Reluctant Adept: Book Three of A Clairvoyant's Complicated Life (6 page)

"I don't remember the exact date," I replied. "About a week and a half ago."

"And after this … contact, you sent photos?" His eyes narrowed. "Directly to the domn or through Frederick?"

"Both," I said, relaxing with the hope that this was just a misunderstanding. I'd even consider overlooking what he and his associates had done to my friends if he backed off and set things right. "Didn't Frederick send you the photos? I hope he at least forwarded you my cover letter."

"No." Curiosity played on his face, along with darker things.

I donned my 'don't worry, I can be reasonable' smile—although, Kieran's continued protection was seriously cramping my style. Projecting confidence wasn't easy when my boyfriend kept me caged inside his one-armed embrace and brandished a sword as though we were surrounded by a pack of rabid wolves.

"Then I can see why you thought you were dealing with a crank," I said. "Why don't we start over? Release my friends and I'll give you the important details. Then we can go from there on how best to involve your domn."

He stared at me for a long moment, and his frank evaluation left me with the distinct impression that he'd deftly cataloged all of my potential weaknesses in the off chance he had to run me down like a gazelle. Clairvoyants were immune to strigoi venom, as were telepaths, but we could still be drained readily enough.

"What you say intrigues me," he said, "but that's not why I'm here."

"You're— " I stumbled over his admission. "Wait. It's not?"

"Indeed, no." He grinned broadly, displaying a disturbing length of fang.

I glanced around, taking in the scene, not liking that the song playing over the shop's speakers was 'The Monster' by Eminem. I shook my head at him. "I don't understand."

He chuckled. "Allow me to elaborate.
You
interest a friend of mine. And what interests him, interests me." He raked me with his gaze. "Although, I must admit, you aren't what I expected." He raised a pitiless eyebrow. "So …
human
," he observed, lacing the word with considerable distaste.

"Looks can be deceiving," a harmonious baritone interjected, proving without a doubt that Murphy's Law applied, even at parties.

One night of normal. That's all I wanted. Really, is that so goddamned much to ask?

Disgusted, I trilled, "And now about the cauldron sing— "

Ow!

Kieran's hard squeeze stopped me mid-verse. Whether he'd done it in silent warning or recrimination, I didn't know. Honestly, he was lucky I didn't stomp on his foot. I didn't need to see the voice's source to know a male sidhe lurked to our right.

Or, that because of my decision to come here, we were knee-deep in shit.

Again.

Resonant, bewitching laughter filled the room, vibrating the air itself. I shivered and would have tried to rub away my gooseflesh if not for Kieran's continued embrace, which pinned my right arm against his rigid body.

Tension rolled through him as he deftly drew me several steps backwards, providing better view of our newest threat but still maintaining a defensive position against Nathan.

Snap out of it, dummy. Protect what's yours.

Spurred by the thought, I unfurled my telekinesis to encompass Kieran and myself within my magic's hold before extending my reach into the room. To my dismay, my invisible tendrils skidded off the strigoi as though they were coated in grease, leaving a series of oblong dead zones within my netting. Even worse, the slippery barrier extended several inches beyond each one of them, which prevented me from grasping their human victims.

I looked about me. Each vamp held at least one captive tightly, using either hands or fangs (or, in one surprising case, a switchblade) to threaten immediate harm.

Jesus.

Still, if I overlooked the hostages held by each vamp, there were a little over a dozen partygoers I could grasp freely. Of course, this was only good news if I could
do
something to help them.

Why did Julie and Steven have to be so darn popular?

I'd never attempted to sidestep so many people at one time. The most I'd managed, with Kieran bolstering my focus, had been five. I wasn't sure I could manage seventeen, not that it mattered. Even if I could shift everyone to that higher dimension, it wouldn't counter their catatonic state. They were now intrinsically tied to whichever strigoi had bitten them and easily tracked through their blood, thanks to the strigoi curse. No place would be safe. And where would I keep them? They were essentially human vegetables. Unless ordered to go about their lives as usual, they wouldn't feed themselves, much less attend to their other bodily functions.

My gorge rose at the thought, but I swallowed thickly and shoved the thoughts aside. Later. I'd deal with that problem later.

I turned my attention to the source of the delicious laughter—a remarkably handsome sidhe sitting near the fireplace. He lounged in one of the shop's few upholstered wing chairs, long legs crossed at the ankles, forearms draped on the padded armrests, and his head arched back in mirth, exposing his smooth, muscular neck. At first glance, my breath didn't just catch, it vaporized. How the heck had I not noticed him earlier? This was not a man you missed. He was so hot, climatologists probably had to factor him into their weather predictions. I ogled him, gobsmacked, while understanding crashed down on me in the form of this golden, able-bodied visage.

Eva and Nathan's comments about Kieran made a little more sense now, although not because this new guy was drastically better looking. With his long, honey-blond hair, luminous skin, and warm hazel eyes, he seemed to radiate a captivating, seraphic glow; whereas Kieran, raven-haired and flinty-eyed, appeared brooding and austere. Personally, I'd go for Kieran's dark intensity every time, but everyone's tastes were different. Apparently, the two vamps favored the fair-haired, ethereal type.

The sidhe in question directed an amused, panty-vaporizing smile at me. "Live elves and fairies in a ring, enchanting all that you put in," he recited, continuing the Shakespearian verse where I'd left off, his lyrical voice an intoxicating purr.

He chuckled. "How delightful. The Scottish play. And who is Macbeth in this scenario, I wonder? Would that be you, Kieran? Did the oracle's prophecy raise such high hopes?"

Kieran snorted. "You know well—one such as I do not aspire to such things."

Lord.
Not that stupid prophecy again. When I'd blurted the memorable line, it was because of the elves and fairies reference, not because of Macbeth's foretold kingship. Apparently, Golden Boy figured Kieran had wooed me in the hopes of becoming their next ruler—the one who would unify their fractured populace and be soulbound, not to a sidhe, but to a mate who straddled worlds.

I couldn't fathom why anyone would count
me
as a possibility for the prophecy's soulmate role. I wasn't a half-blood like Kim, who was naturally a part of both worlds. I was a born-and-bred Earthling. As Nathan had already pointed out:
Human
. I didn't straddle worlds.

Yet … you can sidestep to a higher dimension,
my little voice added,
which is pretty dang otherworldly. And an adept can supposedly open gateways to other worlds. That's what a gateway does—it straddles worlds.

Not that I'd ever opened a gateway. I'd merely closed one, so that didn't precisely qualify.

I shook myself.

This was not the time to let my thoughts ramble on unchecked. None of it mattered. As far as I was concerned, anyone who thought I was the awaited soulmate was a deluded idiot. For all of two seconds, I basked in the superiority of my strenuous belief, until I realized … it wasn't
my
opinion that mattered.

If King Faonaín and all his enemies were drinking the oracle's Kool-Aid, then in their minds I was a twofer—an adept
and
the future ruler's soulmate.

Christ.
I'd be lucky if kidnappers didn't start crawling out from under the goddamned floorboards.

Hello, Earth to Lire …

If Blondie thought I was the prophesied, world-straddling mate, I had to get my act together.

The sidhe chuckled, directing a perfectly arched eyebrow at Kieran. "Yes, I suppose Maeve did cure you of that ambition, didn't she? Ruined your standing as surely as she plies her virgin lovers. And, yet, you continue to play her fool." He scoffed, "Just the mention of Nuala's human kin and you rushed to dance to her tune once again."

Human kin?
Had Kieran's former mate hooked up with a human at some point and conceived a child? That didn't make any sense. Nuala had been dead for almost two thousand years. Any half-human child of hers would be dead by now. Although … if her child had taken a full blooded sidhe for a soulmate, it would have prolonged his or her life.

Had Maeve sent Kieran here to find Nuala's half-blood child? If so, once he found this person, what had she ordered him to do about it?

"Then you haven't been paying attention," Kieran replied. "I grew tired of that tune, long ago. You, I believe, cannot say the same, yet here we both stand. Outcast and rogue. Which of us is the more foolish?"

Rogue?
Oh crap.
Unless more than one rogue sidhe wandered the Earth, this was Lorcán, Maeve's right hand, the one she'd sent to claim me when Kieran had refused her order to bond with me.

The golden-haired sidhe laughed, rising smoothly to his feet. "Which of us, indeed. I am not the one seeking to redeem my past through my dead mate's bloodline. But, I digress, where are my manners?"

He beamed at me. "My dear Miss Devon, I shall take it upon myself to make the introductions since the Deceiver seems disinclined." He bowed. "I am Lorcán."

I tipped my chin at him, and, although I tried, I don't think I kept the distaste from showing on my face. The fact that he'd referred to Kieran by his rude sobriquet didn't help. "Lorcán. I'd say it's nice to meet you, except we all know you're not here to do anything nice." Even though my knees felt weak, I met his level gaze with one of my own. "Are you?"

"Now, wherever did you get an idea like that? Perhaps you would do well to consider the source of your assumptions. For example, I for one do not seek to deceive you with glamour." He twirled his hand through the air, gesturing at his face. "What you see is what you get," he said, shooting Kieran a challenging glare, "scars and all."

"If you're trying to imply that Kieran has seduced me with a glamour, you're wasting your breath," I told him. "Glamours don't work on me. Or didn't your precious princess mention that?"

He barked out a laugh. "Then why does he wear his mask? It certainly isn't for my benefit. I can see through such magic, as can my associates."

My stomach fluttered at the increased pressure of Kieran's protective embrace, which told me Lorcán had revealed something Kieran didn't want me to know. The realization might have driven me out of his arms, but Kieran wasn't the only one who'd warned me about Lorcán. Kim and Brassal both distrusted and actively disliked him, but more significantly, Lorcán was aligned with the demon-conspiring Princess Maeve.

Even if Lorcán spoke the unvarnished truth and Kieran
was
employing some sort of mask, such a thing couldn't disguise his actions, which spoke louder than any superficial glamour he might be using.

It wasn't hard to decide whose side I wanted to be on.

"You should talk," I said, my voice calm in spite of my gyrating insides. "Kieran isn't the one working with strigoi to illegally enslave my friends."

"Ah," he drew out, eyebrows lifting. "I see." A satisfied smile broke over his lips. "You were unaware of this deception, too. How interesting."

He tilted his head dismissively, gesturing at our surroundings. "As for your friends … necessity, I'm afraid. For my protection. A rogue does not venture into the open without some assurances, especially when meeting an adversary who has so very much to lose. You must know, Kieran's done you a great disservice."

"Why? Because he protects me from
you
?"

"No. Your protection I cannot begrudge. Your continued survival is paramount. No, my ingénue. It's because he hasn't told you
why
."

"Why? Why
what
? Why he protects me?"

He angled his head, indicating partial agreement. "Why you are what you are."

"What I am, huh? And what, exactly, am I?"

"The second potential adept to be born in over four thousand years." He peered at me. "Do you know the identity of the other?"

I frowned, sure I didn't want to know, but I had a strong suspicion that I did.

"Nuala, of course." He took a step closer. "His former mate. And you, my dear, are born of her familial line."

I blinked, the air going out of me as though I'd been sucker-punched.

Born of—?
My mind wheeled.
I
was somehow related to Nuala?

That wasn't possible. When Kieran and I had first met, he told me I had no appreciable sidhe blood and asked how I'd acquired my additional psychic gifts. But the fact that he now remained ominously silent and tense at my side led me to believe that 'appreciable' was the operative word. And since Kieran didn't accuse Lorcán of lying, that meant …

I was Nuala's human kin—the one Maeve had used as bait to lure Kieran into doing her bidding.

I was so damned stupid.
This
is what drove Kieran's single-minded interest in protecting me. I'd suspected it had something to do with Nuala and atoning for his past mistakes, but I thought it was due to the similarity of our situations. The irony stung. Kieran had come to Earth with Maeve, for no other reason than because I was related to his former mate.

God!
This explained Kim's surprised reaction to my green eyes when she and Brassal had first seen me. Apparently, I'd inherited the trait, which, according to Kieran, was a rare attribute among sidhe.

Was this why Kieran had seduced me? Because I reminded him so much of his former love—the one he'd called 'a treasure'? All those times he looked longingly into my eyes, had he seen her staring back at him?