Flint’s mouth dropped. “You know? But how? I haven’t even had a chance to tell anyone yet.”
“Och, lassie, you’ve been out for a week. The kanlungan saw the queen’s face. That is where everyone is right now, trying to track down any leads they can to the hive queen.”
Well, at least it was nice to know she hadn’t been forgotten.
Fluffing a blue-veined hand down her skirt, Grace said, “Now, I said I had a story to tell and I do. So do not interrupt me further.”
Flint gave a sharp salute before cramming another half a pie into her mouth.
“When you were born, Becca visited a witch who crafted an inhibition spell on you. Basically suppressing the true nature of your heritage.”
She nibbled her lip, not wanting to interrupt again… but. “I don’t get it.”
An irritated sound emitted from Grace’s throat. “Basically that means, lass, that she made it so that you were mostly human. You’d have lived and died a human. Period. But your power was strong. Stronger even than Becca’s. It is why you had the athletic abilities you did. Why you could run and move like a wraith. It was that ability that Layla clearly locked on and why, no doubt, she had the royal guard bite you. But the witch was a level ten. Meaning the strength of the spell was nearly as powerful as you yourself were. So while the guard’s bite unlocked a bit more of your powers, that’s as far as it would have likely gone had you never received another one.”
“But what exactly is in Layla’s bite that could have done that to me? And why, if you knew I’d been bitten once before, didn’t you send out a gaggle of guards to watch over me and make sure it didn’t happen again?”
Grace’s look was quelling. “That is not no talking. Though those are fair questions, so I’ll answer as best I can. The Order keeps tabs on all sorts of monsters. We’d known of the hive queen for years, though at the time no one knew it to be Layla. Not even us. Which rankles, to be sure. We did, however, know a wee bit about the queen. In that her chemical makeup is unique to other creatures we’d studied in the past. She was different. Vastly different. There were qualities about her that were very human and yet… not. We never understood how the two could coexist. Now we must assume that Layla’s geneticist background played a huge role in how she was able to change the human parts of her DNA just enough to straddle the line between a mere mortal and a monster.”
Flint thought back to the conversation of the mouse with the ear growing on it and felt dumb for never even seeing that as being a dead giveaway to who Layla really was. Then again, no one else had either.
“As to the ‘what’s in the bite’ question. We are not sure chemically, but we do know that a bite from the queen to a mortal also alters their DNA, twisting them into something rather horrific. Sort of a bee-reptile-vampire sort of thing. Quite nasty. If you’d been merely human, you would have suffered the same fate. But fae DNA is altogether a different and alien—some would even call it magical—unknown. When the guard bit you, rather than turning you into a drone, she unlocked just a hint of your true DNA codex. However, it was the second bite that has now begun to cause you to revert to your true state. And as to why I didn’t place you under protective guard, Flint, to be frank, I was never the one in favor of masking who you really were.”
She gasped. “Are you telling me that you knew this would happen to me?”
Grace didn’t look in the least bit apologetic when she shrugged. “I didn’t know. As I said, we had no idea who Layla really was. But am I sorry this has happened to you? No, I’m not. You are who you are, and you should be proud of that. I am.”
“What exactly do you mean by true state, then?” Shivering, Flint glanced down at her arms. They looked the same as they always had. White, slightly hairy, thin while yet being muscular. Wiggling her toes, she realized she’d not sprouted hobbit feet overnight. That was a good thing. “I feel the same.”
“Well, lass, you aren’t. And I reckon that within a few days’ time to a few weeks’ time, the suppression spell will wear off completely.”
“Who will I be then?” she asked with her stomach in knots.
Grace’s eyes were kind. “I dinna know, love. That is the thing of the fae, you can have an entire clan that is related that look completely dissimilar. Some of them glorious, others quite monstrous. And it’s really a crapshoot who’ll be who.”
“Considering that I’m the girl who can walk through a parking lot on a clear blue day with only one bird flying in the sky and twelve friends surrounding me and I’m the one the bird craps on really doesn’t make me feel that great.” She chuckled, but inside she cried.
What if she became a monster? What if she grew horns or a tail, or God forbid, became just a giant green blob that looked more like a wet booger than a once-pretty girl? Her jaw trembled, and the piece of pie she still held in her hand dropped like a stone to the bed, squishing against the sheets.
Grace was by her side just a moment later. Sitting down on the edge of the mattress, she wrapped her arms around Flint and hugged her tight.
“We’ll get through this together, child. I promise.”
She clutched at the back of her grandmother’s gown and nodded, burying her face into Grace’s neck. She smelled like peppermint and Bengay. But Flint needed the hug, so she stayed put.
Wiping the wetness from the corners of her eyes, she gave her grandmother a watery grin. “So if Mama was half fae…”
“Halfling,” Grace corrected her.
“Halfling, okay then. If Mom was a halfling, then that means I’m only a quarter fae. Wouldn’t that make me lame as far as fairies go?”
“If your grandda had been a leprechaun, perhaps.” Grace snorted. “But you’re royalty, Flint, and even a drop of royal blood makes you altogether unique.”
Once that might actually have made her smile, but the thought that she might still turn into a squishy booger sort of squelched the need to buy a tiara.
“Then why do you say I’m so much stronger than my mom?”
Grace laid a palm against her chest. “Strength of spirit, child. Yours is a brilliant wash of gold.”
Not knowing what to say to that part, she squeaked out, “Do I really not have a soul?”
Even the demons at Diabolique had souls.
The fear laced behind the words must have been heard by her grandmother, because the cantankerous old bird’s features softened and she smiled gently.
“Ye don’t need a soul to be kind, to be sweet, to be wonderful. Having a soul can be terribly overrated, child. Being soulless simply means that someday when your soul has aged and your body grows old, you won’t go to either Heaven or Hell but will return back to the earth from which you were created. And then you’ll be reborn, as all fae are. And you, my love, come from most excellent stock.”
35
Flint
Flint was going to ask just what she was. Who she was really, but when the door was flung open all thoughts fled.
Cain stood in the door, his eyes glowed a purest red. She could see their burn even underneath the dark shades he wore.
His hair was mussed, he had a bit of scruff on his jaw and throat and was still dressed in mostly black, but gah, she totally didn’t care.
Her heart was pitching like a ship in a storm-tossed sea and the monitor was going crazy.
“Cain,” she breathed at the exact same moment her grandmother said it.
She wasn’t sure she wanted him to see her considering all the revelations her grandmother had made, but he was here now and her traitorous heart forgot to be afraid when the only thing she now felt was blissfully happy.
He walked to the bed with a purposeful stride and grabbed her hand, and the touch of his callused thumb brushing against her heated flesh almost made her purr out loud.
If it wasn’t for the fact they had an audience, she might just have hauled him down by the collar and kissed the soul right out of him. Looking at him now, how scruffy and tired he looked, how worried he clearl
y was, she had no idea how she’d survived the first seventeen years of her life without knowing him.
Cain dropped a hard kiss to her palm. Then, yanking off his glasses, he pressed her hand to his stubbled cheek and inhaled a trembly breath.
“Flint.” His voice cracked. “Flint.”
Flint chanced a glance at her grandmother, who was making a concerted effort to study the layout of the Good Housekeeping magazine sitting on the empty chair beside her.
“I’m okay, Cain,” she whispered. “I’m here.”
Nodding, he never took his eyes off her. Red eyes that had once made her feel terror and fear now made her feel loved and needed.
Funny how near-death experiences could change things.
Sitting down next to her, he dropped her hand but began to absently rub her sheet-covered knee over and over again.
It tickled a little, but there was no way she was telling him to stop either.
“Sorry, Grace,” he murmured, glancing over at her grandmother, who held up a restraining hand.
“Not to worry, Rager. I halfway expected it. How goes the search today?”
He shook his head, and Flint bit her bottom lip to try to stop from smiling. Because they were talking about looking for Abel, but Cain was with her. He was safe. And right now that was all that mattered.
“Not good. What few drones we’ve found in the area know nothing.”
Flint lifted a brow. She was very aware of how Cain got the drones to spill their secrets. It usually involved his big hammy fists meeting their faces.
Unable to keep from touching again, she rubbed his forearm. He didn’t turn to look back at her, instead leaning into her touch a little. His familiar scent of pine was like a warm hug she’d desperately needed.
“Then you should go back. As you can see, Flint is fine. The search for Abel must take precedence at the moment.”
His square jaw set into a hard line, and Flint wanted to rail at her grandmother for saying that. But as much as she didn’t want to agree with her—because she’d missed Cain like crazy—Flint also understood Grace was right.
She was safe.
Abel wasn’t.
That reminder pricked at her heart, turning her happy smile into a frown.
At some point Cain must have turned back to look at her. That small quiver of her jaw must not have passed his notice; he closed his eyes as a visible tremor tore through him.
“Flint.” The way he said her name, like a prayer, like his hope, it made her heart ache. “I had to see you were okay for myself. I lo—” He sniffed and clenched his jaw.
Her pulse pounded violently in her ears as she waited for him to finish his sentence.
He loved her? Was that what he’d been about to say? Was this the bond at play? Or was this Cain really feeling these things? Her head hurt all of a sudden.
He nodded. “I’m glad you’re safe, Flint.”
Standing, he glanced between the two of them before slipping his glasses back on. His eyes were now mostly red but with a vein of blue around them. He turned to go without a good-bye, without even looking back.
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.”
The Complete Tempted Series Page 37
