A Battle of Blood and Stone

by Sawyer Bennett

  I’m eating more than I ever have, but my body is actually changing for the better. I’d always been on the thin side, but with as much as I’m working out and training nearly every day, Zaid has been packing me full of good proteins and vegetables so I’ve become incredibly toned in all the right muscles.

  I have never felt stronger physically.

  Magically… well… that’s another story as I’m like a baby foal taking her first uneasy steps into a new life.

  Today, Carrick announced we’d be training with magic only. Hence the little pep talk before we start.

  “You ready?” he asks. He’s now a good ten paces from me in the middle of the gym’s open area.

  “Ready.”

  “Okay,” he says, studying me carefully while he thinks. I get a little distracted watching him watch me because he’s so incredibly gorgeous in track pants and a t-shirt, hair actually a bit messy after his shower as he did nothing more than run his fingers through it after a rough towel dry. I don’t think he’s had a haircut in the last few months and the longer, semi-shaggy look is a pretty damn big change from the suave, perfectly styled hair.

  It fits his prophecy-fighting personality better, for sure.

  “Here’s the scenario,” Carrick says, and I have to blink away my dreamy thoughts of him. “You’re walking down a dark alley at night by yourself, and you have no weapon on you.”

  “Why in the hell would I ever do that?” I ask teasingly.

  Carrick merely cocks his eyebrow. “Do we really need to discuss the fact you went into a dark alley without a weapon and almost got killed by a succubus?”

  My face heats, and I look off to the side in slight embarrassment.

  “So… dark alley, no weapons,” Carrick repeats.

  “Got it.”

  “Boral decides to go all evil, has ratted you out to Kymaris, and she has ordered him to kill you. He jumps out from behind a dumpster, ready to attack.”

  I purse my lips, putting a hand on my hip. “Really? You’re going to use Boral as part of our scenario?”

  “Can’t stand the fucker,” Carrick mutters. “So why not?”

  “You know he’s actually very grateful to you for saving Zaid,” I say, feeling that Boral would probably hate me sharing that, but oh well.

  Carrick scoffs deep in his throat.

  “You should cut him some slack,” I suggest primly.

  “Never,” Carrick growls back, and I don’t respond. We’ll always be at an impasse where Boral is concerned. “Let’s imagine a Dark Fae has jumped out at you. I’m the Dark Fae. What do you throw at me?”

  This isn’t a trick question because there are probably a dozen different things I could come up with off the top of my head. I may not have tried all the things I’d use to attack with my magic, but I have often imagined scenarios in my head.

  It takes me no time at all to pull out the thing that makes the most sense.

  A magical whip.

  Warmth fires up in my chest without much effort at all. I move like I’m reaching into my non-existent backpack over my shoulder and I conjure the handle and thong that’s electric white-blue and crackles with electricity from behind my back. Even the handle is lit up, but it doesn’t hurt my hand.

  Slicing my arm down hard, I send the thong toward Carrick, but I pull it back just a tad so it doesn’t actually strike him. He wasn’t expecting it, though, and he jumps back a few feet as the electrical arc comes his way. It makes a louder crack than my real whip does.

  “Not bad.” He grins. “Granted, that wouldn’t kill a fae, but it would make them think twice about rushing you.”

  As I let my arm fall, the thong comes to rest on the floor in a lazy “S” shape. I twirl the handle a bit, making the thong swirl in a pretty pattern of light.

  “Conjure a weapon to kill,” Carrick commands, and I lift my head.

  Easy as pie. I drop the electric light whip and before the handle hits the ground, the entire thing evaporates into nothing. Rolling my wrist, I imagine a battle-ax appearing, except I make a minor alteration. The ones that Carrick has are incredibly heavy, and I usually have to wield them with two hands once I start to get fatigued. I make this one a little smaller, not as weighty, and the grip perfectly fitted to my hand.

  The weapon appears just as I imagine it.

  I swing it above my head, put my other hand to the hilt, and then throw it straight at Carrick. In an impressive and, I must say, incredibly sexy show of his powers, he merely sidesteps slightly so the ax flies by him. But even more impressive and totally the hottest thing ever is when his hand shoots out and he catches the rotating ax perfectly by the handle as it starts to whiz by him.

  With a wave of his hand, it disappears. “Hit me with something else.”

  I hold my hand out, palm up, and a fireball erupts. It feels cool as it hovers above my skin. I note this came so easy and automatically that I didn’t feel my magic fire up with warmth in my chest, but rather the warmth seems to be just hovering there in the background.

  In other words, it took little effort.

  With exaggerated motions, I act like a pitcher on the big-league mound. Bringing the ball to my chest, stepping back with one foot, and then raising the other knee high before firing the flaming orb at Carrick.

  He’s grinning broadly at my playfulness as he conjures a wall of water to douse the flames. When the two magics hit, they evaporate into nothing but steam.

  “Again,” he demands.

  I push both hands out toward him to conjure up a fierce wind. It flows across the gym and hits Carrick so forcefully he has to lean into it to stay upright. He holds it for a bit and his feet actually start to slide backward, but then he does some type of witchy mojo that turns the wind back at me.

  It hits me so hard I go windmilling backward until I fall on my butt while Carrick doubles over with laughter.

  Glaring at him, I just wait it out until he’s finished. When he straightens, he tips his head with an impish smile of apology. “Sorry. But on the plus side, you are throwing magic almost effortlessly. You just have to be ready sometimes to fail to meet your objective or have it turned around on you. You should have thrown that bubble shield against the wind.”

  He’s right, of course. I need to be thinking moves ahead, like a chess game. I can’t assume what I throw is going to work. In fact, I think his point is to assume it won’t.

  Carrick motions with his hands to get up, and I do. “Now, throw something at me with the intent to kill, not harm. You weren’t all that serious before.”

  “No,” I say, aghast. “I’m absolutely not going to do that.”

  “Come on, Finley,” he snaps, bracing his hands on his hips like he’s a coach getting ready to lecture. “You have to be committed to kill. Playtime is over.”

  I shake my head, cross my arms. “I could never muster up intent to kill you.”

  “But you can’t kill me,” he points out. “So take that worry off your plate.”

  “We don’t know that I can’t kill you,” I say softly, a sudden realization hitting me. It’s one thing for Sarvel to suggest my powers are limitless and indefinable, and something else to practice throwing fireballs to fight against Dark Fae and the like.

  But it’s a completely different thing to understand that there’s a possibility I might have the power inside of me to kill a demi-god.

  I think it’s a long shot. The gods could always bring him back in the snap of a finger. Chances are, I don’t have that type of ability.

  However… I am an anomaly. No human has been able to do the things I’ve done, so we can’t be sure about anything.

  I shake my head again. “Not going to do it.”

  “Finley,” he admonishes, moving toward me.

  “No. Not going to it,” I insist. “I can kill evil things, but I’m not going to throw around killing magic to test the theory you’re indestructible.”

  “I am,” he replies smoothly.

  “I’m sure L
ucien wouldn’t agree,” I snap, then immediately regret it by the flash of pain that flickers in his eyes.

  Of course, it was just a flicker. Carrick is far more adept at keeping his emotions from showing, but I’m absolutely horrified I said that to him. I open my mouth up to start a rush of apologies.

  Carrick truly knows me better than I know myself, so before I can get a word out, he presses a hand over my mouth. “I know you didn’t mean that, and I also think it’s a valid reminder that we can’t know anything absolutely.”

  When he removes his hand, I gush, “I am so fucking sorry, Carrick.”

  His hand goes back over my mouth, and he shakes his head. “It’s fine. Besides, I’m confident Lucien isn’t gone for good.”

  I let those words settle over me as I study his expression, which seems confident in that prediction. His bearing is commanding, as always, and I don’t sense a single vibe of worry from him.

  Okay, he could be playing me so I don’t worry, but I’m going to choose to latch on to that positivity. My hand comes to his wrist, and I pull his hand from my mouth. But before I do, I press a soft kiss there. “Lucien will absolutely be back.”

  Carrick’s eyes fire up with a tender warmth that always makes my heart catch when it happens because it happens when I say or do something that affects him on an emotional level. Therefore, it is no surprise what follows is a dip of his head to put his mouth on mine and then a kiss that if it were allowed to go on might eventually lead to us getting naked, but as it stands… we’re not alone.

  A slight cough to get our attention has me jumping back from Carrick, and I wheel around to see Maddox and Cato standing in the gym.

  Not near the door where someone would normally enter, but in the opposite corner, meaning they bent distance to get in here and who knows how long they’ve been there.

  Maddox stands casually, thumbs tucked into the front belt loops of his jeans. He shoots me a wink, and I smile back.

  Cato takes a step forward, and my attention goes to him. He inclines his head toward Carrick. “Apologies for needing your brother, but he is back now and at your disposal.”

  I think it’s very odd he would apologize, but I don’t know Cato. I don’t know much about any of the gods really since we’ve never talked about them all that much. Carrick says they’re all fairly egocentric and standoffish and that while Veda is his favorite, she stays at arm’s length too.

  “What about Lucien?” Carrick demands angrily, and no doubt he’s perturbed they haven’t been responding to his requests.

  Maddox jerks in surprise and my heart squeezes to realize… wherever he’s been, Cato didn’t tell him about Lucien.

  “I cannot say,” Cato replies in a deep but totally smooth voice that sounds like it should be recording Barry White cover songs.

  “Can’t or won’t?” Carrick growls, which is impertinent but Cato seems unfazed.

  “Is there a difference?” Cato counters, absolutely no irritation in his tone about being questioned. “The result is the same for you.”

  I wince because that was harsh. Cato is essentially saying it’s none of Carrick’s business regarding his brother, and it’s a potent reminder of how little control these demi-gods have over their lives.

  Cato turns to me and I straighten a bit, totally disconcerted to have the huge god who can command lightning, among other things, focused on me. He tips his head, “Good luck to you, Finley, in the upcoming prophecy. I’m pulling for you.”

  I blink in surprise, any feelings of intimidation evaporating. I even take a step closer to him, head tilted. “You are?”

  Cato smiles, and wow… it is the most gorgeous smile ever. His teeth may be the most perfect I’ve ever seen, and they gleam against his mocha-colored skin. But it’s not just that… his smile actually reaches his eyes. It makes him seem almost human.

  Certainly approachable.

  “Absolutely,” he replies. “All of us are.”

  “Even Rune?” I can’t help but ask.

  “Even Rune,” Cato says with a nod. “Or so he says.”

  “If he’s rooting for Finley, it’s merely so he can kill her after she thwarts the prophecy,” Carrick says in a low growl. “Most likely, he’s lying.”

  Cato’s gaze shifts to Carrick, and he nods. “You’re probably right about that.”

  And with that… Cato disappears.

  It shocks me to know that one god acknowledges another may be untruthful. But truly, it’s not like these beings are actually ethical. Look at what they’re making me do.

  Look at the way they use the demi-gods.

  “Someone want to tell me what’s going on with Lucien?” Maddox says, and Carrick and I turn his way.

  I move into Carrick, slipping my hand in his. He squeezes it. Carrick tells his brother in a grim voice, “Things got bad when we went to Micah’s realm to get the Blood Stone.”

  “Bad how?” Maddox asks, and it’s a tone I’ve never heard before from the big lug. He’s always so genial and easygoing. Now he’s tense with an underlying hint of violence in his voice. It’s the first time I actually see him as a demi-god who would fight in brutal wars and carry out acts of brutality if the gods so demanded.

  I rush in to diffuse the situation, hoping my gentler tone would help. “We got the Blood Stone, but Micah killed Charmeine. He and Lucien battled, and he threw Lucien into the Crimson River.”

  Maddox’s gaze snaps to Carrick. “What does that mean? What happened to him in the river?”

  Carrick shakes his head with a grim tightening of his jaw. “I don’t know. He didn’t seem to burn, but merely sink below the surface. I’ve appealed to the gods to find out, but as you could see from Cato just now… they’re not sharing.”

  “He’s fine, I’m sure,” Maddox says, trying for a dismissive air to his words, but they come across shallow because he doesn’t believe it.

  “Let’s hope,” Carrick says quietly.

  “You have the Blood Stone?” Maddox asks, changing the subject. It seems the right time since I know Maddox and Carrick aren’t the types of brothers to discuss their feelings, and it was getting perilously close to that.

  Carrick fills him in on everything that happened when we went to Micah’s realm, including a bit more detail on the battle between Micah and Lucien, to which Maddox once again reiterates his surety that Lucien will be fine. “I tried to separate the Blood Stone from the chalice, but they seem pretty bonded.”

  “And the game plan is to protect them both,” Maddox concludes. “Maybe add some more protections to the condo, assuming you want to keep it here? Because one of us can take it to another realm. It would be hard for Kymaris to find us, especially if we hopped realms.”

  “I’ve thought about doing that,” Carrick admits, rubbing his hand along his jaw. “But I feel like we’re better here with a big force around it, in the very off chance Kymaris could track us somehow. I wouldn’t say no if you wanted to move in here for a while.”

  “I can do that,” Maddox says, and I wonder where he’s been staying the last few months. Probably at his Dark Fae lady friend’s house with the torture basement. “And then we sit around and wait.”

  Carrick nods in affirmation, and that’s not exactly what I want to do. “I don’t think we sit around and wait.”

  “Want me to help you practice your magic skills?” Maddox says with a waggle of his eyebrows.

  This results in a growl from Carrick, and Maddox shoots him a wink. Carrick offers a glare in return.

  But I’m not joking or in a playful mood as I pull my hand free of Carrick’s and step away so I can face them. “I need to establish some contact with Zora.”

  My gaze moves back and forth between the brothers. Maddox looks intrigued, while Carrick seems dubious with a hint of stubborn refusal in his eyes. I immediately point at him. “And don’t think to try to tell me no. I agreed I would only try to contact her when you were around, but if you think you can deny me, I’ll do it when you aren�
��t.”

  “Then I won’t leave your side,” he retorts ominously.

  That pisses me off, so I give him a reminder I’m not without means. Envisioning the library, which I know will be empty—Rainey and Myles are at work and Zaid is out running errands—I latch onto the conference table, pull it hard, and step out of the gym and right into a chair.

  I’m kicked back with my feet up on the table, hands laced behind my head, before Maddox materializes.

  He grins, noting Carrick isn’t here. “He must have checked the bedroom first.”

  I snicker because I’m sure that’s where Carrick went.

  The expression on his face is not warm and fuzzy when he materializes. I think he might order Maddox out so we can have a “debate” about the safety of contacting Zora.

  I’m sure it might go something like our talk went the night Rainey decided she wanted to get married and we had to go dress shopping. It devolved quickly, lines being drawn. Eventually, neither of us won as Carrick agreed to let me out of the condo after I threatened to do it anyway without me telling him where I was going. In turn, I had to agree to let him come with us, which, honestly, wasn’t a concession on my part.

  It would be hilarious because Carrick would hate every bit of it, but truth be told… I love having him around no matter the situation. I just feel more settled when he’s within sight of me. This has been more so after realizing that he’s not indestructible with Lucien’s loss in the Crimson River.

  Before he can say anything, though, I make the first move. “I feel very strongly about contacting Zora, and you’re not going to talk me out of it.”

  He tries anyway. For five minutes, he prattles on about the possibility she could kill me through our connection and yammers that Zora could be in league with Kymaris. All arguments I’ve heard before.

  While I listen, Maddox picks up the chalice still sitting in the middle of the table where we’ve left it. Carrick warded it against anyone handling it except Maddox and me. Part of it is he doesn’t have absolute trust in some of our team—like Boral—and part of it is it’s too dangerous to those without magic—which is everyone else but Titus, who has left to go back to his Annihilator duties.