Reluctant Adept: Book Three of A Clairvoyant's Complicated Life (16 page)

He folded his arms. "The timing of your seduction is troubling. The part-blood Vince was, if not your lover, at least a man you cared for. When you thought me a demon, you sought my help to get him back from Maeve, in spite of the danger inherent in such dealings. Yet, after Kieran lent you his power, you cast that relationship with Vince aside, almost without second thought."

"That's not true! I … he …" I blinked, aghast. "Vince chose Maeve over me. He bound himself to her. Kim confirmed it. Vince didn't want me. He …" I shook my head. "Kim said he wouldn't want to leave the Otherworld, even if I'd found a way to get there. Because of his sidhe-blood, Maeve would open up things for him that I never could."

"She used her glamour and abducted him.
Maeve
—a more than three thousand year old sidhe with questionable motives." Tíereachán paused to gaze at me pointedly, the atmosphere rife with the dismal truth. "The choice may have been his to accept her bond, but he didn't stand a chance."

I stared at him, horrified. He was right. I'd abandoned Vince. I'd let my feelings of rejection rule me and left him to his just desserts.

Shame, as pernicious and insidious as a foreign parasite, wormed through me, stoking my guilt until I could barely tolerate myself. Trembling, I pressed my palms to my burning eyes and turned away. "God … you're right. I deserted him there. He … he … probably needed help … and I turned my back on him." I dropped my arms to my sides and clenched my fists. "What the hell was I thinking!"

"For fuck's sake," Fisk snapped. "Even when he takes the time to educate you, you're still clueless. Weren't you listening? Kieran enthralled you."

I laughed, and the ugly sound grated even my ears as I whirled around to face him. "You got that right, but Kieran didn't need magic to do
that
. Ten years without intimacy was more than enough."

"Doubtful," Fisk scoffed. "Your past history amply demonstrates that you're protective to the point of lunacy."

"My past? You've been keeping tabs on me?"

He shrugged. "What interests King Faonaín interests my lady. Not that it matters. Knowing you, you won't be satisfied without definitive proof of the Deceiver's meddling. Lucky for us, that's easy enough to supply."

I frowned at him, wondering why he'd become Mr. Helpful. What did he have to gain by proving or disproving that Kieran had enchanted me? I already looked the fool, no matter which way things turned out. Either I was a naif who'd fallen for a con artist, or a touch-deprived sex fiend too obsessed with her new bedfellow to spare a thought for a friend in need. Honestly, both scenarios were so repugnant, so altogether painful, I wanted to ignore the whole miserable business. Go home. Become a recluse.

But I knew I couldn't bail out. Not for anything. Julie and Steven and the rest of their party guests were in grave danger. I had to save them, neutralize Lorcán, and ensure Vince had the chance to come home. But to do those things, I needed to pull myself together.

Priority one:
Steal the draíoclochs.

No problem. Half-way there.

Priority two:
Go to the amhaín and learn how to harness my adept abilities in less than three days.

Was this remotely possible? No clue, which is why I had to get my hands on one of those
draíoclochs
. My new motto was 'hope for the best, plan for the worst.'

Speaking of worst …

Priority three:
Break Maeve out of the king's prison before dawn on Wednesday.

Just the thought of helping that treacherous excuse for a sidhe made my skin crawl, but unless I found another more palatable and foolproof way to deal with Lorcán's threat, there wouldn't be a choice.

But I'd figure that part out later. Right now, I had to be sure I could follow through without interference, not from Kieran, not from anyone.

I was anxious to get going, but if Kieran had snared me with magic, if something lurked inside of me, just waiting to control my actions … there was no question—I wanted it neutralized immediately
.
Besides, Tíereachán and Fisk thought the whole reason for stealing the draíoclochs was to prevent King Faonaín from sending the Hunt after us when I rescued Kieran. They had no idea that I wanted one of those
draíoclochs
for myself. Although, I'd be lying if I said that I didn't want to at least speak with Kieran—to confront him. And I couldn't do that if I went weak at the knees at his command.

Straightening, I swallowed hard and glared at Fisk. "Fine. You said the proof of this enthrallment is easy to get. How do we go about it?"

Fisk's eyebrows went up and he glanced at Tíereachán.

His prince scowled back at him. "Easy enough, perhaps. Convenient … no."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I smothered the urge to tap my foot.

"There are those who can sense the aftereffects of even the most subtle of enchantments—an
animtùr
, some healers. But Fisk and I are neither."

"What's an
animtùr
?"

"Aura reader," Fisk supplied dismissively. He turned back to Tíereachán. "Wade."

Tíereachán thought about it, eying me. "Possibly. But not all healers are so nuanced. And even he is several hours away."

Apparently Wade was a healer. Interesting.

"
You
could," Fisk said scathingly. "If she'd— "

"No."

The sharpness of his response left little room for argument, but unsurprisingly, Fisk ignored it. "You know damn well, without proof, she'll insist on continuing this ridiculous charade. She'll want to see him." Fisk scowled in my direction and added, "No doubt to
rescue
him."

"He isn't completely wrong," I admitted, drawing another surprised glance from Fisk. "If Kieran did this … if he enchanted me, I have to know. Not just because it affects my decision of whether or not to speak with him, but because, if he didn't do it … it means …"

That I'm shallow and weak-minded.

It meant I'd been too consumed by my lust for Kieran to be concerned about Vince. Or, worse, that I was I so petty I'd deliberately left Vince in Maeve's despicable hands as punishment for rejecting me.

These were things I could hardly find the courage to consider, much less voice. But I knew that if I didn't learn the truth, the doubt would eat away at me. I'd end up spending half my time questioning my motives, not to mention the motives of anyone who might express an interest in me. Anyway, we had hours yet before the telepaths' alarm clocks went off, and thanks to the weekend, most would be sleeping in.

"For my own sake, I have to know." I narrowed my gaze at Tíereachán. "What did Fisk mean? You could do it if I did … what?"

"It's irrelevant," he replied, his voice as firmly set as his jaw.

"Obviously it isn't. But why hide it from me?" Suddenly nervous, I asked, "Will it hurt or something?"

As the silence grew, I examined him. He stared at me before shooting Fisk a silent
shut-the-fuck-up
directive that I wanted to smack off his face with the flat of my hand.

"Oh,
hell
no," I blurted. "You're not going to pull that silent crap on me. That's something Kieran would do, the whole lying by omission bullshit, and I'm sick of it." I stalked closer, until I was a foot away, staring at him brazenly. "Tell me. What do I have to do so we can figure this out?"

Maybe it was the Kieran comparison that did it. Tíereachán's eyes flashed defiantly. "Accept my blood. Strengthen our connection."

I blinked.

Okay … I'll admit, I wasn't expecting that.

His expression turned scornful. "
Exactly
," he said, as though I'd announced to God and everyone that there was no way in hell I'd ever consider doing such a loathsome thing.

Except, I didn't think being tied to him would be loathsome. That wasn't it at all. For some reason, the thought of getting closer to him scared the bejeezus out of me. Precisely
why
the idea made me so uncomfortable, I couldn't say. Heck, I was already bound by a blood covenant to my building's house djinn. So what was the deal with Tíereachán? I knew he'd never hurt me and I knew he was honorable, but thinking about a formal blood connection made something inside me clench so tightly, I found it difficult to breathe. I wanted to explain it, but what was I supposed to say when I didn't understand my own feelings? They didn't make any damned sense.

I considered his flinty narrowed eyes. My reluctance to strengthen the bond between us had told him,
you're not worthy of my trust
. And, in spite of his brash demeanor, that had bothered him. Maybe even hurt him. Here was a man, a sidhe, who had never lied to me, who'd gone out his way to educate me, who'd risked unthinkable horrors to provide me with the clues I needed to fight his master, Azazel. Just hours ago, he had rescued me from a room full of über-vampires. Yet, repeatedly, I'd returned his kindness and courage with distrust.

"You've never lied to me. Not once," I said. "You've risked your life to save mine. Twice."

I frowned. "And … I can't believe …" I drew in a shaking breath, almost too stunned to speak. "Oh my God. What the hell is wrong with me? You've done so much, you saved my life … and I … I never said thank you." I shook my head, my eyes widening in slowly dawning horror. "I never even fucking said thank you!"

How could I have been so utterly self-absorbed? I don't think I'd ever felt as low as I did at that moment. I'd been wearing blinders, ones that allowed me to see Tíereachán's sex appeal, cocksure mien, and little else. I could hardly believe I'd been so callous. It was as if, for the past three weeks, I'd been walking around as a different person. And she was a self-centered brat who I didn't like one bit.

"I'm sorry," I choked out.

"You have nothing to be sorry about," he said fiercely. "I allowed pride— " He clenched his jaw before he released his breath in an angry huff. "If I hadn't kept my distance, I'd have noticed the signs sooner. I'm the one who should— "

"Don't," I burst out. "Don't even think about being sorry. Because you don't even
know
, okay? All of this could be me, not Kieran at all. Just
me
!"

He clipped out something in Silven, but I had the sense that, although he held my gaze, he wasn't directing the words at me but at himself. Fisk's incomprehensible reply sounded similarly aggravated, even though it was pretty clear Tíereachán hadn't addressed him either. Fisk was just piling on.

After a moment, Tíereachán seemed to remember himself, shaking his head and relaxing the set of his shoulders. "It's not you, Lire. You've been deceived. I'll prove it, if you can find it in you to trust me." In a blink, his magic sword appeared in his right hand and he sliced across the heel of his left. Blood welled in the narrow wound. "Remove your glove."

"You'd strengthen our tie?" I asked, astonished. "Even if it's not what you think? You'll be stuck with a shallow, clueless, fu— "

"Stop," he said. "Give me your hand."

Hesitantly, I removed my glove and extended my left hand, which, despite my trembling, he cut as efficiently as he'd sliced his own. I gasped at the bite of pain, but I could see that the wound was marginally worse than a paper cut. What was it about shallow cuts that made them so painful?

His sword disappeared, and he clasped my hand in his, our wounds together, mingling our blood. "Lire Devon, I offer you the gift of my blood as proof of my solemn and enduring promise. I will now and in the future dedicate myself to the protection of your well-being. I will cause you harm neither by action, nor inaction, nor deceit. I will defend your person with all I possess or I will die in the trying. This I bestow freely, without coercion, demanding nothing in return, save your blood equally shared. Do you endorse this oath, which is gladly given in the spirit of lasting friendship? Speak thrice your consent and it will be so binding for as long as we both shall live."

I swallowed. "Whoa."

"Is that a yes?" He stared down at me with a small, amused smile that, for a scant second, eased his grave expression.

My heart thundered as I considered his promise. Everything in me said to back away. I shivered enough to make my teeth chatter and my stomach seized so acutely, I pressed my free hand against my abdomen for relief. But there was nothing nefarious in anything he'd said. I'd paid close attention. It was an oath of protection and a promise to do no harm. And, curiously, with the way he'd worded it, accepting his blood didn't even obligate me to that same oath, which struck me as unfair. Although, in truth, I didn't need to be compelled by blood oath to protect him. As Fisk had already pointed out, I defended what was mine—friends, family, whatever—sometimes (okay, most of the time) without thought for my own safety.

Gritting my teeth to keep them from banging together, I glanced at Fisk, who gaped at our bloody, joined hands. I wasn't the only one who'd been surprised by Tíereachán's bold move. Fisk had been the one to suggest the idea, but now that I considered his growing frown, I wondered whether he hadn't expected his prince to go for it. Or, maybe, it was my compliance that troubled him. Maybe Fisk had suggested strengthening our bond because he assumed I'd spurn Tíereachán's offer once again. Was that his game? Was he trying to drive a lasting wedge between his prince and me?