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)
“No,” she whispered in horror.
“It would be fitting to have him finish you off, but I need you alive yet.”
She couldn’t process what it meant that Amberdash was the Fae Killer. The sword had told them that Kingston was the Fae Killer. Hadn’t it?
“None of that matters,” she lied. “You getting one over on me, or Amberdash. You’re always doing it to try to fill that empty hole in your chest, and do you know why, Jason?”
He chuckled. “You can give me your best shot.”
“Because nothing ever will.” She curled her fingers around her thigh. “You will never have what you’re looking for. No amount of money or power or attention is going to make you anything less than a little man playing at god.”
Jason reared forward as she had known he would. He’d taught her everything he knew. But not everything she knew. He had her on her knees, bloody and bruised, and despite her words, he thought that he’d won.
So as he lunged toward her, she pulled her father’s knife from the slit in her skirts. His forward momentum was met with her own shove upward as she drove the knife into his chest.
Jason’s eyes widened as the wet squelch came from his chest. He looked down to see the handle buried in him.
“You’re no god, Jason,” she told him as she yanked it back out and held it to his throat. “You’re just a man, and you’ll die like one.”
She slit his throat.
Light left his eyes, and he fell backward, dead.
Casey ran around from the driver’s side, his eyes shocked as he stared at his dead boss. Kierse didn’t know if she had it in her to fight him, too. But there was a gasp, and then Casey was at Jason’s feet, pulling his dead body into his.
A keening cry came from him. Not Jason’s name but, “Sansara! Sansara!”
Chapter Fifty-Three
Hands were on the cuffs.
“Hey, hey,” a voice said as another pair of hands lifted her chin to look up at him.
Thunderstorms. Gray, wicked clouds. A barely restrained hurricane threatening the world.
“Graves,” she whispered.
“Yes, that’s right. It’s me,” he said.
“This is fucking barbaric,” another voice said.
She found Lorcan at her feet. He was working on the cuffs. “You came.”
Lorcan chanced a glance at her. Cerulean blue turned dark and teeming. Dangerous waters to cross at night. Drowning waters. “Of course I came. I always will.”
She nodded once, accepting this as fact. He’d proven that to be true time and time again.
“Brannon, look at these,” Lorcan demanded. For once, the name didn’t sound like a taunt, but like an old friend he could rely on.
“We’re going to get these off,” Graves promised before directing his attention to her wrists. He hissed at the sight, and she closed her eyes so she didn’t have to think about it.
“These are ancient,” Lorcan said.
“Where did he get these?” Graves said. She couldn’t see either of their glow of magic, but they must have been working on it. Together. The only thing that would bring them together.
“Amberdash,” she informed them. “He sent Jason to kidnap me.”
“Another object from his trove,” Graves growled.
Lorcan’s voice dipped lower. “It looks like she broke her thumb to get them off.”
“I’m fucking aware.”
“Her wrists.”
“Lorcan!” Graves snarled. “Would you stay present right now?”
Lorcan went silent. Back to work they went.
“Is he really dead?” Kierse asked in a whisper.
“Yes,” Graves said simply. “Jason is dead.”
“Good.” She sighed with relief at that.
She looked down at Graves and Lorcan, shoulder to shoulder at her feet, holding her wrists like they were precious jewels. “If you bludgeon them, they’ll come right off.”
Lorcan winced. “That will further damage your wrists.”
Graves said nothing. It wasn’t even an option.
“I’ll heal. Just get them off.”
She wanted her magic back. Hell, she wanted the bond back. At least she’d feel something again.
“Together,” Lorcan said, nodding at Graves.
Magic hit the cuffs hard enough that she felt it as the iron bit into her harder. She sobbed, doubling over in pain, but the cuffs slipped off her wrists. Her magic returned to her in a slow slurry, the bond on its heels.
“Little songbird,” Lorcan soothed into her mind.
“There you are,” Graves said. He cradled her damaged skin as if he could find a way to fix what had happened to her by touch alone. But they were going to need a healer and soon. “Can you move? Do I need to carry you?”
“I can walk,” she said.
But as soon as they tried to lift her up, she collapsed backward into Lorcan’s chest.
“You can’t walk,” Graves said, scooping her up as if she were a ragdoll. She cradled her burning wrist against the front of his suit. A sniffle escaped her as the pain continued to press in.
“My place is closer,” Lorcan said.
“She needs to see Niamh,” Graves said. “We’re going to meet her.”