Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 171450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 857(@200wpm)___ 686(@250wpm)___ 572(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 171450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 857(@200wpm)___ 686(@250wpm)___ 572(@300wpm)
The top layer of her that she hated to shed for fear of being hurt that way again. That only Graves had truly penetrated deep enough to see past it. Gen and Ethan had always loved her despite of it, but Graves loved her because of it. Saw the darkness and bathed in the moonlight with her.
“Niamh,” she snapped. “Stand the fuck up.”
And for a second, magic wrapped around Niamh. Not much. Just a line of golden glow that radiated for a second before dissipating.
Both of their eyes rounded. They jumped to their feet. Niamh grasped Kierse by the hands.
“That was almost it!”
“Oh my God!” Kierse screamed, and then they jumped up and down in a circle like kids. “I can’t believe I did it.”
“What did you think of?”
“How terrible my life was growing up and how…Graves accepted me just as I am.”
“Well, I don’t normally support dark emotions as a form of magic, it makes everything really problematic later if you can only rely on your anger to feed your magic, but a win is a win.”
“A win is a win,” Kierse agreed.
And somehow that had drained her.
“I feel like that took all of my energy.”
“New magic is harder,” Niamh agreed. “You should go home and relax. Try again when you’re replenished.”
“That’s a good idea.” Kierse released a long breath.
They headed out the side door of the bank and onto the empty Brooklyn streets. The chill settled into her immediately. New York always hit its stride in October. The trees were changing colors, fall temps were in full swing, and everything felt better without the blasts of heat and just the gradual reminder of the snow-crusted sidewalks to come.
“Kierse,” Niamh said, when they reached her building. “I didn’t want to suggest it, but…Lorcan.” Kierse winced. “I know the history between you two, and you know the history between us. I took his throne, but I can’t hate him.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“I’m his robin.”
“I know,” Kierse said thickly. Of anyone, she knew exactly what that felt like. She was always first Graves’s wren. She belonged in that way to the Holly King. And Niamh would always in some way belong to the Oak King.
“I know that we’re doing all of this to get the stone to break the bonding.”
Kierse nodded once. “Ultimately.”
“You should talk to him about that.”
“He already knows that we want it and why.”
“Yeah, but…he forced this without talking to you. Don’t you think you should talk to him before breaking it? Even if you do it anyway?”
Kierse clenched her teeth. “I was trying to avoid him until it was over.”
“You can’t avoid him,” Niamh said. “You belong together as his soulmate as much as you belong with Graves as his wren. The world gave you a fucked-up hand, but it is what it is. Don’t you think he should have a chance to do the right thing?”
“You think he knows how to break the bond?”
“I don’t know if he does. He would have never even looked with Saoirse, but what if he does?”
“He’d never do it with me, either.”
“Maybe. Just set it right before you do it. That’s all I’m suggesting.”
Niamh squeezed her hand and then disappeared into the Druid headquarters that she had stolen right out from under her Oak King.
Kierse hated that she was right. Hated that she should have thought of it all along. Not that she was looking forward to this conversation. She hadn’t seen him since she’d gone back to Graves. Had made a promise to herself that she wouldn’t.
“Hey, can we meet?”
Lorcan’s response was nearly immediate. “You know where I am.”
His apartment. Bad idea.
“Coffee? That place we met that one time?”
Lorcan was silent a beat too long before saying, “You could just come here.”
“Take it or leave it.”
“Every crumb you offer, love.”
Chapter Forty-Five
The entrance to Third Floor was open.
Kierse stared at Grand Central Station as monsters poured into the black market under the city. A vampire delegate stepped out of the entrance to a roar of fanfare. Roland Batiste—the head of the vampire syndicate, Quint’s father, and the Andersons’ enemy—greeted onlookers like a king.
Humans scurried out of their wake as Kierse watched in rising horror. This was what the world had turned to. Honoring mass murderers in public. She had flashbacks to the Monster War and shuddered as a hand rested on her shoulder.
“We should get out of here before it blows up,” Lorcan said.
She had felt him approaching but had been momentarily paralyzed by the display. “It’s horrible.”
“Those who want power will never be content with the dregs,” he said sagely.
She knew he was right. Hated that there was nothing they could do about it. So she let him guide her away from the Third Floor entrance and inside the coffee shop. The place was a step past dingy with cheap red booths and a long counter for regulars to sit on hard, rotating stools. They passed a collection of pies in a glass container before commandeering a booth.