Was being in Aduaal changing her somehow? Not just physically, because that was obvious, but was it going to make her want to stay? Was that even possible? Being in a place shouldn’t make anyone want to stay or do something against their will, but this wasn’t just any place either. There was old magic running through here, stuff she couldn’t understand.
Was it really true that a part of her wanted to stay?
Her brain screamed no, but a tiny fissure of doubt was spreading like poison through the pit of her stomach. Surprisingly, and without even realizing it herself, she had begun to enjoy Idris’s company, enjoyed the weirdness of this room and the way she felt somehow spiritually whole since coming here.
None of which meant she actually wanted to stay though… right?
For today at least, there would be no sudden epiphanies. With a heavy sigh, she turned on her heel and marched toward her wardrobe. She’d not opened the doors before, not really caring about clothes considering all that had happened since arriving here. And as lovely as this robe was, it hadn’t exactly made running after Idris easy on her either.
There were two outfits swinging on hangers inside. One was more military spec in style, heavy with lots of pockets for places to hide weapons in, and the other reminded her of the pants suit she’d worn in a vision.
All black, it was that ninja-looking outfit she’d been in when her sneaky grandfather had first reached out to her through mind-walking.
She grabbed for it, then quickly slipped it on. She had to keep glancing down at her body to make sure she actually was wearing clothes. It was so light it felt like she wore nothing at all. Her arms were bare, once again putting her vines on full display.
They bothered her less and less. The fae were all so unique and different that she no longer stood out; she was just like the rest of them. Bizarrely beautiful.
“Whoa,” she breathed the moment it dawned on her where her thoughts had headed. Shaking her head, she muttered, “I don’t want to stay. I’m not gonna stay. You hear that, Grandpappy, I’m not staying! So you can just go to Hell.”
An arc of lightning exploded just behind her, causing the ends of her hair to fly up every which way. Yelping, she jumped clear of the singed floor.
Okay, that hadn’t been creepy at all.
But just in case, she decided there’d be no more putting of The Ciardah on blast. At least until she learned whether that’d been him or just a freaky coincidence.
Rubbing at her tingling bum, she decided she really didn’t need shoes after all and ran to find Idris instead.
But she stopped dead in her tracks the moment she stepped off the carpet that lay beneath her bed. Because she was no longer in her awesome, musty library.
Her reality had shifted once again, and she was now standing in an unforgiving landscape of gray rock and hot, oozing magma.
“Shoes.” She winced, regretting her decision immediately. Where was the forest with all the soft grass? Whimpering with each step she took, she was mentally cussing Idris out in her head.
“All right, you rotten jerk, where are you?”
Heavy winds raged at her, buffeting against her back. The obsidian stone was surprisingly smooth beneath her feet and not as hot as she’d feared it would be with spiderweb trails of lava scattered everywhere.
The sky was dark and gray, and there wasn’t another soul around for miles.
But Flint quickly amended that thought when she felt the heavy press of a steel blade shoved into the small of her back. Idris leaned over her shoulder.
“Today we master skill.” And then he shoved her forward so that she nearly tripped.
Her hands were flung out in front of her, and she screamed as she slammed down hard into the rock, missing a vein of lava by mere feet.
Hissing, she shoved to her feet and wiped at the scarlet trail of blood dribbling down her cheek.
Eyes scanning like a hawk’s, she turned, waiting for the next surprise attack. Freaking Idris could go invisible—she’d forgotten that.
Which suuuucked big-time.
As she twirled, she mentally catalogued her weapons. She had her rose claws. But if they were as lethal as Idris said, she didn’t want to run the risk of seriously injuring him.
“Too slow,” he boomed, and then sharp pain exploded through her left bicep.
Crying out, she glared down at her arm that now blossomed red with blood. He was cutting her for real. “I thought you said this was practice! That’s it!”
Whipping out her hand, she called the Sword of Truth to her. The sky erupted with thunder and lightning, and the cold press of that glorious blade rested heavily in her palm.
Gripping its hilt, she gave a cocky smile. “It’s on now, jerk face.”
But once again, Idris got the drop on her, even with the sword in her hand. He came at her from the side, but just outside the range of her peripheral vision, and dragged his axe across the hem of her shirt, neatly shearing off a ribbon of it. It fluttered to the ground like a dark feather.
“You’re overthinking,” he snarled, “and not doing.” This time he stood in front of her, his amber eyes aglow with flame and his golden hair whipping around his head so that he seemed bigger than life.
“I am doing,” she hissed, then swung her blade overhand, the blow swift and sure, and would have lopped his head off if he hadn’t lithely stepped aside with blurring speed.
He laughed, the sound great and booming, matching the tenor of her lightning and thunder. He was enjoying himself.
“No, you’re reacting. Stop reacting. Start feeling.” He pressed his palm to her chest, and she hissed, wanting to smack it off her breast, but once more he’d vanished.
On and on it went for what felt like days but must have only been hours. Her arms and legs were fatigued, and that’s when doubt began to set in.
She was never going to catch him.
Heaving for breath and coated in sweat, she finally conceded defeat and stopped. “I can’t go on,” she panted.
Immediately the scene shifted, and she was once more back in her room, standing in her library. Well, not really standing so much as leaning heavily on the hilt of her sword for support.
He kicked the weapon out from under her, catching it neatly in the air and growling. “Treat your weapons with more respect than that. You never shove the tip of the blade into the ground. This is a hallowed fae artifact; it breathes and lives. To earn its respect, you must treat it with respect.”
She’d nearly face-planted because of his little stunt, tripping into the armchair and stumbling haphazardly onto the cushion. Glaring at him, she was about to say something scathing, but the glimmer of glowing blue steel sealed her lips.
And here in this strange world full of magic and possibility, she knew he was right. She’d felt life in her blade the first time she’d called it to her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered and really meant it, humbled and a little ashamed of herself for not thinking about that on her own without needing to get chewed out by Idris for it.
Idris laid the weapon gently across her lap, and for a moment Flint worried that maybe the sword would hate her now, or not want to work for her, but she sensed a pulse of warmth flowing from it straight into her.
It’d forgiven her.
“You may rest now,” she told it, and in a brilliant flash, it was gone.
Idris was crouched in front of her, not a hair on his head even out of place.
“You could at least have the decency of pretending you’re as tired as me,” she grumped at him.
A ghost of a smile flitted across his lips. But he was once again all serious as he said, “You’re at a great disadvantage in this skill set, darkling. Unlike most of us, you’re only half fae. Which means the human side of you hinders your full potential.”
“You make that sound bad.”
He shrugged. “Here, it is.”
And it was just that simple to him. To a fae, humans were nothing more than ants. Peons w
ho meant very little to them.
“If humans are so pathetic, then why in the hell do you mate with us? Why did The Ciardah take my grandmother’s virtue if we’re so inferior?” she snapped.
His amber eyes gleamed, and she couldn’t move as he lifted a hand to her cheek, gently brushing aside a clinging bit of hair. “Because you are warm, full of life, and for a rare and brief moment in the shortness of your lives, incomparable beauties.”
It was kind of hard to breathe with him staring at her as intently as he was, and it wasn’t that Flint didn’t see that zombie boy was obviously hot, or that he was impressively skilled in a way Cain never would be, but…
Lifting a brow, she tilted up one corner of her mouth. “You’re speaking theoretically, of course.”
Snorting, he dropped his hand. “Of course.” And she knew the moment he was back to being his drill sergeant self because his face became a hard, implacable mask as he said, “You lack focus, halfling.”
Glowering because she’d tried her hardest to focus, she pursed her lips. “Kind of hard to get all Zen when every time I tried to slow down you were slashing and cutting me.”
And she totally had the cuts to prove it. Her body was tacky with blood and now aching on top of everything else.
He shook his head. “I had ample opportunity to destroy you. I went as easy on you as I could. But your opponent won’t.”
So there was definitely the possibility of death at the end of this rainbow. Just peachy.
Cain would freak if he knew what kind of situation she’d gotten herself into.
“So how do I focus?” She toyed with the shredded hem of her garment and curled her nose. The outfit was ruined. She sighed.
“I tried to show you, but you didn’t listen.” And just like before, he palmed the spot just above her left breast. But there was nothing sexual in the touch. “You listen with this and with this.” He tapped his hand other hand to her head. “Heart and instinct. You are strong, darkling. Tap into the deep wells of power stored within you. Only that way can you hope to succeed.”
She brushed his hands off. “And if I don’t? If I can’t figure this out by the day after tomorrow?”
He shrugged. “There are only two choices left. You concede and become our stag. You and your male. Or you die.”
“I don’t think I like those choices.”
He grabbed her hands and squeezed. “Then for your sake, learn quick. We haven’t much time left. Now”—he stood and stepped back—“bathe, eat dinner, and get some rest tonight. Try not to let the mirror lure you in. Tomorrow is our final day, and I have something special planned for you.”
“Oh goodie. Can’t wait.” As if he hadn’t already been putting her through a grueling pace.
The smile was back on his face. “Whatever you do, Flint, do not use your vines to heal yourself. Let them recharge. You’ll be at your strongest if you do not tap into them during training.”
She hissed as she wiggled on her seat. “What?” She’d been dreaming about taking a dip in the massive bath while being cocooned in a cloud of ivy.
He winked. “Rest up.”
Then he was gone.
She stuck her tongue out at him. “Jerk.”
But the massive room was empty, and with only her own thoughts for company, she was lonely. Flint tried to take her mind off the burgeoning reality of just what she had to face right around the corner.
She hadn’t been nervous at first, but she sure as heck was now. Her bath only lasted half an hour, if that. Without being able to heal herself, it hurt too much to sit in the scalding water.
The spread of food that magically appeared the moment she re-entered her library was very quickly inhaled. And then there was nothing to do but sleep.
Which of course proved impossible because she’d never been good at sleeping when she was so wound up and nervous. She briefly considered going for a jog, maybe doing a little parkour, but quickly dismissed that idea the moment she made to stand and her muscles screamed out in protest.
In her defense, she did close her eyes and try to catch a catnap, but all she could think about was Abel. He’d been very aware when she’d tapped into his mind. Aware and scared. He had no idea what was going on and had seemed shocked by his transformation.
She wanted to visit him again but wasn’t sure what she’d say to him if she did. What words of assurance could she give when she wasn’t even sure she’d be able to pass this gauntlet?
Growing up, she’d always been the girl who could handle any kind of challenge. Walk a tightrope? Sure, no problem. Do it blindfolded? Of course! Scamper like a monkey from building to building… C’mon, where was the challenge?
She’d always been better, faster, and more able. And then she’d gotten involved with Adam’s circus, met Cain, and realized there were people in the world faster, stronger, and more able than her.
Until her past had been awakened, and once more she’d felt the equal of her friends. But here, practicing against Idris, she felt sick and unsure.
He was stronger, faster, and she was scared she was going to fail.
The mirror appeared before her. She hadn’t called for it. Or maybe subconsciously she had, because immediately her eyes zoomed to the glass and her heart screamed out to reach through the divide for Cain.
She didn’t need the glass to spirit-walk, but it helped her focus and concentration.
Flint almost went to him. She was sure he was waiting to hear from her, but then she tried to think just what she’d say to him and no words came to mind. Tears clogged her throat and heated her eyes.
It sucked to admit it, but after today, Flint was scared. All this was on her shoulders. Winning this gauntlet was only the first part; she also needed to figure out how to bring Abel’s sanity back, and then on top of all that there was the whole Armageddon issue to deal with if she did by some miracle manage to solve problems one and two and get back home safely.
Sighing deeply, she realized there was only one person she really wanted to speak to now, and it wasn’t her boyfriend slash mate slash whatever he actually was to her now.
Looking back at the mirror, she closed her eyes and conjured the image of Frank DeLuca to mind. His warm eyes, his chipped front tooth that peeked out when he smiled broadly, and the way his forehead and mouth would crinkle at the corners when he did it.
The darkness in her mind slowly rolled away, like fog fading over still waters, and a pinprick of shining golden light burned like a beacon before her.
She reached out a hand toward it, whispering “Dad” as she did so, but unlike the times she spirit-walked to Cain, she couldn’t seem to get close enough to the light to enter it.
“You can’t talk to him right now, Flint.”
She screamed out in shock and surprise at the strong male voice in her room. Opening her eyes, she stared wide-eyed at Mr. Grim Reaper himself.
Dean was dressed in his typical fashion of Gucci loafers and steel-gray suit. Tricolored eyes sparked with amusement.
“What the eff are you doing here?” She squeaked, glancing around as though she’d been caught dipping her hand into the cookie jar.
She totally hadn’t done anything wrong, but Death brought out her defensiveness.
“I’ve hidden him.”
“Why?” She knew immediately he was talking about her father.
Sitting down in the chair opposite her, he crossed his long legs and made himself very comfortable, looking like a king reposing at court.
There wasn’t actually much about Dean that wasn’t larger than life—still didn’t mean she was comfortable with him though.
“Because there are lots of bad guys in play right now, and I felt it was safer this way.”
“Safer for whom? For him? Who’s after him?”
His brows twitched. “For you, Flintlock.”
Grr… The nicknames, always the nicknames.
“You’re a major player in my game, and he’s only human. I figured you’d be
happy about that.”
Well, when he put it that way. “So no one can find him?”
“No.” He shook his head. “The last thing I want is you worrying about the life of your very human father while dealing with”—he looked around as he flicked his wrist—“all of this.”
“Do you swear he’s okay?”
Inhaling deeply, he leaned forward, one arm resting heavily on his knee. “I never make promises to anyone. Just ask Pandora if you don’t trust me.”
His eyes danced as though with humor and she really didn’t have a clue what he meant other than the fact that Pandora must also be a big player in his endgame.
“But…” His brows twitched. “I vow it. He is safe from everyone.”
Blowing out a heavy breath and full of nerves, Flint almost felt like crying with relief. It hadn’t dawned on her just how worried she really was about her father’s safety until that moment.
“Thanks. That was nice of you. Too nice. Why?”
Chuckling, he shook his head. “So much like your grandmother.”
She snorted, not sure if that was a compliment or a bass ackwards insult.
“Because I find myself in a very unusual situation, Flint DeLuca. Untrod territory, you could say. I’ve got all my pieces in play you see”—he wiggled his fingers—“but you’re my dark horse. I can’t quite see what’s going to happen with you, and I don’t like that.”
To be sure, she didn’t know much about Death. But she didn’t like the sound of that.
“So you can usually see the outcome of events?”
“Probables.” He nodded. “I can see many variables. Choice creates mathematical probables. I can narrow down the likelihood of an outcome depending on the equation, you see.”
All Greek to her. Everything he said, she didn’t understand any of it, but she pretended she did and nodded enthusiastically. “I see.”
He snorted. “No, you don’t. But the thing is, in the fae world my ability to see into the beyond gets blurred. I need you to survive here, Flint. But not only that, I need you to thrive. And of course I need you to recover Abel.”
The Complete Tempted Series Page 71
