Terry turned his hand in Maelduin’s, just enough to set the diffuse light gleaming along the curves of the Croí na Dóthan. “How long do you think its warmth will last?” He looked up, into Maelduin’s eyes, and brushed away a strand of hoar-frosted hair. “Maybe if we trade it back and forth, we can both—”
The ring vanished from Terry’s finger.
“Merde,” Terry whispered.
Maelduin’s gift didn’t translate. It didn’t need to.
The wind howled again, like a bean sidhe scenting death.
“Fuck you, and the night-mare you rode in on,” Maelduin murmured—no need to shout, when the wind was as close as his own skin. He wrapped his arms more tightly around Terry, drawing the human’s head down to rest against his shoulder, and closed his eyes. “Hold tight, lán’ghrásta.”
Neither of them saw the scattered silver-blue light of the wellspring flare up as the barrier melted away. And no one—not even the wind—saw them disappear.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Shit! Get him away from the wellspring!”
The glare Lasair shot Conall would probably have set fire to anyone who wasn’t a master mage. However, no one argued with Conall when he used that tone; Kevin, and everyone else except Coinneach, stepped back to let Lasair maneuver Bryce’s unconscious form past the sprung-flooring sample roiling with sharp-looking flecks of silver-blue light, toward a pool of blessedly ordinary light created by one of the lights clipped to the studs marking where the walls of the studio were eventually going to go.
The reason for the tone was obvious to anyone who could see magick—Lasair was carrying Bryce the same way he’d once held the Marfach clear of the ground, with a channeling he’d once used on obstreperous adult Fade-hounds in the Realm. And whatever was going on with the wellsprings was triggered by magick. Not so much by elemental magick, and Lasair’s channeling had a bit of Fire bound up in it, but the wellspring was all riled up just the same.
Lasair hauled Bryce to the back of the framed-in studio space and settled him carefully on the floor. “There isn’t even supposed to be a wellspring in here,” the Fae muttered, kneeling beside Bryce. “Whose good idea was that?”
Cuinn cleared his throat. “That would have been the good idea of Tiernan’s vengeance-minded nephew, newly arrived from the Realm.”
If the circumstances had been even slightly less dire, Kevin probably would have laughed out loud at the look on Lasair’s face. They’d all worn their own versions of that look a few minutes ago, when they’d heard Cuinn’s voice for the first time in months.
Lasair, though, recovered quickly from the shock, apparently having other things on his mind. “When the dragon knocks down the gate, the wolves rush in behind it. Bryce collapsed in our hotel room when something happened to the Marfach; we decided to come over here and let you know what had happened in person, but he screamed and passed out cold in the taxi.”
And you held it together long enough to get him here. Fae love—even a Fae’s love for quite possibly the most thoroughly unlovable human on the Eastern seaboard—had been enough to enable Lasair to overcome the bred-in-the-bone Fae terror of enclosed moving conveyances.
Conall knelt beside Bryce, motioning sharply for Rhoann to join him. Bryce had already refused Rhoann’s brand of magickal healing once, and Lasair looked ready to enforce his scair-anam’s wishes, but changed circumstances—
“What the feck?”
Rian was holding his hand out in front of himself, staring at the Croí na Dóthan, encircling his finger as if it had never left.
Cuinn took Rian’s hand in his own, studying the ring. “You said it went off with Maelduin?” he asked no one in particular.
Josh nodded. “To keep him warm, most likely. Him or Terry.”
“Well, I could see it stepping away to let the nexus guardian’s would-be murderer freeze to death.” Cuinn didn’t look displeased at the prospect, and Kevin caught himself nodding in agreement.
“But not Terry.” Josh spoke quietly, firmly.
“No. Not Terry.” Cuinn looked back over his shoulder, to where Coinneach stood silent guard over the wellspring. And the air was filled with shadow and moonlight, a sharp gust of wind rattling the leaves of unseen trees.
Coinneach nodded and closed his eyes. The wind rose, then died.
And a cloud of wicked-edged magick rose in the circle of the wellspring, with two men lying in the middle of it.
No. One man, and one Fae. Both rimed with frost, huddled around each other.
“Off the wellspring!” Conall’s voice snapped like a whip.
Maelduin scrambled to his feet and helped Terry up. No, he didn’t scramble—he flowed, graceful as water.
Shit. They must have Shared. Kevin’s teeth ground together as Maelduin and Terry stepped down from the low platform. Maelduin’s arm was around Terry’s waist, and Terry’s hand sought Maelduin’s; ice broke and fell from their clothing and hair, melting to leave puddles on the concrete floor.
Conall eyed the disturbed magick suspiciously; only when he was convinced it was subsiding did he turn to Maelduin and Terry. “Is the Marfach dead? Or gone?”
“Gone, as far as I could tell.” Maelduin shook his head, sending ice and water flying. “We were in a pit of ice. I climbed out of it, and there was so little to be seen, I’m certain I would have seen it if it had been there. And there were bits of its flesh and blood frozen to the ice.”
“It Faded.”
The slurred sound of Bryce’s voice and his feeble attempt to sit up were possibly the only things that could have taken everyone’s collective attention off the newly returned pair. Everyone’s attention but Kevin’s, anyhow; he was all ears, but there was no way he was taking his eyes off his husband’s sworn killer.
“I don’t think so.” Conall sounded dubious at best. “Its substance is human, and humans can’t Fade—and I’ve already force-Faded the whole monster a couple of times, so even if it had a tolerance for it, it wouldn’t risk a voluntary Fade.”
Groggy as he was, Bryce still managed a weak snort. “Your theory is impeccable. But I don’t think the Marfach gives a fuck about your theory. It Faded. Trust me. And unless I’m sorely mistaken, it survived the experience.”
Several groans greeted Bryce’s announcement. “It could be feckin’ anywhere.” Rian’s Belfast cadence was grim. “We’re at war, and we’ve no notion where the enemy is.”
“It’ll be a long time recovering from this. Just a gut feeling.” Bryce ignored the groans, and what sounded like his scair-anam smacking him. “Sorry-not-sorry. If I don’t laugh, I try to hand myself my stomach. I prefer laughing.”
“We’re safe for a little longer, then.” Tiernan didn’t sound particularly alarmed. The way he was studying his nephew, though, left Kevin feeling more than merely alarmed. “Hopefully we can spare at least a few minutes to clear a few things up.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Kevin hissed.
Tiernan rested his crystal hand on Kevin’s shoulder, in a way that took him back to that first night in Purgatory, the first step in a short intense dance of seduction. This time, there was no gentle brush of lips against his ear, but the voice he loved was just as soft. “He’s a Fae, lanan. He’s not just going to forget about an oath.”
Kevin’s throat felt tight. “I know. But couldn’t we pretend for a few minutes?”
* * *
Terry didn’t like the way Tiernan was looking at Maelduin. Not hostile, not exactly, unless you thought a butcher looking at a choice side of beef was hostile.
“Maelduin, what’s going on?” he whispered.
It took him a second to realize Maelduin was giving Tiernan exactly the same look.
“It’s… complicated, lán’ghrásta.” Terry could almost feel the effort it took for Maelduin to tear his gaze away from the other Fae.
The other Fae. Merde. How many of the people he knew weren’t human?
“I wouldn’t mind the short-form
explanation.”
Maelduin chuckled absently. “Since you ask… I have devoted my life to finding and killing my father’s murderer, who is also my father’s brother. Since coming to your world, though, I have learned that my father violated my mother, and was also her brother. And Tiernan…”
“Is the Fae you’ve been looking for,” Tiernan finished, seeming to ignore Terry’s open-mouthed shock. “Which means we have some unfinished business.”
No one seemed happy with this announcement—not Tiernan, not Maelduin, and most definitely not Kevin, whose beard-shadowed face bore a distinct resemblance to a storm cloud.
Instinctively, Terry stepped between Maelduin and the others. He took both of Maelduin’s hands in his, holding them so tightly his own hands shook and looking up into his Fae’s blue eyes—faceted eyes, he’d seen that for the first time after they’d Shared.
“Lan-ghrásta—”
“No. Not yet. Let me talk.” Maelduin’s face, so like Tiernan’s, had reassurance written all over it, and Terry wasn’t ready to be reassured.
“As you wish.” Maelduin’s lips brushed Terry’s forehead.
Terry took a deep breath. “You’ve asked me to accept a hell of a lot in the last few days. Or, well, maybe you haven’t exactly asked me, but I’ve had to accept things just the same. That there’s a whole world next door to mine that I’ve never had any reason even to imagine existed before. That a man who seemed to appear in my studio like magic really did appear magickally. That the most incredible man I’ve ever met is really a Fae who wants to marry me. That there’s a monster out there somewhere so vile and so dangerous I ended up getting sent to hell—”
“Antarctica, actually. Or so the others say.”
“Same difference. Sent to Antarctica because the alternative was risking letting ultimate evil loose on the world.”
“I agree, m’fein. My own. It is too much.”
“No. No, it wasn’t. It isn’t. I’ve seen it, felt it, it may sound crazy but it’s all real. But… this?” He gripped Maelduin’s hands tighter, until his own knuckles went white. “Now I have to believe that you’re here because you’re sworn to commit a murder. You’re going to murder my landlord. Because he murdered your father.”
“He damned well isn’t,” Kevin growled.
Maelduin’s gaze never left Terry, but one blond eyebrow went up. “I was just going to say that, actually.”
Terry didn’t dare look away from Maelduin to discover the sources of the gasps behind him. As far as he was concerned, as long as Maelduin was looking into his eyes, Maelduin would forget all about being a murderer, or maybe being murdered himself, since Tiernan didn’t seem to be the type to take an attempted execution lying down.
“I’m curious.” Tiernan’s voice came from somewhere over Terry’s right shoulder. “I’ve never seen a Fae go back on a blood oath before. What changed your mind?”
“An oath sworn for the sake of a lie is no true oath.” Maelduin gathered Terry close, cupping his head in one hand, caressing his cheekbone with his thumb. “And I prefer living for a truth to killing for a lie.”
Living for a truth. He means me. Us. Terry held his breath, listening to Maelduin’s heart beating under his ear. Us.
Maelduin cursed, flinched, stepped back. Terry smelled smoke.
“Elirei!” Conall snapped, and from the way Rian reacted, Terry guessed the word referred to him. “Can you do something?”
The smoke was coming from the scabbard of the sword Maelduin wore at his waist; Rian strode forward and reached toward it, then snatched his hand back as though he’d just touched a live wire. “Not a thing. That’s no Fire magick.”
“It’s setting my scabbard on fire well enough,” Maelduin offered mildly, trying to ease his leg away from the dangling leather and firmly moving Terry to his other side.
“Maybe I can—”
An arc of energy, a nearly invisible warping of the air, fountained from the hilt of the sword, and even Terry stepped back—urged by Maelduin, an instant before the arc found his hand. Maelduin cursed, his arm trembling with some great effort.
And then he went silent—everyone did—as Maelduin’s sword hissed from what was left of its scabbard and flew, literally flew, into his hand.
Tiernan was the first to find his voice; a voice eerily like Maelduin’s. “I’m going to venture a guess that it won’t allow you to put it down.”
Maelduin opened his hand and flexed his wrist. The sword stayed put.
Tiernan sighed. And Terry realized that for the first time, he was seeing his Fae landlord without gloves, as a crystal long-knife seemingly grew out of a left hand formed of the same crystal. Crystal that moved, and gripped the blade as if it were still part of the hand.
This is not good.
Conall cleared his throat. “Bryce, do you think you can make it upstairs to our apartment if the rest of us help?”
“Why should I—”
Tiernan didn’t look at the ruffled investment banker; his attention was all focused on Maelduin, with an intensity Terry had never seen before. “This dance wants space.”
And then he did look away, his eyes pleading with Kevin. “Go with them, lanan.”
“Like hell I will.” Sweat beaded on Kevin’s brow, and for a second Terry wondered if the lawyer was going to be sick.
Come to think of it, he wasn’t feeling too well, himself.
Maelduin took Terry’s hand, stroking the back with his thumb, as the other Fae, and the humans other than Kevin, made their way to the door and Coinneach simply vanished in a breath of wind. “You should go, too.”
A glib remark lurked just behind Terry’s lips, eager to get out. I wish you’d told me you were this crazy before I agreed to marry you. But he couldn’t speak. He just looked up into Maelduin’s bright blue eyes and shook his head.
I’m not going to leave you. Now, or ever.
That one wouldn’t come out either. Damn.
* * *
This isn’t happening.
As usual, reality wasn’t listening to Kevin; he slumped back against what he hoped was a solid section of drywall, as Terry lowered himself to sit on a spool of heavy electrical cable near the opposite wall. And Tiernan, his scair-anam, his husband, his Fae, his heart, tested the heft of a blade of living Stone and calmly eyed the scian-damhsa who had spent his whole life becoming a weapon with a single purpose.
Kevin didn’t want to watch, but didn’t dare look away. And closing his eyes was out of the question; every time he was stupid enough to do that, his premonition swept back over him, inescapable and smothering.
Don’t leave me. Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare.
“You don’t want to do this.” Tiernan spoke calmly, with a touch of ironic humor.
“I do not.” Maelduin lifted his sword in what might have been a salute, or might have been one last futile attempt to let go of the thing. “But I seem to be left no choice in the matter.”
“Then scian’a’schian let it be, until blades no longer thirst.”
Kevin wanted to make it stop—he could feel himself move, feel his body lunging forward, stepping between the two blades before they could meet, forcing them to acknowledge the idiot human who refused to let his husband and his husband’s nephew kill one another. But he didn’t lunge. He couldn’t move. He watched, instead, as two beautiful predators touched blades, silver ringing against crystal, and then stepped back to take one another’s measure.
The two circled, marking out the boundaries of the irregular space with their feet. Learning the bounds of the arena. Once they’d made one circuit, Kevin was sure either one of them could have made another blindfolded.
Tiernan crouched slightly, waiting. Kevin thought he understood—a long knife wasn’t an offensive weapon, not against a sword. Why didn’t you bring your damned sword?
He’d only seen one sword in his vision. His premonition. Whatever the hell it had been.
Maelduin feinted, drawing Ti
ernan out—leaped, landing soundlessly behind him, like a cat, sword raised. Tiernan pivoted, catching Maelduin’s blade on the hilt of his knife, changing the shape of the knife to let the sword pass harmlessly down the hand-guard and away.
You weren’t expecting that, were you? Kevin smiled grimly at Maelduin’s startlement. But the other Fae wasn’t startled nearly long enough; he stepped back and circled, his gaze locked with Tiernan’s, the harsh illumination of the clip-on lights glinting off his sword.
This can’t be happening. Wait, I already know that.
Maelduin bore down on Tiernan with a flurry of cuts and slashes, each barely but perfectly blocked, turned aside. Kevin drew back as the two males passed him, trying not to make eye contact with Tiernan, not wanting to distract him. But Tiernan saw, just the same. And he smiled.
Don’t leave me. Don’t you dare.
Kevin stopped breathing. He was pretty sure his heart stopped beating, as the combatants closed with one another. Steel and truesilver rang against crystal; bodies strained together, parted, clashed. Every time Maelduin stepped back, Kevin tensed—a knife fighter had the advantage in close. A sword was a distance weapon by comparison. And Maelduin had fucking long arms, and knew how to use them to advantage.
Maelduin’s jaw clenched; with no more warning than that, he moved in, one viciously efficient cut after another after another. Tiernan caught each one on the indestructible Stone blade and hilt of his knife, slowly giving ground. Maelduin followed, inexorable.
Across the room, a pale and shaken Terry looked ready to dive into the fray himself. Maybe if we both do it… it would distract them, at least—oh, shit!
Maelduin had backed Tiernan up nearly to the edge of the wellspring; Tiernan stopped, knowing he’d fall if he took another step back, and Maelduin raised his sword high. Before Kevin could react, Tiernan dove toward the other Fae, tucked, and rolled, twisting impossibly as he rolled to come to his feet facing Maelduin’s unprotected back.
Jesus, lanan, end this—
Stone Cold Page 24
