Reluctant Adept: Book Three of A Clairvoyant's Complicated Life (7 page)

My skin itched to crawl away, and I felt sick.

As far as the camel's back went, this latest straw was a freaking steel I-beam, further taxing my already shaky control. Magic surged from my core and spread throughout my body, galvanizing my nerve endings and straining the limits of my psychic shield.

It clawed for escape.

I dropped my arm from Kieran's waist. When I tried to wobble out of his embrace, his arm tightened at my side.

"Don't," he whispered fiercely into my ear. "This is what he seeks, to drive you away from me."

"If you know what's good for you, you will
let
…
me
…
go
," I growled, leveling him with a molten glare so there was no mistaking my warning. Of course, the spiking air temperature surrounding me likely clued him in, even before I'd opened my mouth.

Whenever my emotions got the better of me, most notably anger, my pyrokinesis tended to boil over. And, right now, Kieran's betrayal, combined with Lorcán's threat and my friends' subjugation, fueled it. The fiery potential heated me inside and out, the anticipation of its release so intoxicating, it had me seeing red.

Even though I was angry and reeling, I had no desire to hurt Kieran, which was inevitable if he remained as close as he was. In truth, what I longed to do was verbally rip him a new one, but I couldn't do that if I accidentally fried his ass. Instead, I tore out of his grasp, shaking him off, and strode closer to Lorcán, since it was the one direction that didn't put me near someone I cared about. Actually, that wasn't entirely true. I could have moved to the shop's exit, leaving nothing to stand between Lorcán and Kieran, but as stupid as it was, my abiding desire to protect Kieran forbade it.

Lorcán smiled, and the thought of scratching that smug expression from his deceptively angelic face almost pushed me into temptation. Potent memories taunted me—as foreign as they were familiar—the thrill of release, the rush of heat flowing through me, and the exultation of reducing an enemy to a screaming, flaming sack of charred skin and bone. Nothing matched that feeling of absolute power. God help me, I craved it.

I laughed, full throated and brazen and utterly unlike me. If I hadn't experienced the sensation of it coming out of my own throat, I might have thought a maniacal clown had used me for his ventriloquist dummy. It was a venomous cackle, derived from the darkness that I kept locked away—the source of my pyrokinesis—Patty Schaeffer. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't seem to separate the memories of the woman who'd unknowingly bequeathed me her power and the magic itself. It's why I avoided using it.

I fought the rising power, my hands clenched into fists as the flaming potential pushed through every pore, filling my body and driving the temperature around me to dangerous levels.

It took a shaky moment, but I managed to stop throwing off heat like a radiator with a faulty thermostat. Too bad my anger wasn't as easy to govern.

"Lorc, hon, here's a tip. My control isn't the greatest. In fact, it damn well sucks. Push me too far and it won't matter that you've enslaved my friends—there won't be enough of this building left standing to ensure anyone's survival, much less my own."

He looked at me thoughtfully, his smirk turning into a brittle smile. "Duly noted. You are a genuine wonder, my dear. I have no desire to push you to such extremes. I merely wish to see that you are fully informed."

"If that was all you wanted, you'd have simply petitioned me for a meeting on neutral ground under a flag of peace. Instead, you went for a position of power, using my friends for leverage, which tells me you want something I wouldn't otherwise do freely. I can tell you right now, though, if it has anything to do with becoming your mate, you can forget it. I'll bring the building down around our ears before that happens."

"I believe you would, at that." He chuckled. "Be assured, I have no wish to tempt fate. I'll leave that to Kieran." His gaze veered over my left shoulder and, at his slight nod, Julie gasped.

I didn't need to look. The jolt through my telekinetic web broadcasted Nathan's superhuman attack. In a blink, he snatched Julie. By the time I turned, he'd yanked her head to the side, barring her throat.

"In short, I want Maeve," Lorcán said, drawing my attention back to his serene expression. "You have three days. Bring her to me, alive and undamaged, and I will release your friends unharmed. However, if you fail, at dawn on the fourth day, one of your friends will die, and another, every dawn thereafter, until Maeve stands alive and well at my side." He narrowed his gaze. "Is that clear enough?"

"Are you insane?" I barked out an incredulous laugh. "I've heard all about it. She's in the most secure of your prisons! Nathan's right. Four boons or not, I'm human, not a superhero. And the king … I've heard enough to know he puts the bad in badass. And don't get me started on that Wild Hunt thing that supposedly no creature can escape." I widened my eyes and shook my head at him. "There's no way. You can't be serious."

"But I am," he said with a charming smile. "In fact, let me show you how deadly serious I can be." His voice was calm and pleasant.
Come here, dear. I've something wonderful to share with you.

Kieran growled a thunderous warning, "Lorcán."

The blond sidhe smiled wider. "Nathan, if they interfere, kill the girl."

"As you wish," the strigoi replied, although, I was relieved to note that he didn't sound overly enthusiastic.

"Whoa." I raised my hands, palms out. "Okay, look, let's not be has— "

"Eva," Lorcán purred.

Her attack was preternaturally swift. I felt her efficient, brutal movements even before I turned to look, and worse, there wasn't a damned thing I could do about it. The gloppy sound of Glen's throat being savaged coincided with my frantic scream.

No, no, no! This can't be happening!

I took in the ghastly scene, which unfolded in impossible clarity. Blood coated Glen's dress shirt and chinos. Dozens of thin, red rivulets streamed down the length of his limp body, over his splayed legs, soaking into his clothes and dribbling onto the floor. Eva gripped Glen's shoulders, holding him upright as she hunched over his ruined neck, her face and upper chest a blood-coated mess. She lapped enthusiastically at his gaping wound, her head bobbing up and down with each sloppy, squelching lick, as if he was as delectable as an ice cream cone on a hot sunny day.

Oh, God. But it
is
happening. And it's my goddamned fault! I could have gone along with him, but no, I had to be a fucking smartass. This … this is all on me! I own this. Glen … stupid, innocent Glen … murdered … because of me … all because of
me
!

With those useless, soul-destroying thoughts, my control shattered. Magic flared from my center, pulsing over my skin in an instantaneous red-tipped conflagration, surrounding me and blocking my view of Glen's grisly, ravaged neck. With my psychic shield in tatters, there was nothing to hold it back. The inferno exploded outward, zipping along the lines of my telekinetic web as readily as a burning trail of gasoline. It shot through the room, whipping through and around furniture, between bodies, painting the floor in a veneer of molten, shimmering striations that heated the air and threatened to ignite anything nearby.

And above the directionless tumult, the roaring in my ears, and the glory of release, I screamed.

After a time that might have been minutes or long seconds, a shock of cold slithered up from my feet and coiled around my body like a frosty, unearthly boa. It prepared to consume me, wrapping tighter and inching higher, until it pinned my arms to my sides and the succor of darkness flooded my vision and filled my ears. Engulfing me from head to toe, the dark coil pulsed around me, constricting and soothing with its strangely familiar resonance.

Gravity shifted and the sensation of movement, of weightlessness, hit me. Words flowed through my mind, thoughts that weren't my own.

Cúairtine, stop fighting me. Calm down. You'll kill yourself if you don't.

My head snapped forward and then back, my body coming to a abrupt halt. Heat roared through me as the fiery potential building inside of me fought for escape, but the dark coil prevented my magic from manifesting and breaking free.

I'm here with you. Open your eyes. Find yourself and look at me.

Slowly, my fire died and I became more aware of my body. The darkness retreated.

I blinked. Cold, damp wind ruffled my hair and buffeted the exposed skin of my face. Someone held me. I stared into a set of piercing blue eyes, narrowed by concern.

"Tíereachán?" I croaked.

Relief flickered over his expression. His head snapped up and he frowned grimly at something in the distance. I registered shouting, the clank of metal meeting metal, and over it all, a crackling, like crumpling paper, but there wasn't time to dwell on it before another face filled my view. This one was also familiar, but looked extremely pissed off.

Agent John Fisk.

His hand covered my forehead. He growled something foreign and my world spun to black.

But not before I registered the distinctive smell of smoke.

Subtle motion and the steady rumble of road noise woke me. I blinked several times, my eyes unfocused and gritty with fatigue. My left cheek felt sweaty and hot against the pillow supporting my head. Little wonder, I slowly realized, since it wasn't a pillow at all. Even in the car's dark interior, I could see I'd been sleeping on someone's leather-clad thigh—a decidedly firm, muscular thigh. Since my clairvoyance hadn't kicked in, the leather was either faux and psi-free or not from Earth. I clambered upright, hoping I hadn't left drool marks, and swiped my disheveled hair out of my eyes.

Tíereachán's surprised gaze met mine from across the backseat.

The party came back to me in a rush. Fire.
My
fire.

Jesus.

I remembered smelling smoke.

"Oh, no!" I croaked and clutched at Tíereachán's arm like he was my sole anchor on a crumbling rock face. "What have I done? Julie! Kieran! Where's Kieran?"

My gaze darted around the car's interior. Red sat on top of the front passenger seat's backrest, facing me, his stubby legs hanging over the edge. Fisk drove, his wary eyes meeting my frantic ones in the car's rear view mirror. The front passenger seat was ominously empty. We headed down a four-lane interstate, I-5 by the look of it.

"What happened? Oh my God," I shrieked. "We have to go back!" It was still dark. Maybe we hadn't been driving for long.

Tíereachán peeled my hands from his arm and squeezed them hard, a lifeline. He frowned, his lips compressing to a hard line. "We cannot go back. We barely got away as it is. Kim and Jackie and the king's coterie weren't far behind, but without their immediate help, Fisk and I were outnumbered. Lorcán has aligned himself with a contingent of extremely powerful vampires." His mouth curved down in distaste as he added, "I believe he's been sharing his blood with them. It makes them more deadly and harder to kill than usual."

My brain stuttered as I tried to parse his words. "H-h-how long have I been out of it?" Remembering Fisk's descending hand, right before I blacked out, I gasped and yanked my hands from Tíereachán's grasp. "He put me to sleep. How could you let him do that to me?" I focused my rant at Fisk in the driver's seat. "Asshole! You kidnapped me!"

If they hadn't done that, I could have fought by Kieran's side. I could have helped him and everyone else to escape.

Fisk's narrow-eyed gaze flashed in the mirror as he snarled at me, "We saved your ass, you stupid cu— "

"John!" Tíereachán snapped, the increased volume making me jump. "Watch your mouth. Do I need to remind you who you're talking to? Show some restraint. She's upset enough."

Fisk grumbled under his breath, something about overburn and clueless fucking bitches.

I buried my face in my hands. He wasn't wrong. Without their interference, if the fire hadn't killed me, overburn—the result of pushing too much magic through my body—would have. Bottom line: I was a stupid bitch who'd lost control. The whole clusterfuck was my fault. Kieran and Julie and the rest of my friends might be dead, burned alive or butchered by the strigoi, all because I had less control than a five-year-old at an all-you-can-eat candy store. I turned away, falling against the door while I fought to swallow the sound of my strangled sobs.

The light pitter-pat of Red's paws hit my thighs as he climbed across me to ascend my arm and perch on my tensed, quaking shoulder. His paw stroked my hair and he murmured soothing things into my ear, but even his kindness couldn't ease the mantle of guilt that squeezed my heart.

"Michael or Kim will call one of us with an update soon," Tíereachán assured me, voice soft, his cocksure demeanor starkly absent. "Don't worry. Kieran is a worthy adversary. More than once, my cousin has faced worse and survived." Lowering his voice, he muttered, "He's harder to kill than an ill-tempered
tonngéar
."

If the situation had been different, I might have been amused by his acerbic aside and asked for a description of what was no doubt an ugly and tenacious Otherworld beast. As it was, I nodded stiffly and dried my eyes with the heels of my gloved hands, feeling numb.