plaster a smile to my face.

“Pyke?” I call, adding a surprised but genial lilt to my tone. I push the flap door open, then step into the sunlight to see the painfully beautiful Light Fae prince. His black hair shines almost blue in the light, and he grins at me warmly. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he replies smoothly. He’s wearing black leather pants with boots, a crew-type shirt, and tailed jacket—remarkably similar to the way many of the male Light Fae here dress.

Images of him stabbing Arwen assault my mind, and I swallow hard against the bile rising within me.

Pyke studies me critically as I try to come up with an excuse as to why I’m here.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t give me an opportunity to provide it, because the grin slides off his face. I don’t know whether he used magic or perhaps my poker face sucks, because his voice is dull as he concludes the truth, demanding, “You know, don’t you?”

“Know what?” I ask, but I can’t hide the tremor in my voice.

Pyke takes two steps toward me, but I hold my ground. Right now, as far as he knows, we’re just old friends running into each other.

The curving smile on his face doesn’t match the cold glitter in his eyes. “You know I killed Arwen.”

I want to feign surprise, but I don’t think I pull it off. “What?”

“Cut the bullshit, Finley,” he snarls impatiently. “While I can’t read exact thoughts, I can glean enough emotions to know you’re scared to death of me right now.”

Throwing my hands up in capitulation, I snap, “Okay, fine… I know. Want to tell me why you did it?”

“Not really,” he says with a feral smirk peeling his lips back. “But what I do want is the Blood Stone.”

I suck in a breath, my shock so immense I can’t hide it. “Why? And how did you even know I was here?”

“Easy to put a tracking spell on you,” Pyke gloats as he crosses his arms over his chest. “When I brought you back through the veil that time and we held hands, I marked you.”

I remember the tingle I felt. He’d joked it was attraction.

“I knew the moment you stepped foot in Faere,” he taunts. “Now I want the chalice.”

“And how do you know Carrick isn’t in the tent right now ready to blast you to smithereens?” I snarl, throwing my thumb over my shoulder.

Stalling.

To give Zaid a chance to sneak out under the bottom flap.

“If Carrick were here, he would have come out of there before you did, the minute I called your name. Now, the question is… why are you here alone? Perhaps guarding the Blood Stone while Carrick is off doing something else?”

There are a few choices available to me at this point. I could try to stall further, but Pyke isn’t going to let that go on long. I could use my powers to fight, but something tells me to keep the secret of my magic close to the vest. While I had used my magical shield briefly to stop the top of the pine tree from crushing down on us while we battled Micah, Pyke was too engrossed in actually battling the beast to have noticed.

So, I do the only thing I know how to. My hand shooting to my hip, I unsnap the leather loop with a quick flick and grip the whip in my palm. Pyke barely starts to uncross his arms, face a mask of shock, before I have the whip launching at him.

It catches him just below his left eye. He howls in pain, his hand reflexively going up to touch the wound. His fingers come away coated in black blood, which continues to trickle down the front of his face.

“You bitch,” he hisses as I pull my whip back to strike again.

And then, my whip is magically wrenched out of my hand as Pyke makes a grasping motion and then yanks at the air. Without even touching me, he manages to pull it away and send it sailing off to his left, far out of my reach.

I reach for my dagger, but Pyke conjures rope out of thin air, makes a twirling motion, and sends it flying right at me. One end slithers around my wrist, wraps tightly, and then yanks my arm behind my back. The rope then snakes around, grabs my other wrist, and wrenches it back. Within just seconds, both my wrists are secured.