Kiss of Vengeance (True Immortality 2)

And in doing so, the Faerie Queen would win.

When Rose woke again, the last embers of the fire were dying and the purple sky outside Fionn’s windows told her the sun was on the rise.

Turning her head on the pillow, her hair rustling in her ears with the movement, Rose found Fionn asleep by her side. She smiled as she took in his sleeping face, his eyelashes fluttering as he dreamed.

Although they’d slept by each other’s side, Rose was glad to know she hadn’t dream-walked him. At least she assumed she hadn’t since she couldn’t remember it. It was a worry, a concern. She wanted him to have as much privacy as possible despite their bond.

Control would have to be learned … if it became an issue between them.

If.

Even with the bond between them before all the sex, Rose had never felt closeness with a person like she felt with Fionn. It was incredible. Like they really were two halves of one whole and all that cheesy romantic stuff just happened to be true.

So how could he still cling to his vengeance? When they could have this … forever?

Rose was weary of the hurt. Not just that he would choose his revenge over her but that he would force her to grieve him. Ultimately, she knew she could tell him what Niamh had seen of the future if he opened that gate; however, Rose also knew she’d never be sure if he stayed because he loved her as much as she loved him, or because the world was at risk.

And Rose was in love with him.

Noble, wicked, selfish, loyal, stubborn, caring, protective, brutal, powerful, vengeful, loving, strong, fallible, vital Fionn Mór.

Rose loved him.

Impatient for her ending, happy or not, she decided in that moment there was no time like the morning after the greatest sex-a-thon EVER to force the subject.

Not wanting to wake him, Rose traveled to her bedroom and concentrated on An Breitheamh and where she’d buried it.

Though she could feel the tingle of it at the edge of her mind, it was like it was blocked from coming to her.

What?

Rose huffed, shivering and naked in her cold bedroom, and tried again.

Nothing.

Hadn’t Fionn told her she could just conjure it?

Unless … she couldn’t travel beyond the castle grounds because of the boundary spell. Maybe Fionn didn’t realize it blocked her from conjuring items from outside the castle too. Either that or she just wasn’t practiced enough at it yet.

Or someone had found her hiding spot and she was trying to conjure it from the wrong location.

The thought caused Rose’s breath to catch.

Oh God. That couldn’t be true.

There was only one sure way to know. Rose would have to leave An Caomhnóir and try to conjure the dagger once she was past the boundary spell. She was sure she’d be able to tell where the boundary ended, being so hyperaware of magic as she was. Still, she’d have to move quickly. The last thing she wanted was Fionn waking up while she was gone and getting the wrong idea.

After all, she was bringing the dagger to him.

Rose would offer it to him.

And hope like hell Fionn made the right choice.

November was creeping toward December, evident in the cold morning air. Rose rubbed her hands together as she hurried across the bridge outside the castle walls and headed into the woods. Hoping she knew what she was doing, Rose used her magic to blow away the soggy leaves on the ground, grateful that her suspicions about a path underneath were true. The path led her to the fallen tree Fionn had helped her over and about ten minutes from there, it forked.

One fork pointed toward where Fionn had led her west to the faerie pools; the other continued north through the woods. Going with her gut, Rose moved north, picking up speed.

What should have been a thirty-minute walk, she completed in five minutes. The trees rustled lightly in the morning wind, waving her off as she stepped out into a field. A steep incline led to a low, old-fashioned stone wall, and beyond that rolling hills that eventually met the sky.

As soon as Rose climbed over the wall, she felt a shivery tingle of magic. The sensation disappeared completely as she lifted her hand off it.

The boundary wall of the spell was an actual wall.

Her lips parted as she looked back and faced a view of the ocean instead of the forest. From this side of the wall, it appeared as if it acted as a cliff-top barrier, the land falling away to the ocean below.

That was so Fionn.

She blamed her lovesick distraction and the boundary spell on the fact that she felt the warning signs too late.

That prickle down her neck.

The racing heart.

The dread in the gut.

Rose whipped around, ready to face danger, and stumbled back at the mammoth male who bared his canines at her.

His harsh-hewn face was the last thing she saw before he grabbed hold of her neck and gave it a brutal twist.

Pain, excruciating, debilitating pain woke Rose out of unconsciousness almost immediately. Her eyes flew open as fire burned down her arms. She watched as the two witches and the warlock she’d encountered in Barcelona retreated to study her impassively.

A scream tried to burrow out of her throat but she stubbornly choked it down, tears of agony scoring her cheeks as she gazed up at her arms, suspended above her with thick chains attached to the ceiling, manacles clamped tightly around her wrists.

Manacles made of pure iron.

Her knees gave way, her wrists tugging excruciatingly against the manacles, and the scream burst out of her before she could stop it.

“You bastards!” a female voice yelled from somewhere in the room as Rose sagged and shuddered against the fire tearing at her limbs. “Is that necessary?”

The growl in the words, plus the American accent, brought Rose’s head up. She took in her surroundings.

She was in a warehouse, or maybe a basement. No windows. Concrete floors.

And other than the Blackwoods, there was a woman manacled to the corner of the room. Rose tried to focus, her vision clearing. Her eyes connected with the stranger and the woman’s brows puckered with worry and strain. That’s when Rose scented the blood.

The stranger was wounded.

“Rose.” Layton Blackwood, the sleazy warlock Fionn hated, lowered himself in front of her. “We’ll release you as soon as you tell us where the dagger is. Does Fionn have it?”

Fionn.

She shook her head.

“Do you?”

Rose nodded.

“Good. Now all you have to do is tell us where it is, and we’ll let you go.”

Oh yeah, sure. It wasn’t like they thought they needed both her and the dagger to complete the ritual to open the gate.

Not caring it would hurt even worse, Rose pulled against the shackles and used the chains to swing her closer to Layton. She snapped at his throat like an animal; he fell back on his ass.

Despite the pain, it was so fucking worth it.

The stranger laughed from the corner.

“Bitch,” Layton huffed, getting to his feet. “I ought to teach you a lesson.”

Rose let her head loll back. “Yeah? I wonder if you’d say that to me if I wasn’t chained up right now.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

She pictured herself wrapping the chain of her manacles around his neck and snapping it. “I’d be afraid of me if I were you.”

“Yeah, it takes a big man to shoot off his mouth around a trapped fae,” the stranger said dryly.

She knew what Rose was.

Huh.

“That’s enough or I’ll put another silver bullet in you,” Layton warned casually.

“Rose.” The shorter of the sisters stepped forward. Liza, if Rose remembered correctly. “We’re sorry it has to be this way. But we will release you as soon as you give up An Breitheamh. I don’t know what nonsense Fionn Mór has filled your he—”

“Let me st

op you right there.” Rose took a breath. Forcing words out past the agony was difficult. “I know who you are and what you really want. I will not be swayed. And I will never give you that dagger.”

“She needs more time,” Lori Blackwood offered quietly. “A day in those iron cuffs should be enough to convince her to change her mind.”

“And if not?” Layton asked.

“Then two days. If not that, then three. But she won’t be able to take it much longer than that.”

“What if he comes for her?” Liza queried, sounding almost worried.

“He won’t risk it.” Layton shook his head. “The other two are still out there. He won’t waste time on one who’s lost to him.”

Oh, how wrong you are, you stupid little prick.

“I still say it was moronic bringing the wolf,” Liza snapped.

“She was once fae. None of us know how this spell works exactly, but the same blood runs through her veins as it did before that son of a bitch bit her. She’s insurance.”

“She’s also a declaration of war with the packs.”

“Liza, the packs won’t go to war over one little bitch. Fionn was just trying to scare us into playing nice. The problem with playing nice is that you end up chasing what you want for fucking years—and getting nowhere.” Layton strode toward a door to Rose’s left. “We’re not our father, sitting idly by. Our coven has been working on opening that gate for centuries. When we do it, we won’t have to worry about the packs. We’ll be living like gods.”

Oh, great, so she was dealing with a totally sane person, then.

Rose whimpered as soon as the door closed behind the siblings.

“Hey, hang in there, okay?”

It took great effort, but she lifted her head to look at the corner of the room. The woman wore a sympathetic expression, despite the strain on her pretty features. No, not pretty. Beautiful. The brunette was stunning, even in pain.

And she was in pain.

Rose could see the bloody hole in her pale green sweater. “Are you okay?”

The woman stretched out her long jeans-clad legs and winced as the movement jarred her wounded shoulder. “The bastards shot me with a silver bullet.” She wrenched at the short manacles that kept her from reaching above her waist. “If I don’t get to it soon …”