Reluctant Adept: Book Three of A Clairvoyant's Complicated Life (28 page)

Alex grunted as though he'd discovered an illicit secret. "Interesting. The objection to your chosen mate seems to be shared exclusively by King Faonaín's representatives."

I glared at him. Why was it that immortals seemed to delight in picking at fresh scabs? He knew darn well that Tíereachán wasn't my soulmate. We were bound by a blood covenant. The arrogant ass had countless strigoi tied to him in a similar manner, and I'd bet a year's income he didn't refer to them as his 'mates.'

He'd used the inaccurate term deliberately, hoping to provoke a response, like a kid brother taunting his older siblings.

"Does their king want you bound to one of his own, instead?" he asked.

I found it difficult, if not impossible, to avoid squirming.

His eyebrows shot up, as though I'd told him everything despite not uttering a word. "Ah. As I suspected. He covets you for himself, doesn't he?" He looked thoughtful. "A clairvoyant-turned-magus is unique, I'll give you that, but I find it hard to believe the sidhe king is so hard-up for companionship."

At the sound of a scuffle, he glanced at Kieran, whose tightly coiled body strained against Kim's hold. She hissed something at his ear that I suspected was Silven, and I wondered whether Brassal was speaking through her to issue commands.

Alex smiled, looking thoroughly satisfied. He gazed down his aquiline nose at me. "I'm referring to King Faonaín's notorious dislike of humans, of course. Anyone with eyes in their head can see you're a desirable woman."

He shook his head and tsked, casting his gaze about the room. "Nevertheless, if the sidhe king wants you, it isn't because of your obvious charms nor is it for your combination of psychic gifts—as unusual as that is. No. I think it has everything to do with this
prince
calling you 'adept' and the fact that he isn't lying dead at my feet." He fixed me with an irritated look. "Thanks to your timely intervention, I believe."

Dismissing the offense with a perfunctory wave, he sauntered to the end of the conference table, apparently unconcerned that it was the furthest point from the exit.

"Years ago, I had the pleasure of meeting a sidhe," he said conversationally, slipping off his coat to reveal attire that would give a Wall Street CEO a run for his money.

Sleek body armor, like something out of an X-Men movie, might have been more in keeping with his formidable appearance. Still, I had to admit, he wore his black trousers and crisp dress shirt well.

As he continued his commentary, he tossed his coat on the neighboring chair and took the seat at the head of the table. "His name was Caiside. During that first visit, he told the domn, and anyone who'd listen, about his home and his queen." His eyes cast upward as he appeared to search his memory. "Her inner and outer beauty were unrivaled, as was her magic, which, quite literally, supplied the lifeblood of his world. Without her, their cities would eventually fall to darkness, his society to chaos. And he'd called his queen 'their last and only adept.'"

"I know of this sidhe," Red said, astonished. "He visited my uncle at his London home when I was a young man, in 1689, or perhaps the year prior, if memory serves. My uncle told me he was an ambassador."

"Not an ambassador," Alex countered, relaxing in his chair and crossing his legs. "A
siritóir
—a tracker—one of many. I first encountered him a few years earlier than you, Master Necromancer, when I was still within my normal span, and then several more times over the intervening centuries. It was his job to find their next adept—a discovery, he assured me more than once, for which his queen would reward handsomely. Here on Earth, such a power isn't easy to detect, but he told me it might manifest as an ability to move from one location to another, instantaneously. If I ever came across a human with such a skill, he urged me to contact him." His gaze combed me from head to toe. "But it would seem the adept has already been found."

The amhaín had offered a reward for me? A goddamned finder's fee?

"That's what they keep telling me," I grumbled and scowled at the others, although I was relieved to feel the evidence of Tíer's shock as it leaked into my mind.

"All's fair in love and war," Alex told me. "Or haven't you heard?"

"Then this must be war. Very little love going around that I can see."

"Is that right?" he said, but both his amused tone and expression disagreed with my assessment.

No doubt he'd mistaken Kieran's barely leashed aggression for the behavior of a devoted lover. No way was I going to explain things.

Instead, I latched onto the headline that finally struck me. "You said Caiside urged you to contact him. How?"

The question drew an indulgent smile to his lips. "He left something with me. A beacon."

"A beacon?" I echoed, perking up. "Is that … like a draíocloch?"

When I looked at the others, I noticed they were all positively riveted to the strigoi. Wade had come away from the wall, staring hard at Alex, as though the strigoi leader had revealed a map to the holy grail.

Sparing me a distracted glance, Wade shook his head and said, "Rarer," before looking back to Alex. "Do you still have it?"

"I might."

Wade's eyes narrowed. "And
might
you be able to describe this beacon?"

If it were possible for someone to shrug using their eyebrows and a slant of their head and look refined while doing so, Alex nailed it. "An oval stone about so big," he said, pinching his thumb and index finger a couple inches apart.

"What color is the stone?" Wade asked.

"Blue."

I half expected Wade to continue with, 'What type of blue?' or 'How many facets does it have?' but instead he jerked his chin at him. "He told you how it works?"

Alex nodded, looking smug.

"You know you can't invoke it," Wade told him.

"I'm well aware of that."

"Why not?" I asked. "And what does it do?"

The firm set of Wade's shoulders eased and he moved to take a seat near Tíereachán.

Since it seemed as if Alex had decided to forgo killing anyone for the time being, I also took a seat, positioning myself adjacent to the relaxed strigoi but pulling my chair away from the table in case I needed to get up quickly.

"Come sit, Deed," I offered, gesturing to the chair at Alex's left. I shot a pointed look to Red, hoping he'd take the hint and move closer to Diedra once she sat down. I imagined she must feel uneasy at being surrounded by so many imposing people she didn't know. Although, working alongside strigoi on a daily basis probably wasn't a cakewalk either, so maybe she was used to it.

I resisted pulling out my cell to check the time.
Stupid sidhe politics.
The day wasn't ticking by any slower and every second we wasted with this bullshit, the longer my friends were forced to endure Lorcán's tender care. I battered my heel against the wood flooring, until Alex's sly look drew my attention to it. I pressed my foot flat and tried not to scowl at him.

While the others took their seats, he leaned toward me, indicating he wanted a private word.

Judging by his smug smile, I wasn't sure I wanted to hear what he had to say, but after shooting him a warning glare, I reluctantly inclined my head to meet him halfway.

"You aren't afraid of me in the slightest, are you?" he asked, his breath buffeting the skin of my neck as he spoke softly, inches from my ear. His Midwestern accent, I noticed, was absent, replaced by the cultured European one I'd heard earlier on the telephone. After learning Alex's true identity, I'd suspected he'd been the caller, but the accent had thrown me.

Jarred by the question, I jerked my head so I could see his face out of the corner of my eye. "No. Should I be?" I said and immediately wanted to smack myself.

Never ask the question if you don't want to know the answer.
Idiot.

"Undoubtedly," he replied, sounding bored. "Most people are, particularly in this form."

He paled in comparison to the horror of Azazel, but I didn't point that out. No sense making him think it was necessary to prove himself.

He considered me for a moment before drifting dangerously close to my neck to inhale deeply. I stomped the impulse to flinch away from him. Running was something prey would do, and I sure as hell wasn't food. As I allowed him to take in my scent, a ruckus erupted at the opposite end of the table and Kim shouted something in Silven.

I didn't need to turn to know that Kieran had forced his way past Kim just to be intercepted and physically restrained by Tíereachán.

Honestly
. Did Kieran think I'd be so stupid as to let down my guard? Ever since Alex's initial attack, I'd kept my TK loosely draped around everyone in the room. Although, at this point, it hardly seemed necessary. I'd decided that Alex wasn't normally the type of guy who would kill someone at the least provocation. From what I'd observed, every one of his actions had been calculated and deliberately executed, no doubt with a clear response in mind. The whole thing with Tíereachán? I was pretty sure that had been an anomaly. Alex had been caught off guard, coming face to face with his previous attacker. And having suffered my own showdown with Tíereachán's demonic alter ego, I could understand Alex's violent reaction. I didn't like it, but I understood it.

Alex's derisive snort blew the loose strands of my hair against my cheek, reminding me to stay focused on the predator next to me.

His voice rumbled into my ear, "Please tell me this boldness isn't due to human sentimentality and the mistaken belief that you and I are
friends
." He sneered the word. "Or do you think your sidhe allies are skilled enough to save you?"

In spite of my confidence, my stomach tipped at the implied threat. "We were never friends, Alex. More like acquaintances. And I'm fully capable of saving myself, thanks." I shifted in my chair so I could stare at him, our noses a scant few inches apart. "But I'm fine with not having to prove it. What about you?"

He went unnaturally still, and, at that moment, I worried that my instincts about him were wrong.

After staring into his cavernous eyes for what seemed like an interminable time, his brows pinched together. "I've disappointed you." It came out as a flat statement, but as close as we were, I could see the revelation surprised him.

In truth, I might not have stopped to dwell on my reaction if not for his comment, which was kind of sad when I considered it. Apparently, disappointment had, now, become such a common occurrence it hadn't even warranted a stray thought.

I shrugged. "Pretty sure I'll get over it."

He grunted, still eying me, but I couldn't decide whether it was an expression of amusement or dissatisfaction.

"So … are you done pushing buttons yet?" I asked archly and then forced my stare to the other end of the room where Kieran and Tíereachán were still caught up in a heated yet muted argument.

While Alex had been in such close proximity, I hadn't dared to split my attention to dwell on Tíereachán's strenuous emotions. I knew he was angry, but when I tuned in, I was surprised to learn that his anger wasn't directed at Alex. Tíer was furious with Kieran.

Jesus.
When had my life turned into a Spanish soap opera?

Chuckling, Alex shifted his coat to the second chair over and then gestured to Diedra, giving her permission to sit next to him.

Seriously? She had to wait for his approval?

When she took her appointed seat, she sat stiffly and positioned herself as close to the chair's left arm as possible, putting as much space between her and Alex as possible without being obvious. She didn't cringe, but it was a near thing. And if I noticed it, I had to believe Alex did too.

Somehow, I needed to get Diedra alone so we could talk.

Before I could analyze the gravity of my growing to-do list, Tíereachán bit out something scathing, a question, by the sound of it, ending with 'Nuala.' Kieran flinched, looking stricken as the incriminating name echoed through the room, prompting an awkward, intense silence. When Kim told Kieran to take his seat, his customary cool mien slammed into place and he did as she asked, but every one of his rigid steps advertised his displeasure.

Boy, oh boy.
I sure knew how to pick the guys with the baggage, didn't I?

I wondered what Tíereachán had said but resisted the impulse to ask, even though the privacy of our bond. Now wasn't the time. Besides, I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

See? I was learning.

Floor show over, Tíer returned to his seat, appearing deceptively complaisant, with Fisk once again standing to his left, his unsheathed blade proclaiming that he was taking nothing for granted.

Alex shifted in his chair. "If I'd known things were going be this entertaining, Clotilde, I'd have visited you a long time ago," he quipped, his American accent firmly in place.

"Oh, shush," I snapped without thinking, earning Diedra's gasp, but my response had lacked heat. Alex simply chuckled.

Still grinning, he directed his attention to Wade. "
Ámsach
, please continue. Lire wishes to know what a
ríutcloch
does and why a lowly strigoi like myself is unable to invoke one."

"I'm the amhaín's liaison, not an ambassador. Wade is fine," he replied and then turned to me. "Once it's imprinted, a
ríutcloch
forges a connection between two people. Calling it a beacon isn't too off the mark, I guess."

"Okay," I drawled, frowning.
Gee, thanks, Wade. Clear as mud.
"What does imprinted mean?"

"Tied by blood. Before a
ríutcloch
can be invoked, it must, first, be bound to its owner. They're exceedingly rare. Caiside had the last few known to exist, passed down for hundreds of generations through his familial line. They were created by his ancestor Tasgall, the previous adept, thousands of years ago. When Tasgall died, his particular brand of magic passed with him. Even the amhaín can't replicate them." Eying Alex doubtfully, Wade observed, "Caiside must have trusted you greatly."

"What about the draíoclochs?" I asked. "Were those created by the previous adept too?"