by Young, S.
Frowning, Kiyo double-checked the iron wasn’t burning through the leather.
It wasn’t.
Her reaction had to be the weakening effects of the iron.
“I know you’re awake.”
Her eyes flew open and it was like the breath was knocked from his body.
Her irises were liquid gold.
The gold suddenly melted, and she stared up at him with the most extraordinary aquamarine eyes. Striations of gold remained in them.
He was surprised by the fear he saw in her gaze. He hadn’t imagined a powerful fae capable of fear.
But she didn’t know his intention, and she wasn’t completely invincible.
Plus, he’d gotten the drop on her. Of course she was afraid.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he promised. “I’ll explain everything once we’re inside. But first … apologies for doing this to you again.”
Her lips parted in question, but Kiyo broke her neck before she could speak.
Sliding her carefully out of the car, he gathered her into his arms, annoyed that her dress was now showing an indecent amount of skin, skin he’d touched and was adamantly ignoring the silken softness of.
Using his supernatural speed, he hurried across the lot, into the building, and up the five flights to the apartment he’d acquired for his purposes. Once inside, he laid Niamh on the graying mattress and pulled her dress back down around her thighs.
Retreating, he stared at her sprawled across the mattress on the floor of the dingy apartment. Her long, brown hair cascaded around her face in wavy tendrils. It wasn’t her natural hair color. The first surveillance photos Fionn’s research guy, Bran, had provided showed Niamh with light blond hair.
Tension drained out of Kiyo’s body as he settled into the grubby armchair that made up the small collection of furniture in the two-room apartment. Kiyo had kept the three table lamps lit for his return, preferring the warm light of those to the glaring overhead bulbs.
The beige paint was peeling off the walls, marred with food stains and fingerprints and even graffiti. But you couldn’t see that now. Nailed on top, without an inch of space between, were thin sheets of pure iron.
He’d made Niamh a cage.
Kiyo wasn’t sure how Fionn would react to his methods, but what else did he expect? Niamh Farren could teleport herself out of any room, and Kiyo needed to disable that skill long enough to explain who he was and why he’d come.
And if he felt she wasn’t amenable to the idea of him guarding and stopping her from using her powers without circumspection, then he’d have to consider keeping her here indefinitely.
Thinking of the vile bathroom he’d scrubbed clean with bleach only hours ago, Kiyo really hoped Niamh would get over his aggressive methods and trust he was who he said he was.
Months of living in this shithole as a prison warden instead of a bodyguard didn’t exactly appeal to him.
But Fionn Mór was not someone you crossed. Kiyo had known Fionn since the late ’60s. Kiyo had left New York several years before because it was no longer safe for him to remain there. Although he’d kept to himself and moved from borough to borough, he’d begun to encounter one too many older people who remembered him from their youth.
Since then, Kiyo had lived the life of a nomad, a mercenary for hire. He’d been a silent assassin, hostage negotiator, soldier, bounty hunter, kidnapper, bodyguard, and thief, to name but a few occupations in the unseen wars of the supernatural world. Even in the human world. There were humans who were aware of the supernaturals, some to fear and avoid, others who paid a great deal of money for the advantages of supernatural power.
The supernatural world questioned Kiyo’s longevity, considering he was a werewolf, and there had been those who’d tried to kill him as an abomination, and failed. There were those who’d tried to use him and failed at that too.
Among all the supernaturals who had guessed at his immortality, only one man had garnered a modicum of Kiyo’s trust. Fionn. Kiyo had thought him a powerful warlock. They’d met fighting each other in the underground matches, and Kiyo was satisfied to have found someone who could finally challenge him. Fionn never pried into his personal life and vice versa. As the decades passed with Fionn never aging, Kiyo had surmised the Irishman had been cursed with immortality as he himself had.
Until last year when he arrived at an underground fight with his mate, Rose. Fionn hadn’t known she was his mate then, but Kiyo had understood Fionn was fighting his attraction to the woman. He’d come to the fight to take out his pent-up frustration on Kiyo, and in a moment before the fight, Fionn’s eyes had flashed gold.
He’d demanded Kiyo forget he’d seen it, and Kiyo had obliged.
But the origin stories had filled his mind. Stories of the fae and the gate, how it had been opened over two thousand years ago, and the fae’s interference with the humans on Faerie had brought about the creation of vampires and werewolves. The fae had been true immortals, beautiful, beguiling … and with eyes that flashed gold when their passions were high.
Fionn Mór was fae.
Of course, now Kiyo knew the whole story. Fionn had once been human. An ancient warrior king in what is now Ireland. He’d fought the fae as a human king and in punishment for killing a fae prince, the Faerie Queen, Aine, had enslaved Fionn. In return, his wife and children were spared. But Fionn lived on Faerie for several years as the queen’s consort. Before she’d decided to close the gate between worlds and send the supernaturals and humans back to Earth, she’d turned Fionn into fae to keep him with her.
However, he escaped. Upon his return to Ireland, his wife, now remarried to the new king, wanted to kill him for what he’d become. But in respect for the king he’d once been, Druids cast a sleeping curse over him and buried him in the earth instead. Personally, Kiyo thought that was worse than death.
In the early 1700s, the Blackwood Coven found Fionn. They were a powerful North American coven obsessed with reopening the gate to Faerie. It took them two years, but they eventually broke the Druid spell and woke Fionn. They thought he’d be the one to help them open the gate. The ancient Irishman had plans to do that but only to take revenge on Aine. He waited, as a few others of his time had, for the fruition of a spell that Aine had cast before she closed the gate. She’d prophesied the birth of seven fae children born to humans who would have the ability to open the gate between worlds.
Rose Kelly had been one of those fae.
Fionn found Rose and wanted to use her to open the gate. In a twist of fate, Rose turned out to be Fionn’s true mate. Now he was determined to protect her and to protect the gate from reopening. He knew what the fae could do to the human world. Aine knew. That’s why she’d closed the gate in the first place. But the twisted fae bitch couldn’t help herself from toying with the supernaturals and the humans by casting that goddamn spell.
There were only three fae-borne left.
The now-dead leader of The Garm, a supernatural group made of vamps and wolves, who were religiously against the opening of the gate, had killed three of the fae before his death. He’d died at the hands of the fourth who had been turned into a werewolf by her werewolf mate and was now no longer a person of interest to those who wanted to open the gate.
At the head of that group was the Blackwood Coven. They’d been focused on Rose for a while, but she was extraordinarily powerful, as was her mate. So, for now, they seemed to have abandoned her as prey. They were focused on one of the two fae left. The second was an unknown. Not even Fionn knew who the last fae-borne was.
But the first was lying on the old mattress in front of Kiyo.
Niamh Farren.
Fae-borne.
Hunted by many.
Protected by few.
One of those protectors had apparently been her human brother, Ronan. And Ronan had been killed by an Irish coven hunting Rose Kelly.
Since then, Niamh had lost all sense of self-protection. She used her powers in front of humans, bring
ing attention to herself from the supernatural world.
From the enemies who hunted her.
Kiyo was now one of her protectors. Fionn was paying him a lot of money to be.
Protecting Niamh from her enemies was one thing.
Protecting her from herself was a far greater challenge.
2
The smell of bleach tickled her nostrils.
It was quickly overwhelmed by the more pleasant scent of earth and … something else. Like aged ambergris and smoke.
Fear flooded her.
She knew that scent.
The werewolf.
Her vision had led her to a girl in a music venue in Moscow. It was a vision of the girl being raped and then murdered. When she’d spotted the girl, and a human was harassing her, she thought he was the one she had to deal with. Until the werewolf arrived on the scene.
Niamh kept her eyes closed tight, feeling something soft beneath her body.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll explain everything once we’re inside. But first … apologies for doing this to you again.”
He was American.
At the venue she’d watched him approach the girl and could only make out a tall, well-built man with dark hair tied back into a top knot.
Her skin had tingled in awareness, the hair rising on her arms, and she’d realized he was supernatural. Watching him lead the girl through the crowd, she’d gotten the impression of broad shoulders, large, dark eyes, and a brooding expression.
It was only when she’d stepped through the exit door and sensed him behind her that she’d caught his base scent. Earthy, heady, like the soil after a rainstorm.
Werewolf.
The bastard had broken her neck. She’d healed quickly, waking up to discover she was not only in the back of the werewolf’s car and that she was the one he was after, not the girl, but that he’d done something to weaken her. Her limbs felt heavy and lethargic and as much as she tried to travel back to her hotel room, her magic wouldn’t work.
Then he’d had the audacity to tell her he wasn’t going to hurt her right before he broke her fecking goddamn neck. Again!
Niamh tried to twitch a hand, tried to focus on traveling from where she was, but it was even worse than it had been in the car. Her body felt so heavy and weak. She’d never experienced anything like it.
Realizing she couldn’t put off the inevitable forever, Niamh opened her eyes and found herself staring up at a cracked ceiling. There was a single light fixture in the middle but it wasn’t on. Yet warm light filled the room from various points. Lowering her gaze, she saw a doorway that led into a grubby-looking bathroom. Next to the doorway was, possibly, the world’s smallest kitchenette. Along from—
Her breath caught in her throat when she registered the walls.
Nailed to almost every inch were sheets of a silvery-gray metal.
Pure iron.
Feeling his eyes on her, Niamh’s flew to the right.
The werewolf sat, legs sprawled, arms relaxed on a worn armchair that might have been red once but was now a muddy brown.
He stared expressionlessly at her.
If it weren’t for his worryingly blank countenance and the fact that he’d kidnapped her, Niamh would think he was quite possibly the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. And that was saying something.
With his gorgeous fawn skin, large black eyes, broad nose, high cheekbones, thick black hair, and full-lipped mouth, it was hard to look away.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“My name is Kiyonari. You may call me Kiyo,” he replied casually, as if they’d met under normal circumstances.
With a name like Kiyonari, Niamh would guess he was Japanese. Japanese American if his accent was anything to go by.
“I reckon you already know who I am.” Her gaze flew to her hands. They were locked together with leather handcuffs but they weighed a ton.
Beneath the leather, those handcuffs were made of pure iron.
The wolf wanted to incapacitate her but apparently didn’t want to do any permanent damage. That should have been more of a relief than it was.
She’d had no vision of this man. It made no sense. Anytime she was in danger or someone she loved was, she’d always gotten a vision before it happened. Why not this time?
Who was he really?
With a smirk that belied her fear, Niamh pushed herself up into a sitting position with great effort. She had to rest against the wall behind the old mattress she lay on. Thankfully, it was the only patch of wall not covered in iron.
“You’re Niamh Farren.”
“So …” To her shock, she felt sweat bead on her forehead. The iron really did weaken her kind. It was her first experience with it. “Iron handcuffs, iron walls … Are you working for The Garm or the Blackwoods?”
“Neither.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. Niamh found herself held captive by his dark eyes. “I work for Fionn Mór.”
An image of the huge six-foot-six, suit-wearing Irish warrior king filled her mind.
But if he worked for Fionn, why had this bastard kidnapped her? “I don’t understand.”
“I know what you are. I know the whole story. I’m an old acquaintance of Fionn’s. When you started lighting up all over the map, playing Superwoman, he and Rose tracked me down. Fionn is paying me to act as your bodyguard and, more importantly, convince you to stop bringing attention to yourself.” His expression was mildly disapproving. “You do realize the Blackwoods think you killed their heir and his two sisters?”
Indignation stung. “What? I didn’t.”
“No. Fionn and Rose did. The Blackwoods kidnapped Rose against their father’s orders. Death was the consequence. But the Blackwoods were under the impression Layton and his sisters were tracking you. And since they died in Ireland, they’ve put two and two together and come up with you.”
“Fionn sent you because he feels bad for setting them on me?”
“I don’t know. All I know is he’s paying me a lot of money to protect you until the heat is off.”
Although it took effort, Niamh grinned.
Kiyo’s eyes narrowed on her mouth and he glowered.
Ignoring his apparently perpetual bad mood, Niamh said, “Fionn does realize that the heat is never off? Not even for him and Rose.”
“Yeah, but they’re good at hiding. You seem to have made it your mission in life to bring our world to the attention of humans. You’re not only pissing off the Blackwoods and The Garm but you’re going to piss off the councils and the Consortium. Never mind every supernatural on the planet who enjoys anonymity from the humans, or the human governments who don’t want their human citizens to know what they know.”
Ignoring that—because Niamh couldn’t really argue when he was right—she contemplated him a moment. “Fionn hired you to protect me … so you decided to break my neck, kidnap me, break my neck again, and handcuff me in a room lined with pure iron. Yeah, that sounds like someone whose word I can trust.”
“If I’d approached you, you’d have traveled before I could explain myself.”
“You don’t know that.”
“You’re telling me you wouldn’t have suspected I was The Garm?”
“To be honest, I’m still not convinced you aren’t. It’s probably that neck breakage and iron cage thing I mentioned earlier.”
“I’m not The Garm. For a start, I work for no one but myself.”
“You just said you work for Fionn.”
“He hired me. There’s a difference.”
“Is there? Okay, then. Why you? What makes you so special? Not to be a bitch, but when there isn’t a plethora of pure iron in the vicinity, I can pretty much kick the arse of any supernatural who comes at me.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen that.” He pulled out his smartphone and began scrolling. “Bran has been keeping me posted on your exploits these past few months.”
“Whose Bran?”
“Fionn’s friend. A vampire.
The information guy.”
Niamh’s head lolled to the side. Her eyelids were beginning to feel heavy. “What makes you so special?”
“I’m stronger than the average wolf. Smarter too.”
And more handsome.
Seriously, he was so bloody gorgeous, it was almost like staring at the sun. You couldn’t look at him without him blinding you with his attractiveness. But Niamh was never one to fall victim to a pretty face.
“Well, obviously, I’m going to need confirmation from Fionn and Rose that you are who you say you are.”
“That I can do.”
“And then they’re going to have to un-hire you.”
“I doubt they’ll do that.”
“Call them.”
Without a word, Kiyo hit a button on his mobile and then another, and a loud ringing filled the room. Loudspeaker. Niamh forced her eyes to remain open, trying to stay alert.
“I’m about to talk a very attractive blond and her equally, sexy-as-fuck boyfriend into coming back to my apartment, so this better be good,” a man with a thick Dublin accent answered.
“Bran, I have Farren, but she refuses to believe me until she speaks to Fionn.”
“You don’t have Fionn’s number?” she asked.
He cut her a dark look as Bran chuckled, having overheard.
“Let me patch you through. Say hello to my fellow countrywoman for me.”
Niamh smirked because it was obvious Kiyo had no intention of doing anything so congenial. A click sounded and there was silence, followed by a ringing.
The phone rang several times before finally someone picked up.
“What is it, Bran?”
“It’s Kiyo. Bran patched me through.”
“Have you found Niamh?”
Niamh’s eyes narrowed. Fionn had been stalking her for years, intending to use her to open the gate. Then her visions changed suddenly, and she realized Rose, one of her fae siblings (of a sort), could change the path Fionn was on. They were true mates. Niamh couldn’t tell Rose that for fear of changing her destiny, but she’d tracked Rose down to try to convince her that it was important she give her time and trust to Fionn to save the entire world—and Niamh herself.
