Kiss of Vengeance (True Immortality 2)

Rose sat up, pushing her face into his. “Then why should I return an item that means a great deal to you when you can’t return something that means a great deal to me?”

Confusion flickered across his face. “Wha—”

“You have a piece of my soul, even though you don’t want it.” Hurt edged her words no matter how hard she tried to camouflage it. “So I’m keeping An Breitheamh, even though I don’t want that. Fair’s fair.”

Understanding softened his features and he reached out to touch her. Rose flinched away. “Don’t.”

Sighing heavily, Fionn straightened, stepping back from the bed. His countenance and tone turned matter-of-fact. “The spell that keeps An Caomhnóir invisible from the rest of the world has its drawbacks. Neither of us can travel in and out of the castle grounds until we’re beyond the spell barrier. You’re stuck here, Rose. You’re not going anywhere until you deliver An Breitheamh to me.”

“Then I guess I’m stuck here forever.”

“You will give me that dagger. Of that I have no doubt.” He marched away from her, his long strides eating up the distance between the bed and the door. “Dinner is served downstairs in an hour. If I have to come get you, I won’t be nice about it.”

The urge to throw something else at him was real. “If I don’t want to eat, I don’t have to.”

“You may be immortal, Rose, but starving yourself will lead to a very painful, uncomfortable existence, and since I’ve vowed to keep you safe until I’m no longer of this earth, it won’t be happening on my watch.” The door slammed hard behind him, making the tapestry on the wall flutter.

Ugh!

“What am I supposed to wear?” she yelled at the closed door.

In answer, the doors of the wardrobe in the far corner flew open, revealing a row of jeans and tops.

Rose huffed. “Show-off.”

Answering masculine laughter, dulled by stone walls, met her ears.

She rolled her eyes at the sound, wishing it didn’t cause that warm, painful ache to score across her chest.

28

The gale-force wind and wet weather had finally moved on. It was a crisp day, sunny and calm, with the ocean stretching out before the castle like a sheet of sparkling glass. There was a gentle breeze—it was unusual for there not to be on this part of the coast.

Fionn sighed and glanced over his shoulder to stare at the castle towering behind him. For two and a half days, Rose had coexisted with him at An Caomhnóir. She was uncharacteristically broody and to say her behavior frustrated him was an understatement. Not that Rose was stomping around like a sullen teenager; that wasn’t who she was. If she was pissed, she let it hang out. Fionn preferred that to huffiness.

No, it was more that Rose was wounded and trying to figure out how to maneuver through the days with her new affliction.

He’d caused the wound.

Therein laid his guilt and frustration.

His current plan of just waiting for Rose to come to him was not working. He was no closer to mending their relationship or retrieving An Breitheamh. Pulling out his mobile, Fionn hit Bran’s button.

The vampire picked up after a few rings. “You do this deliberately—I was just falling asleep.”

“This will only take a second.”

“Give me a minute, then.”

Fionn waited and heard murmuring in the background. Suspecting he’d interrupted an interlude, he felt an unusual emotion: jealousy. He stared up to the castle. An interlude with Rose would not go unappreciated.

“I’m back,” Bran said. Fionn could hear a beeping sound in the background followed by a door closing. A heavy one. Fionn knew what that meant. Bran owned a loft in Dublin near the docklands, and his office—or command center, as the vamp liked to call it—was only accessible by a digital security system that involved a code and retinal scan.

As soon as Fionn had walked into that apartment with its tall windows all the way down one side, he’d looked at his friend like he was nuts. Bran had merely shrugged, grabbed a remote control, and aimed it at the windows. Not only did fitted blinds cover the windows but heavy curtains moved from either side of the wall across a rail to meet in the middle.

The loft was in total darkness.

Fionn had never seen so much fabric in one room, but the curtains certainly did the job.

“They’re on a timer too,” Bran had said. “So I don’t get cremated if I fall asleep before the sunrise.”

Still, Fionn thought owning a loft was stupidly risky for a vampire. Bran was stubborn, though. The thing he missed most about his human life was the daylight, and he was determined not to live his life like a clichéd vampire with a basement habitat.

“Any word of Niamh?” Fionn asked.

“One day you’re going to ask how I am.”

Fionn had the ability to make even his silence impatient.

“Okay, I’ll tell you, anyway. I just had the best sex of my long life with this vampire I met at Ruin.”

Ruin was a basement club in the heart of Dublin and a hotspot for supernaturals.

“I’m happy for you. Niamh?”

Bran sighed. “Nothing. I’m sorry.”

“Anything else I need to know?”

“There’s been no more movement from the O’Connors. They’re not a huge coven, Fionn. You wiped out their youngest and strongest in Munich. They might have decided this isn’t a fight they can win.”

“Let’s hope so. The Blackwoods?”

“Still fumbling around Europe from what I can see.”

“The Garm?”

“Same. Everyone’s waiting for a sign from either Rose or Niamh.”

“And nothing from the third fae-borne?”

The vamp was silent for a second.

“Bran?”

“What if there isn’t a third? What if they’re already dead? There’s been no sign, Fionn.”

Fionn shook his head, even though his friend couldn’t see. “No, that fae is alive. Rose is still protecting this person, and I have to believe she’d only be doing that if Niamh gave her the impression that the fae-borne is out there.”

“Speaking of Niamh … you’re determined to keep her safe, then?”

“She’s my kin.” Enough said.

“You don’t know that for certain. There’s no real evidence,” he repeated unnecessarily.

Irritation burned in Fionn’s gut. “I feel it. I know it.”

“Or you’re using it as an excuse to prevent you from killing an innocent to mete out your revenge. Maybe even an excuse to prevent you going after your revenge, full stop, now that Rose is in your life.”

That irritation hotly converted to anger. “I’ll have my revenge, Bran, make no mistake about that. Call me if you miraculously come up with something useful.” He hung up, almost crushing the phone in his fist. Fionn didn’t care if he’d been unfair to the vamp. The fucker kept pushing his buttons.

Striding from the cliff top toward the castle, determination pushed Fionn’s strides. Today Rose would converse with him. Somehow, he would convince her to give him An Breitheamh, and it wouldn’t be because he’d seduced it out of her. If Rose wanted him that way, she’d have to come to him. Fionn was burdened with enough guilt as it was; he wouldn’t add sexual coercion to his list of crimes against his mate.

Fuck, he hoped she’d come to him.

Rose was bored but no longer conflicted.

For the last two days, she’d wandered over every inch of the castle, peering into rooms that were filled with furniture but seemed to have no current use. She’d accidentally wandered into Fionn’s bedroom, which was a bigger version of her room. Bigger space, bigger bed, and a lot of stuffed bookshelves.

She discovered this after coming across an actual freaking library. Her mate liked to read.

While she had to use a toilet across the hall from her room, Fionn?

?s room had a small en suite and walk-in closet.

The man had more suits than Emporio Armani.

However, it was his bed that drew her attention.

It was the biggest sleigh bed Rose had ever seen, custom built to accommodate its very tall owner.

Something about the sight of that bed, on top of Fionn’s scent lingering in the air, was arousing. Rose departed his bedroom quickly.

The main hall had massive fireplaces at either end that took up nearly the entire gable walls. Yet, the room was cozy, a dining table at one end and a spacious sitting area at the other. There was even a large flat-screen TV bolted to the stonework.

Tapestries hung on the walls to warm up the place and huge Aubusson rugs covered every inch of the flagstone flooring. There were two modern electric fires in the room—they looked like black wood-burning stoves—since the castle was darn cold. She found these fires all over the An Caomhnóir and wondered at the costs of running such a place.

But if the castle was off the grid, how did that work?

Rose was collecting questions for Fionn. Where was the vault he spoke of? She doubted he’d tell her. After his staff had been killed, had he not hired new staff? So far, Rose had met no other soul at An Caomhnóir. The kitchen was stocked with food, and when Fionn said dinner would be served that first night, he meant the dinner he’d cooked.

That’s right.

Fionn Mór could cook.

Rose had witnessed it. The second night she’d found Fionn in the large kitchen searing steak before sticking it in a huge range oven at one end of the room. She’d then watched as he mashed potatoes.

By hand.

Dinner so far had been delicious.

And yet, Rose could not make conversation with Fionn. Yes, she was angry with him. But mostly she was nursing the heart he’d broken and trying to figure out where to go from there. Did she keep him distracted indefinitely? Resign her life to this castle and eventual mind-numbing boredom?

Or did she push wounded feelings aside and just seduce Fionn? Try to change his mind with sex and distraction?