Marching out of the shower room and into the bedroom, he picked his mobile off the bedside cabinet and dialed Bran.
Five long rings later, the vampire picked up. “Again, I sleep through the day. I just got into bed.”
“Rose knows the truth,” Fionn bit out.
Bran hesitated a second. “How?”
“She can dream-walk.”
“She can what?”
Fionn suppressed a snarl of impatience but only just. “It was a rare ability among the fae. She hid it from me and then fucking dream-walked me.”
“And I’m guessing you were dreaming bad things?”
He frowned. Before he’d fallen asleep, he’d started to understand all the things sparking between him and Rose—the way they could sense each other’s emotions, how, despite his supposed dark intentions toward her, Rose never felt she was in danger of him.
While his conscious mind insisted it didn’t change their circumstances, his subconscious felt differently and showed him so he’d know what killing Rose would mean to him.
It was bloody bad timing for his conscience to kick in.
“She found out about An Breitheamh and about her and the gate and my revenge.”
Bran exhaled. “I take it she’s gone?”
“She left and then she returned and used my own fucking carotid sinus attack against me.”
Bran snorted. “You sound almost proud of her.”
He kind of bloody was, beneath his outrage.
“She stole the dagger, Bran. I won’t kill her but I can’t kill one of the others without the damn thing.”
“You’re not going to kill Rose?”
The very thought made him sick to his stomach. “No, I’m not.”
“I see.”
“Once I get my dagger back, I’m letting her go.”
“Well, tell me she wasn’t smart enough to clear the place of all her shit.”
“I can’t.”
“Double fuck.”
Fionn stared at the shampoo bottle. “But she left behind a bottle of shampoo she’d opened and used.”
“That’s something, at least. What do you need from me?”
“I need to know if Niamh is my kin, and fast. If she is, then you need to search again for any signs of that other fae-borne.”
Bran was silent so long, Fionn thought the bastard had hung up. Until, “Or you could let this go, my friend, and start living your life. Convince Rose to forgive you. Devote your bloody long life to protecting her, to making sure no one uses her. That is a worthy purpose, Fionn.”
As if that hadn’t fucking occurred to him. The notion of forever with Rose was at war with his revenge, tearing him in two.
The light bulbs in the room began to burst, one after the other, as Fionn lost mastery over himself for the first time in … ever.
Bloody hell, get control of yourself, man!
Remember.
He did. He remembered Aine. Straddling him, beautiful and talented in bed, giving him pleasure despite his hatred for her, which only induced his self-hatred.
She’d made him a whore.
Him. Fionn Mór, high king of Éireann. The greatest warrior in his land.
Aine had violated him down to his very soul.
“I can’t. I won’t discuss it again. Just find out what I need to know.” He clutched the bottle tight in his hand and let his magic envelop it. It whispered to him. “Rose is heading north. Hack the train station security cameras here in Orléans. Let me know if you see Rose on them.”
With a defeated sigh, Bran grumbled his assent. “Where do you think she’s heading?”
“Paris is north of here, but I don’t know what she’d want with Paris.”
“Do you think she’d head home to her parents? Fly out from Paris?”
Fionn considered it but immediately abandoned the idea. “She wouldn’t put them in danger.”
“Perhaps she’s just planning to keep running.”
“Perhaps,” he said.
But he’d seen the fury flash in Rose’s eyes seconds before she’d touched her fingers to his neck. Was Rose planning to take her vengeance upon him?
Yes.
He couldn’t trust her.
Oh, mo chroí, he thought sadly, feeling the sting of her coming betrayal, revenge will always win.
23
Without Bran, Rose was traveling blind.
To her relief, the train got her into Paris in just a little over an hour. Her train to Stuttgart was already leaving the platform when she arrived.
Rose traveled onto the train, focusing on one of the tiny restrooms. Although she banged her elbow on the small sink, she smirked. It was a hard smile. Melancholy.
Her abilities were still cool as hell. She wouldn’t let that traitorous demon spawn take that away from her.
Stepping out of the restroom, Rose’s backpack, carrying all her things and An Breitheamh, got caught on the door. She cursed, tugging it over her shoulder. The dagger needed to stay close. Inside the empty restroom at the train station back in Orléans, Rose had tried to destroy the damn thing. First she tried to melt it. Then turn it to cinder. Then break it. Ice it.
Nothing.
An Breitheamh was apparently immune to destruction.
Like she was.
Satisfied she’d successfully knocked out Fionn, Rose had hovered over him after she’d found the dagger. The box clutched in her hand, she seriously considered dealing with its weakening effects upon her, wrapping fabric around the handle so as not to scar her palm, and plunging the knife into his heart.
Will of steel, her mom always said.
Yet her will failed her as she stared at his rugged face in slumber. He’d once been a good man. Rose believed that. Circumstance had twisted him up inside.
She’d stepped back, slipping the box into her backpack. One day Rose would be ready for him if he came for her, but she didn’t have the heart for revenge. Not on him.
Fionn wouldn’t die by her hand while he was helpless, and she wouldn’t seek his death in vengeance.
But when he came for An Breitheamh, Rose would not hesitate to defend herself.
Stirring beneath her fury was the hurt as she found a seat in one of the carriages. Rose had allowed Fionn beneath her skin. Into her blood.
Into her heart.
His betrayal was a fist punching that vulnerable little organ to pieces. It swiped away who she thought he was, who she thought he might become to her, a future together perhaps where she’d make him laugh and bring him light after so long without it.
Naive hopes and wishes shattered by the truth.
Gritting her teeth against the pain, Rose glared out at the passing world. Fionn was lost to her now, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have purpose. She’d find Niamh and warn her about the warrior fae and An Breitheamh, and together they’d find the last fae-borne.
The three of them would protect each other.
However, without Bran, Rose knew she’d have to navigate the world always looking over her shoulder. The one thing she believed in was Fionn’s desire to keep the fae out of the human world. No man hated a species so much, hated himself so much, unless the fae truly had done terrible things.
That she believed.
So even if the Blackwoods didn’t want to harm her, Rose considered them her enemy.
The Blackwoods. The Garm. The O’Connors.
Fionn Mór.
Four powerful entities, all hunting her down.
As the train passed through a tunnel, she caught her reflection in the window, and any anxiety she felt was momentarily squashed.
The woman looking back with her eyes and nose and mouth was someone Rose didn’t recognize.
Someone fierce.
Someone powerful.
Someone to be reckoned with.
Although it only took a few hours for the train to arrive in Munich, Rose found herself stuck in one place.
That was the last thing she wanted.
It was early afternoon, light flooding into the enormous central station in the Bavarian capital. The screens that should have told her the platform number for the train to Zagreb informed her the train wasn’t due to arrive for another five hours.
Five hours was a long time standing in one place, allowing for someone to find her.
Rose could only hope that her enemies were clueless about her whereabouts. Perhaps even three of them were right this second attempting to track down Fionn, thinking she was still stupid enough to be with him.
At the oddest times, she’d feel Fionn Mór’s lips against her mouth, the bristle of his stubble against her skin. Of course, the devil could kiss. He’d had centuries to perfect his technique. She’d loved the disparity in their size, how big and masculine he felt braced over her body.
Rose had never considered herself particularly attracted to bigger guys, but Fionn’s extraordinary warrior physique was a major turn-on.
Or maybe it was just everything about him.
Until she’d discovered the truth.
He wasn’t on some noble mission to save the world.
Rose flinched at the ghost of his mouth and hands on her, thinking how cruel fate was. Since she was sixteen years old, Rose had kept boys, and then men, at arm’s length. She was the one in control, always.
The first time in her life when she couldn’t control her feelings for a man, and he turned out to be a traitorous, immortal asshole.
Ironic, really.
Furious with herself and pretty much everyone on earth, Rose was glad that humans continued to give her a wide berth as she wandered through the massive station. It would be easy to get lost. Low-level nausea had stayed with her since learning the truth, but Rose knew she needed to keep up her energy. She eyed the food court where there were plenty of kiosks to buy sandwiches and fruit.
Nothing there sounded appealing, so she kept walking, following signs for food that led her to the underground where the subway trains arrived and departed. Although hot, it was junk food, so she turned around in disappointment and caught an elevator back to the main train level.
Grabbing a sandwich, Rose sat at a table near the corner of a kiosk, her back to the wall, her attention on the crowds strolling by. No one would take her unawares.