A Battle of Blood and Stone

by Sawyer Bennett

  I can feel her ruminating, but she remains quiet.

  “I didn’t know about you until a little over a month ago, and I can’t give up this idea of rescuing you from the Underworld.”

  There… I said it. The reason for me contacting her.

  “Who says I need to be rescued?” she demands angrily.

  “Maybe rescued isn’t the right word,” I hasten to diffuse her. “Truth is… I want to meet you. You’re my sister. We share the same blood. And the world I live in is wonderful and beautiful, and I’ve seen a glimpse of where you live. It’s not… as nice. I want you to see the beauty of the Earth realm, and let me show you the wonderful sights and sounds and amazing food. I want you to feel sunlight on your face, Zora.”

  My last words are roughened with emotion, because that’s only a tiny bit of what she’s been missing out on.

  “How do I know you’re telling the truth?” she asks suspiciously.

  My mind races. I have nothing to offer her. It’s not like I can send her pictures. It’s not like she can Google me.

  But there might be something she can see that proves our connection. “Do you have a white feather on your leg?” I ask.

  I can feel her surprise.

  “Your right leg to be specific,” I continue. “It appeared the day Kymaris came out of stasis and left for the Earth realm. I think it probably appeared as the magic you were forced to hold was funneled out of you and into her.”

  Zora gasps. “How did you know?”

  “Because I have one, too,” I assure her. “It appeared on that same day. It was our twenty-eighth birthday. Did you know that?”

  “Birthdays are irrelevant here,” she says flatly. “Time has no meaning.”

  My heart aches for my twin. I want to tell her how wonderful birthdays are and that chocolate cake with buttercream frosting is my favorite, but I’d be willing to try all the flavors with her to find out what she likes if she’ll just come to the Earth realm with me.

  But that’s too much for her to even process.

  Instead, I keep her focused on the feather connecting us. “My feather seems to hold some of my powers—or rather, it helps to control them. I haven’t quite figured it out yet.”

  “You have powers?” she asks dubiously.

  “I was given powers at my birth after you were taken, but I didn’t really learn to use them well until recently. An angel gave them to me. I assume the feather is maybe a symbol of the angel because they have wings.”

  But come to think of it… Sarvel didn’t have wings. Of course, she could have them hidden, I suppose, but she’s not a divine angel so maybe not. I shrug it off, not needing to get sidetracked with something that’s irrelevant. The fact is, both Zora and I have matching feathers on our legs that appeared when the changeling ritual was completed.

  “Do you have powers?” I ask. I strongly suspect she does since I was filled with some sort of dark power the day Deandra and I got into it.

  Zora doesn’t respond, which means she most likely does and doesn’t trust me enough to share.

  “No matter,” I say brightly. “I have enough for us both, and I’ll share anything with you. Do you have any questions about the Earth realm or about me?”

  “No,” she replies flatly, and my heart sinks. I never envisioned our reunion would go like this or that she wouldn’t want to immediately escape.

  I decide to change tactics, so I move away from family issues. “Do you know what Kymaris has planned in the Earth realm?”

  Of course, I already know this answer, but I want to know if Zora knows anything.

  Or, as Carrick and Rainey have both pointed out, find out if she’s in collusion with Kymaris.

  “Kymaris is death and destruction,” Zora says in a low voice that’s not fearful, but maybe cautious. “You can figure it out.”

  I swallow hard. “Do you support what she’s doing here?”

  “I already told you I don’t care about the Earth realm,” she retorts.

  “I didn’t ask that,” I reply calmly. “I asked if you support what she’s doing?”

  When I’m met with silence, I’m disappointed to have hit a wall again, but then she replies, “No. I don’t support anything she does.”

  Hope sparks within me. Just one tiny nugget of information that tells me there’s a possibility with my sister.

  “Will you please come to the Earth realm?” I ask, and I can’t hide the pleading in my voice.

  “No,” she replies.

  “Can I come see you then?” My heart is pounding, because if she declines and the conversation ends, I promised her I wouldn’t bother her anymore.

  “Why?” Her voice is dull and unenthused.

  “Why?” I repeat, struck she’d even question my motivation. “Because you’re my sister. My twin. I love you, and I want to know you.”

  Zora laughs, and it’s scathing and brittle. “All things irrelevant here.”

  “Make them relevant,” I demand angrily. “Give it a try.”

  There’s no response. Wherever this dark place is that I’m sitting while talking to my twin, I can feel her pulling away or I’m getting shoved somewhere else.

  “Has anyone ever cared about you there?” I ask desperately. “Please tell me you at least have someone you can rely on and you’re not utterly alone.”

  After a heavy pause, Zora says, “There is someone I trust. Who has helped me.”

  I sigh with relief. At least she has someone, although I can’t imagine a Dark Fae having any type of care toward a human. But she’s not alone, which is a comfort.

  “Can I contact you again?” I ask timidly, then I cringe as I wait for her reply.

  I don’t get one.

  Instead, I’m shoved violently out of the dark space. For the briefest of moments, I can see through Zora’s eyes and I can tell she’s heading out the door of what I assume is her miserable little home. I get a flash of the underground city I’d seen in my dream, and then I’m tumbling through gray mist again.

  When I open my eyes, Carrick sighs in relief before bending his head and pulling my hands up to his mouth to kiss.

  “Well?” His eyes are filled with determination to handle whatever emotions I might have.

  “She doesn’t like me very much,” I reply with a bitter smile.

  After I recount our conversation, Carrick tells me, on his end, that I merely sat quietly with my eyes opened except for our brief communication when I first connected.

  “It’s weird,” I say as I play the entire experience back in my head. “I was with her… inside her conscience or whatever, but I still knew I was here. I could feel your hands, and I was reassured to know you were there. I could communicate with you.”

  “It sounds like you might have some mastery over projecting your conscience, or even a portion of it somewhere,” he muses. He releases my hands, and we both stand up from our chairs. Carrick bends closer and asks, “Are you going to leave her alone?”

  “Well, technically, she didn’t say I couldn’t contact her again,” I point out.

  “She shoved you out,” he counters.

  “Semantics,” I insist, stepping around him and heading to the dresser that holds my clothes.

  “Finley,” Carrick warns as he follows me. “You contacted her. She doesn’t want anything to do with you. I want you to consider giving up on her because I’m afraid you’re going to get hurt.”

  I reach the dresser, open the top drawer, and nab the envelope I had put in there a few days ago. Pulling it to my chest, I turn to face him.

  My soul mate.

  “I love you for many reasons, one is that you worry about me. But you know I can no sooner give up trying to get Zora from the Underworld than I could give up on you. She’s my twin, Carrick.”

  “I know,” he murmurs, then gives me a genuine smile of acceptance. “And I’ll obviously help you in any way you need.”

  One hand still clutching the envelope, the other going to his should
er, I rise up on my tiptoes and kiss him lightly. When I pull away, I press the envelope to his chest, forcing him to take it.

  Carrick glances down briefly. “What’s this?”

  “Read it,” I say, giving a quick nod at the stationary in his hands.

  He opens the envelope, which is not sealed, and pulls out a single sheet of cream linen paper I’d found in Carrick’s office. It’s the fancy kind to write personal notes to people on.

  It’s folded in half and once he has it open, he takes in the first line before his eyes snap up to me.

  “Dear Eireann?” he questions me in wonder.

  “I thought I’d write a letter to my future selves for you to give to them. And since we’re all Eireann, I addressed it to her.”

  Carrick’s golden eyes lighten with emotion, and his eyes move back down to the letter.

  Dear Eireann,

  You might think you don’t know me, but you actually do. By now, Carrick has told you the truth of what he is—an immortal demi-god who is deeply in love with you and has been for centuries.

  I’m one of your incarnations. Just one of many, really, with Eireann being the first. As such, we’re all Eireann and I just wanted you to know that it will be all right. You’ll love deeply and have so much happiness during your time with Carrick. One day, it will be gone and he’ll move on to our next self, but take peace in knowing you’ll experience joy that you could never have imagined.

  Trust in Carrick. Love him as much as he loves you.

  Good luck, and I truly hope that Rune’s curse will end in your lifetime. If not, I hope you write your own letter to add to this one so all the future Eireanns can be inspired by our journeys.

  With love,

  Finley Porter

  Carrick’s eyes pop up to me in astonishment before going back to the letter to read again. I wait patiently. When I have his attention again, I can see how touched he is.

  “Too hokey?” I ask hesitantly.

  “Too perfect,” he replies gruffly, folding the letter and slipping it back into the envelope.

  “Don’t give it to them until you have their love and trust. Until you’ve told them the truth about everything.”

  “I promise,” he says, putting a hand behind my neck and pulling me toward him.

  My heart starts tripping as I see not only the utter love over my thoughtfulness, but also the low flame of desire that my actions produce.

  Voice a little raspy, I say, “I hope by giving them this letter, it makes it easier on them and you.”

  “You’re amazing,” he murmurs before sweeping me up into his arms and carrying me to our bed.

  CHAPTER 22

  Carrick

  After a full day of wedding dress shopping with Finley and Rainey, Carrick couldn’t help but think this moment might be the better part of his day as he rang the doorbell to the Lake Washington mansion. He could hear the heavy dong from inside that reverberated for several beats before dissipating.

  The double doors were inset with thick, semi-frosted glass so while he couldn’t see details inside, he could see a figure coming his way. It was large and hulking and most likely represented a security guard.

  The left door opened and yes, there was a daemon with a larger-than-normal black aura around his body. He was easily seven feet tall, looked as thick as a rhinoceros, and, no surprise, he resembled one in the face as Carrick took him in.

  Carrick was dressed casually in jeans and a lightweight sweater, and was surely a surprise to show up unannounced. The daemon gave him a critical look from head to foot, and Carrick could see in his eyes the moment he was dismissed as a threat. “What do you want?” he asked in a guttural voice.

  “I’d like to see Kymaris,” Carrick replied with a cordial smile, hands clasped before him.

  The daemon smirked as he started to shut the door in Carrick’s face. “She doesn’t see anyone.”

  Carrick’s hand shot out, grasped the edge of the door, and stopped it about a foot from closing. The daemon was shocked, his eyes growing wide, but then narrowing in anger. He attempted to close the door, but it wouldn’t budge.

  While Carrick continued to hold it open with just one hand, the daemon put his entire body weight against it and tried to force it shut. He grunted and sweat popped out on his forehead, yet he couldn’t budge it a fraction of an inch.

  Carrick, meanwhile, just smiled as he easily held the door open and waited for the daemon to conclude that Carrick was stronger. It was actually quite comical when it happened, as the daemon had no clue what Carrick was. Only that he was powerful.

  Giving up, the daemon puffed from exertion as he let the door go. Carrick gently pushed it all the way open and stepped into the foyer while the daemon took a wary—but very smart—step back. Carrick kept his genial smile in place, turning away to shut the door. Giving his back to the daemon was a show of strength and confidence, and it made the daemon take another step back.

  When Carrick pivoted back to face him, he assumed a mild-mannered stance again by clasping his hands in front of his body and asking politely, “Now… may I see Kymaris, please?”

  “And may I ask who you are?” the daemon asked just as politely.

  “Carrick Byrne.”

  Clearly, he was well known by name as the daemon’s eyes bugged out of his head. He made a hasty retreat from the foyer and disappeared into the house, hopefully to get Kymaris. Carrick was confident once Kymaris knew he was here, she’d give him an audience. She was too narcissistic not to.

  It was definitely a calculated risk coming here because while Carrick was nearly indestructible, it didn’t mean Kymaris couldn’t hurt him or even potentially detain him somehow. But he had calculated the risks versus the potential benefits, and he’d decided it was worth it.

  He wanted to know what Kymaris knew, and he banked on her huge ego wanting to talk.

  Carrick didn’t wait politely in the foyer, but instead freely roamed. There was a double curved staircase leading to the upper level off the end of the foyer, a lavish dining room that sat twenty, a study, a library, kitchen, and the rear of the house held an enormous living area that was much like his—so large it had clusters of furniture to fill the space. The back was almost all floor-to-ceiling windows, and he knew from Maddox’s description of the property that the basement ran the length of the house just under the living area and had the same windows to look through.

  He heard Kymaris approaching before he saw her, recognizing the click of high heels against lacquered hardwoods. Turning as she entered the living area, Carrick wasn’t surprised in the least how she was dressed and he knew it was for his benefit.

  Kymaris still wore her frizzy platinum hair in a strangely sloped beehive and her makeup was garish. Yes, she was still one of the beautiful Dark Fae with structurally perfect facial angles and a perfect female form, which she was showing off in a slinky black negligee and black heels. Not for modesty purposes, she had a black silk robe over it, but it was unbelted and did little to conceal the lack of material of the negligee itself or that what little there was in all was overtly transparent.

  Carrick had expected her to be deliberately provocative because he’d had a taste of her ego one time before, and she thought her looks alone had the power to command. She was also a highly sexualized immortal based on Maddox and Finley’s report the night of the daemon sacrifices, so he knew she’d put effort into trying to seduce him.

  He gave her a brief once over, merely smiling as she approached.

  It didn’t matter that she was evil incarnate, her expression was welcoming and her voice light despite its huskiness. “Well, this is a nice surprise.”

  Kymaris walked past him, her shoulder brushing his as she shot him an inviting look. Carrick turned to watch her proceed to a built-in wet bar. She stopped and pulled the crystal stopper from a decanter of amber-colored liquor.

  Looking over her shoulder, she asked, “Would you like a drink?”

  “No, thank you,” he
replied. Not because he thought she might poison him—for he couldn’t be poisoned—but because this wasn’t a social visit.

  Kymaris poured her drink before turning to face Carrick, her robe billowing out to bare her legs for a brief second. Carrick’s eyes stayed pinned on hers, and she didn’t like that.

  Pulling one side of her robe out, she waved it playfully, then took a sip of her drink. “You know… we don’t have such finery as this down in the Underworld. Although I had the power to conjure such pretty things, it’s just not the same as shopping at Saks.”

  “Hmmm,” Carrick replied. “I am curious, though… how did you get powers to conjure down in the Underworld?”

  He assumed she had some measurable powers, given that magic had been brought down into the Underworld and had evolved. But he was curious how she came by hers.

  Kymaris shrugged as if the detail were insignificant. “One of my loyal followers had been summoned to the Earth realm by some stupid human ancient priest who thought to control a Dark Fae. Stupid human priest lost his head, and my loyal follower returned to me with a stone.”

  Carrick smiled. That was pretty much what he figured, but he wanted to get her talking.

  “And how exactly did you get your power to come here?” he asked smoothly. He knew the answer, but he wanted to get an idea of how much she was willing to share through her own arrogance.

  Kymaris smiled coyly, but she couldn’t pull that level of bashful shyness off. Instead, she looked like the cat that ate the canary. “Oh, you know… a little ritual that pumped me up full of good stuff that let me come and enjoy this lovely realm. Were you impressed with my fireballs?”

  Carrick had to force down the growl of fury that threatened to erupt because of the reminder she had tried to kill Finley. Despite his swirling anger, he kept his tone bland. “They’re definitely better than any I’ve seen in a Dark Fae, but pale stacked up against a Light Fae.”