Reluctant Adept: Book Three of A Clairvoyant's Complicated Life (17 page)

Fisk became aware of my scrutiny and his eyes narrowed. Any second now, he'd say something scathing about being blood-bound to a human. But he remained silent, his expression growing more angry by the second.

And then I realized it wasn't the blood oath that drew his ire, it was my lengthening hesitation. He thought I'd gotten cold feet.

Despite Tíereachán's years of enslavement to Azazel, Fisk was ready to defend his prince. He was loyal, something that surprised me, given his argumentative attitude and perpetual sour mood. Maybe Tíereachán would be accepted by his mother's people after all. The thought filled me with hope.

Even though I disliked him, knowing that Fisk endorsed Tíereachán's offer made me feel better about accepting it. In the face of his malevolent glare, I couldn't help but smile.

When I turned back to Tíereachán, my delight floundered at his grim countenance. I tweaked his hand, which had grown notably slack within my grasp, and shook my head. "So ready to assume the worst?" I chided. "I guess I can't blame you."

I tightened my grip, the answering sting of my wound a physical reminder of our purpose, and ignored the surge of unease that washed through me. "Yes, Tíereachán, that's a yes," I said, replying to his earlier question. "More than a yes, because, along with my blood, I make you the same promise, even though it's something I would have done anyway. From here on out, I promise to protect your well-being and cause you no harm, either by action, inaction, or deceit. I will defend you with all of my skills or die trying because you are my friend and my life wouldn't be nearly as entertaining without you in it. But don't take that to mean I won't kick your ass if you do something stupid." I shot him a disapproving glare.

He snorted. "Very well," he replied. "I acquiesce, now twice spoken. How say you?"

"Twice now, I accept."

"And thrice, do I. How say you?"

"Thrice, I accept."

No sooner had the final word left my lips than a tremor of magic coursed through me, distinct and resonant, reverberating deep in my bones, as though I stood atop a train tunnel at arrival time. When the momentary feeling passed, I stared at him anxiously, waiting for him to do …
something
. Whatever it was that would prove beyond a doubt that Kieran had or hadn't used magic on me.

After several seconds of feeling nothing untoward, I frowned up at him. "So, uh … what now?"

His grip loosened but he didn't release my hand. He turned it palm up, raised it to his mouth, and, without preamble, licked a long, languid stripe along the line of my wound. The combination of the crisp, stinging pain, along with his direct stare and the feel of his flexing tongue as it slid over my skin coiled things low in my body, driving a gasp from my throat and a spike of alarm straight through to my toenails.

When he'd placed our palms together to mingle our blood, I figured it would be enough to inaugurate our oath.

Apparently not.

I yanked my hand but he held it firm as he tsked at me. "Calm down. I won't bite …" He smirked. "Unless asked." He arched a single, supercilious brow and offered me his own bloody hand. "The moment of truth, my dear."

My already queasy stomach lurched and my gaze jumped from his bloody hand to meet his half-lidded eyes.

The oath was one thing, but now, I had to … lick him?
Taste him?

Oh, no. No, no, no. Not happening.

And not simply because it was way too intimate and therefore scared the crap out of me, okay? There had to be
ample
reasons to refuse … if I could come up with any.

Or, even,
one
.

The recent hepatitis C outbreak sprang to mind, but thankfully, rational thought kicked in before I made an ass of myself mentioning it.

Sidhe lived long for a reason. Not only were their bodies impervious to the ravages of advancing age but they were also immune to human disease. And, according to Kieran, there were very few sidhe illnesses. Even the effects of poisons tended to be short lived.

"It's rather …
earthy
this way, I know," Tíereachán said, dryly, "but I seem to be fresh out of chalices at the moment."

Was he trying to put me at ease? If he'd hoped to lighten the mood, it hadn't worked. It jerked me right back to the issue at hand, which, incidentally, awaited half-a-dozen inches from my chin, bloody and unwavering at the end of his extended arm.

Or was his sarcasm due to my hesitation and anxious expression? Since he'd once again donned his cocky, self-assured persona, it was difficult to tell.

Not that it mattered. I couldn't help the way I felt. Just the thought of drinking someone's blood from a cup was enough to make me squeamish; licking it directly from the source was a whole different kettle of fish—particularly when that kettle looked like Tíereachán. Because, let's be honest, it wasn't the blood that was the problem here.

Jesus. Only you would get worked up over licking a guy's palm during a blood ritual.

It's his hand, not his dick, scaredy pants. Shut up and do it!

My hand trembled as I grasped his outstretched fingers, reluctantly pulling his open hand toward me. Smeared blood coated his taut skin. It had pooled along the length of the shallow wound and settled darkly into the creases that intersected the center of his palm. Now that the lines stood out so starkly, it was clear that the pattern wasn't quite human. Different, yet so similar, I mused, which rekindled my theory that the sidhe occupied a branch somewhere on the human evolutionary tree. For weeks now, I longed to broach the subject, but I knew better. Anything that hinted at likening the sidhe to Neanderthals would never be a welcome discussion. But with such intimate access, I couldn't stop myself from wondering whether our two species weren't as genetically different as the sidhe wanted us to believe. How else could we interbreed?

Okay, maybe not the best time to be thinking about breeding.

Focus, Lire.

I shook myself. After a quavery breath, I lowered my head, touched the tip of my tongue to his wound, and gave it a tiny, tentative swipe.

When the nip of salt and metal invaded my mouth, completing the circuit, magic exploded through me. Potent and electrifying, its addictive power filled my core to overflowing, prompting the sharp taste of electricity to mix with the copper already on my tongue. The pungent tang of ozone stung my sinuses as though I'd pressed my nose to the inside of a copy machine. Before I could sneeze, a riot of conflicting emotions assailed me—elation and regret; confidence and jealousy; satisfaction and frustration; joy and self-loathing and … anger.

This was him. All him. This whole time I thought he was so self-assured, so cocky and emotionally untouchable. But he wasn't! What kind of friend was I to not notice?

I looked up from Tíereachán's hand, the taste of his blood still lingering on my tongue. As soon as my eyes locked on his, desire slammed through me, a solid, scalding surge that swooped low, catching my breath. Briefly, it overshadowed everything, until, just as I managed a single, hard-fought gasp, he withdrew his hand from mine. All at once, the stifling burden of his emotions vanished, and I wheeled backward as though he'd dropped the rope during a exuberant game of tug of war.

I tripped over my feet and might have fallen on my butt if Tíereachán hadn't darted in to catch me by my elbow. Wide eyed and breathing hard, I stared up at him.

Holy cow.

I blinked stupidly while I puzzled over what had happened.

Tíereachán was attracted to me? He wanted me? Judging by his emotions (and those were unquestionably
his
emotions I'd felt pouring through me), it sure seemed that way. Certainly, his desire had been unmistakable. The revelation was so startling I didn't know what to do with it.

This whole time, I'd dismissed his licentious flirting. We were friends. He felt indebted to me for freeing him from Azazel. But the whole flirtation thing wasn't serious. He didn't really want me.

Except … apparently, he did.

I didn't get it. I mean, why me? It wasn't as if anyone would mistake me for a goddess. I was a freckle-nosed reluctantly-athletic redhead with a face that hadn't launched any ships that I knew of. Girl-next-door material, perhaps, but certainly not a supermodel contender. Honestly, if Tíereachán had confessed his attraction to me before I'd experienced the proof of it, I would have assumed he had some ulterior motive. It's not that I thought I was an ugly duckling. I didn't. Well, not much. Tíereachán was just
that
eye-catching. His body was exquisite to behold. Mine was … above average. He was indisputably gorgeous. With some effort, I might qualify for pretty. He was, without question, sex on a stick. I, on the other hand, had endured more solitary Friday nights over the last ten years than a cloistered octogenarian nun.

Anyone with eyeballs could see this was a bad joke. Tíereachán was so patently out of my league it wasn't even funny.

I frowned. But … that, right there, was hinky. Wasn't it? Because Kieran was almost as good looking as Tíereachán and yet, when Kieran made his pass at me, I hadn't discounted him as readily as Tíereachán. What's more, all along, I knew that Kieran's motives weren't entirely pure—even if I hadn't anticipated the extent of his duplicity. Yet I'd thrown myself into his arms and hardly thought twice about it. And now confronted with mounting evidence that Kieran had actively and deliberately deceived me, I
still
persisted in mistrusting Tíereachán.

Why was that?

"Because you've been transfixed," he replied.

I jumped at his unsolicited answer and then bristled. "I thought you said you couldn't read my mind."

"That was before you accepted my blood." Inside my head, he added,
Our binding is whole and you're not shielding yourself.
He smiled and, this time, it went all the way to his eyes, crinkling the delicate skin at their outer corners.
Not that I mind.
Hearing your unguarded thoughts has been enlightening and … motivating.
He grinned, raising a devilish eyebrow.
Sex on a stick, am I? Here I thought I disgusted you. Who knew your disapproving frown hid such extraordinary revelations?
His expression sobered.
Although you plainly have no idea how captivating you are. I believe I'll enjoy convincing you otherwise.

My stomach clenched and rolled as though I'd bungee jumped off the Royal Gorge Bridge.
Crap on toast!
He'd heard every damned word? Every ridiculous stray thought since I'd licked his palm? God! No doubt he knew how much his tongue affected me, too.
Please, just kill me now
.

His chuckle reverberated inside my mind.
I'd rather not.

I cursed my brain.
Jesus F. Christ. I have thought diarrhea.

As Tíereachán burst out with a peal of the most deliciously musical, full-bellied laughter I'd ever heard, I uttered a strangled sound of frustration and fortified my psychic shield, which I'd inadvertently dropped during the intensity of our ritual.

Shoving my hair behind my ears, I attempted to patch up my shredded composure, a hopeless task with seconds instead of years at my disposal. And Tíereachán's continued mirth didn't help.

I squared my shoulders and reluctantly met Tíereachán's amused gaze. Finally, his earlier response penetrated my befuddled state. "Did you say I've been … spelled?" I examined him. "You could tell?"

His smile dwindled. "Not ensorcelled.
Transfixed.
It's an encapsulated form of glamour. Not easy to detect unless you know what to look for."

Again, the impulse to run away surged through me, enough that I wavered on my feet. I squeezed my hands into fists, and the answering pain from my cut helped to ground me. "What does it do?"

He angled his head, side to side, ever so slightly. "It's similar to an attraction charm. A compulsion used to keep the quarry focused on their pursuant and to discourage them from finding others attractive or diverting." He gazed at me significantly. "It's particularly effective on a subject who already finds their stalker physically attractive and can be used to sway their actions."

Sway my actions?
I grimaced at the words.

Earlier, I'd tried to imagine how I'd feel to hear that Kieran had done this, that he'd truly laid magic on me to make me do something I might not have done otherwise. I figured I'd be angry. Hurt and humiliated. Maybe it was denial, but now that I knew, all I felt was uncertain and … detached. I realized this must be how someone might feel after being told a telepath had altered their memories. With no demonstrable proof, it was hard to believe. It didn't seem real or even possible.

"I thought— " I caught myself before saying something that implied I doubted his word. I didn't, not precisely, but I needed more. "I don't feel anything," I said. "I thought strengthening our bond would, I don't know, make it plain for me to see what Kieran did."

Fisk said something in Silven to which Tíereachán nodded without taking his eyes from mine and then replied, "The effects are subtle and you don't know what to look for. Now that we're bound, I can show you … if you want."

"Anything I need to know about … doing this? Are there dangers? Side effects?" I hated that I was compelled to voice the questions, but Kieran had now ruined me for assuming that people I cared about had my best interests at heart.

"If we weren't blood-bound, then, yes, there would be. Finding and countering the compulsion requires that you open yourself to me and accept my power and my presence in your mind. If we weren't bound and I was a
dishonorable cur
, it would be possible for me to do precisely what Kieran's done, or worse."

"Oh." Even though the censure wasn't undeserved, I found it difficult not to cringe at his reproach for Kieran. I wasn't sure whether this was because, in spite of everything, I still cared for Kieran, or because I felt like the biggest fool this side of the International Date Line. "Why does being bound make a difference?"