He stopped, his hand on the door handle, and for a split second she thought he’d come back to her, but then his spine and shoulders went rigid and straight. And she knew he would leave.
But he surprised her. With a muttered oath, he turned on his heel, marched back to her, and before she knew what he was about, he bent down and kissed her.
Hard.
It wasn’t an angry kiss. But it was a passionate one. Like he was drowning and she was his raft. Like he needed her to breathe, to feel, to be. And she kissed him right back because she felt all those things and more.
The kiss couldn’t have lasted for more than a second, but to her, it’d been earth-shattering. She sighed with pleasure, feeling like her body had just become a living flame full of heat and need.
And this time when he turned and left, she could only smile. His smell of pine was everywhere, and she inhaled it greedily.
Grace’s heavy exhalation finally made Flint turn away from the now-empty doorway with a quizzical look.
“Bloody berserkers.” Her grandmother sighed with humorous exasperation. “You’ve got that one hamstrung good and well, Flint.”
Abel was still missing.
Flint closed her eyes, sinking into the pillows as her head suddenly felt like a ten-ton weight on her neck. She’d hoped against hope that he’d been found. Flashes of that night came back with vivid intensity.
“Do you even think they’re still in Whispering Bluff? Wouldn’t seem smart of Layla.”
“No, it wouldn’t.” Grace tapped her fingers on her knee, her eyes distant and thoughtful. “And if she is anything, she is far from stupid. My gut tells me they’ve moved on, but we can’t leave until we know for sure. Right now, if anyone has seen or heard anything, they’ve not told us. Though I am certain that eventually we’ll learn of his whereabouts.”
Flint was sick to her stomach wondering about all the things that could be happening to Abel in the meantime. “I just hope that whatever they’re doing, it’s nothing to—”
After inhaling a deep breath, Grace said, “I’ve never been one to sugarcoat the truth, not even from those I love. You understand that Janet has begun to bond to Abel.”
“Yes.” Flint frowned, wondering what in the world that could possibly have to do with anything.
Her grandmother’s lips thinned. “Kanlungan are a different breed of demon. All demons bond, but theirs is unique in that not only can they feel what is happening to their bondmate, they can even sometimes see it.”
It was like someone had tied a millstone around her neck and pushed her over a cliff. Flint’s fingers tingled. “What are you saying?”
Grace’s blue eyes stared at hers unflinchingly. “Janet is not well, love. She writhes in agony day in and day out. I fear that whatever is being done to Abel, he may not survive it for much longer.”
~*~
Cain
Later that night, Cain found himself taking a seat in his father’s trailer to wait for him. He’d spent the past four hours scouring Whispering Bluff for any sign of drones. What few there’d been before, even those were gone.
It was like they’d all received a summons to vanish.
Cain knew that was about as likely as the sun deciding to suddenly stop shining. Layla wouldn’t abandon keeping tabs on them completely. There were drones in the area; it was just a matter of finding them.
Exhausted, both mentally and physically, he kicked out his leg, dropped his head into his hand, and sighed heavily.
Whatever else happened from here on out, at least Flint was safe. Grace had called to tell him Flint had been discharged several hours ago and was now at her dad’s apartment.
After ten minutes and Adam still not arriving, Cain dug into his drawer of goodies, pulling out an orange and setting about peeling it, then feeding himself one slice after another, barely even tasting the food.
When the door finally opened, he expected to see Adam, but instead it was Grace. She was struggling with a large, leather-bound book in hand.
Dropping the last bit of uneaten orange into the wastebasket, Cain got up to help her in.
Huffing with relief, she awkwardly handed over the large book.
“Where’s Adam?” she asked without preamble before shoving a loose thread of hair out of her eyes.
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I thought he’d be packing the big top by now.”
“No.” Steely-blue eyes that missed absolutely nothing darted around the circus’s main office before returning back to him. “I was just there. Anyway, I’m glad I caught you here as I’d hoped to speak with you too.”
Nodding, he tried to hand her the book back once she’d sat in the seat beside him, but she patted his hand and shook her head.
“Nay, son, that’s for you.”
He frowned. “What is this?”
Tossing up her hands, she gave him a stiff smile. “It’s a book from one of the Order’s archives. As it so happens, I had Katy acquire this volume before she came down several months back.”
Cain studied the strange book. And calling it that was a stretch really; it was actually more of an archaic tome. Thick and weighty, but unlike most books, there was no stenciling on the front to hint at its origin. Doing a quick flip through of it showed nothing but reams of empty pages.
She answered his unspoken question. “In truth, Cain, it’s not for you so much as for Flint. It deals with a”—she thinned her lips—“certain type of history.”
“It’s empty.” He scrunched his brows.
“No. It’s spelled. And will only reveal its secrets at precise moments, when the information is most needed.”
He’d heard of books like these. Mostly from his dealings with his mothe—he hardened his jaw—Layla. He refused to ever think of her as Mom again.
Books like these generally contained vital information about very specific sets of monsters. After a rash of thefts at the turn of the century, many of the Order’s books had been spelled to prevent any one group from learning too much about another subset of creature. And though he’d heard of these books, he’d never actually seen one before.
Now that she’d mentioned it being spelled, he could feel the shock of white magick tingling upon the tips of his fingers as he rolled them across the blank parchment.
“So what history is this? And why would Flint need it?” He cocked his head.
Licking her front teeth, Grace made her way gingerly to her feet. “I can’t stay away from the Order long; it would draw too much attention. I’ll be leaving tomorrow afternoon, and Flint will have many questions—questions I’m sure this book can answer.”
“Okay. But you still haven’t told me what history this is for?”
It wasn’t his imagination that she wouldn’t look him in the eyes suddenly. Grace was many things—a coward wasn’t one of them. She was keeping something from him.
“I reckon the only answer I can give to that is that it’s not my secret to share. Flint needs time, and no doubt she’ll be the one wishing to speak with you about this. Eventually. When it is time, the book will provide many answers.”
Pursing her lips, she turned on her heel. “I’m going to find Adam, talk to Rhiannon, and then I’m off to bed. If you’d like, I can let him know that you wish to see him as well.”
Setting the deceptively heavy book down on the desk, Cain walked around her to open the door. “He knows he’s supposed to meet me.”
“Okay then. Goodnight, berserker.”
She was halfway down the steps and he was ready to shut the door when she glanced at him over her shoulder. “Hurt her, Cain, and I’ll cut your balls off.”
If any other octogenarian had made that statement, he would have laughed. But not with Grace. Never with Grace.
Chapter 4
Flint
Grace had told her life would have to continue on as it’d been for the time being. Which meant going back to school tomorrow. To pretending that everything was perfect with her world a
gain, when in fact it was anything but.
Flint worried about not just Abel, but now Janet. For Cain. For Adam. For everyone who’d been caught up in this deception. She wanted to see her friends but didn’t know what to do once she did. She had no way to help them find Abel. She’d be useless in the extreme.
Everything was so wrong, and she was starting to shake from the enormity of what’d happened. Of all the terrible things that had been caused by Layla’s deception. All of it was now beginning to crash down around her.
Dad didn’t talk the whole drive home. Katy sat quietly in the passenger seat, staring out the side window as a sleeting rain fell.
When they got back to their apartment, Flint was stunned to see a home with barely any furniture in it anymore.
Her father came up behind her, placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, and murmured, “Tomorrow you’re moving into a trailer at the carnival. Your grandmother thought it would be safer that way.”
Then he was gone and all she could do was cry.
~*~
Lightning flashed. The sky looked as though it were about to be ripped apart by the hands of God. The ground shook and the wind screamed its rage.
A man of taller than average height stood like a bulwark upon the green slope of an emerald-dusted hillside. In his hand he carried a silver blade, gripping a hilt that was unlike any she’d ever seen before.
The hilt had silver wings that spread out on either side of his palm, and at its center was a helmet with eyes that glowed blue flame.
Rain soaked the grounds, pouring like water from the burst dam of the heavens. Locks of strawberry-blond hair fell like a curtain in front of his face, partially obscuring him so that Flint could only make out snatches, bits and pieces that were hard to decipher into something she’d actually be able to remember upon waking. The only thing she knew with any amount of certainty was that he had a long, jagged scar that trailed down from the corner of his left eye to his cheekbone.
He stood tall and proud upon that hill, dressed in nothing but buff-colored animal furs and skins. His amber eyes were hot and unyielding as they gazed upon the quivering, cloaked bundle kneeling before him.
Even knowing this to be a dream, Flint’s heart pounded violently when she watched the behemoth lift his blade and bring it down with unerring accuracy. Thunder clapped and Flint screamed.
Waking up an instant later, she clutched her sleep shirt, her brain taking a moment to realize she was now awake and not watching a head roll down a hill. Kicking off the sheets, she shook her head, trying to clear away the cobwebs of that dream.
It’d felt so real. The smell of ozone. The stench of blood. The loud thwack of steel cutting through bone. And the feel of rain lashing against her soaked body.
Rubbing her mouth with the back of her hand, she was about to get up and go to the bathroom when the sight of a sword lying in her bed stopped her cold.
With a muffled little shriek of sound, she tossed the pillow to the floor and stared with eyes gone wide at the exact same sword she’d just seen in her dream.
Jumping out of the bed, she couldn’t stop looking at the sword.
Why in the world was that lying in her bed? The very one that’d just been in her dream? Mind reeling from what it could possibly mean, she hastily picked up her cell phone and called Cain.
He picked up on the third ring.
“Flint?” he asked with a worried note. “What’s the matter? Are you okay?”
Shaking her head, she continued to stare at the sword as though it were a snake coiled up, ready to bite her. “I’m fine. But um, you wouldn’t happen to know if Grace is around, would you?”
“I saw her at breakfast.”
She could hear the frown in his voice. “Is something up? Do you need me to come over?”
She smiled. As much as she’d love for that to happen, dinner last night with her dad and Katy had been less than comfortable. No one had seemed to know what to say to one another, the conversation—stilted as it’d been—had quickly devolved into thick silence. Asking Cain to come here this morning was probably not the best idea.
“No. I’m good. I just wanted to ask her a question.” She nibbled on the corner of her lip, giving her bed some serious side-eye.
“Maybe I can help?”
She was about to tell him never mind, that she’d see him later, but she really honestly didn’t have a clue what to do here.
“I dunno. Maybe. So I went to sleep and this morning I woke up dreaming about a man holding his sword—”
“Flint, that sounds really dirty.”
Her lips twitched at her innocent double entendre. “You’re disgusting. I literally mean a sword, you pig.”
He laughed.
“Anyway, he cut someone’s head off, and now it’s in my bed.”
“The head?” he asked with obvious confusion.
“No,” she growled. “The sword. The sword is in my bed. I don’t know what’s going on here, and I’m afraid that—”
“Okay, first of all, princess, relax and breathe.”
She took a shuddery breath, aware that she’d let her panic peek out a little too much.
“You breathing?”
She nodded forcefully. “Yeah. I’m breathing.”
“Good.”
Flint wanted nothing more in that moment than to reach through the line and hug him. Just hearing the deep, even rumble of his voice made her feel ten times less frantic than before.
“Bring that with you when you come to the carnival later—”
Which wouldn’t be for several hours yet since she had to go back to school today. She couldn’t wait to graduate already.
“—meanwhile I’ll go see if I can find Grace and ask her what’s going on, okay?”
“Okay.” She said it softly, cradling the phone with both hands and rubbing her cheek against the receiver as though it were him and not some cold piece of soulless machinery.
Her heart squeezed at the thought of anything being soulless.
“Cain?”
“Princess?”
His deep bass voice wormed hotly through her stomach, and she inhaled deeply even as her throat squeezed tight.
There were so many things she wanted to say to him. To ask him. But none of them made it out. Instead all she could say was, “I’ll see you later?”
It’d definitely sounded more like a question than a statement.
He made a growly rumble in the back of his throat that spread like warm butter through her bones and made her toes tingle.
“I’ll be waiting.”
When they hung up, she held tight to the phone for several long seconds, only setting it down because the call of nature was too loud to ignore anymore. Once she’d done her thing, she yanked off all her clothes, turned on the shower, and was just about to step inside when she caught sight of something moving on her arm.
But when she went to flick it off, she was horrified to discover that what she’d thought was just a piece of black fuzz was actually a vine-shaped tattoo twisting from her elbow up her bicep.
Clutching the bathroom sink for support as the room suddenly decided to spin on her, she counted slowly to ten in her head, then turned on the faucet and slapped cold water onto her face.
Staring at herself in the mirror, she watched as the water ran like tears down her cheeks.
“You will not freak out, Flint DeLuca. You knew this would happen. You will not freak out.”
But it was a little hard not to freak out. She’d gone to bed a clean canvas and woken up with a thorny vine that actually looked like it was swaying and twitching like a sapling in a strong breeze.
Blowing out several deep, forceful breaths, she gave herself a final stern warning, then turned and headed for the shower. She had to get ready for school, and if the only change her fae bloodline would force on her was a tattoo, then she was getting off easy.
The bar of soap slipped through her hands twice before she got done with her shower. B
ack in her room less than ten minutes later, she headed for her closet to look for something to wear.
The nerves eating away at her gut made her want to tell her dad that she suddenly didn’t feel so well.
But considering she’d just woken up from a weeklong “death,” that was probably the last thing he needed to hear right now. Just the sound of the word “sick” would send him into a panic.
Katy had spent the night.
Flint wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
Tossing yet another pink cami over her shoulder to the floor, she stared at a closet full of clothes she knew she’d never bought. The stuff was hideously pink, which let her know her dad had probably made a last-minute run for stuff since she’d never be caught dead in an ankle-length dress with frills and a slip.
Nibbling on the corner of her lip, she rolled her left foot and stared at more clothes than she could possibly need and none that she actually wanted. Most of it was sleeveless too, which once upon a time she would have liked, but thanks to the stupid tattoo and all the questions that would come from it, she wanted to hide her arms as much as possible.
“Where’re all my old clothes?” she groused, growing crankier by the minute.
“Knock knock.” A feminine voice followed a gentle knock on her door.
Flint closed her eyes as Katy’s lemony scent of dish soap and floor cleaner followed in her wake. Shoulders tense, she hiked the bath towel tighter around her still-damp body and shoved a wet strand of hair behind her ear.
“Flint, we haven’t had a chance to talk yet.” Katy’s words were even but firm as she slowly closed the bedroom door behind her.
Realizing the woman had no intention of leaving until she spoke her piece, Flint reluctantly turned and leaned against the wall as Katy took a seat on the corner of her bed.
This overnight stuff didn’t seem like such a casual thing. Not like she would have once hoped. Flint had been shocked to note several personal feminine items in her father’s bedroom last night.
She hadn’t meant to go rummaging through her dad’s bathroom, but she’d run out of TP, and once she’d opened the cabinet beneath the sink it was like she’d become possessed. There’d been two bags. One black. One red. The black one had been full of hygiene products. Toothpaste, brushes, makeup, deodorant, that sort of thing. The red bag had been full of clothes. But neither of those things had freaked her out as much as finding an unopened box of tampons.
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