Bound by Forever (True Immortality #3) - S. Young Page 0,51
wanted to reach out and catch the tear that escaped but instead, he clenched his hand into a fist and held back. “You were right about me,” he confessed. “I’m more than I seem. I’m …” He exhaled slowly, disbelieving he was going to say the words out loud when he never had before. “I’m immortal.”
She seemed surprised, but he didn’t know if it was the nature of the confession or the confession itself.
“I was born in Osaka in the winter of 1872.”
Her eyes searched his face, curiosity bright in them.
“I’ve lived a long time, Niamh, and I personally understand vengeance.” He ducked his head toward her, inhaling her scent, and his fist unfurled with a life of its own. He found himself cradling her face with his hand, sweeping his thumb down her cheek in a tender gesture he didn’t know he still had in him. “Trust me when I tell you that once you have your vengeance … there’s nothing but emptiness at the end of it. It took everything from me. I don’t want that for you.”
Fresh tears spilled down her freckled cheeks as she wrapped her hand around his wrist and squeezed gently. “Okay,” she whispered.
Relief moved through him. She capitulated so quickly that he knew she was just waiting for someone to talk her down. This wasn’t who she was. He stroked her cheek one last time and then moved to stand, pulling her up with him. He studied her as she seemed to gather herself, throwing her shoulders back as she turned to look at the witch.
Conall gave him a nod of respect, which he appreciated considering how goddamn exposed he felt right then.
Then Niamh flicked her wrist and the golden light encircling the witch’s wrists and ankles disappeared.
“It wasn’t me,” Meghan said, her eyes wild. “It wasn’t us. She made us do it.”
Ignoring the witch’s stressed babbling, Kiyo turned to Niamh. “You’re doing the right thing.”
“I don’t think I know what the right thing is anymore, and that scares me. It should scare everyone.”
“I’m not afraid,” he promised her. “Everyone, no matter how good they are, can be taken to the edge of darkness. Pain has a way of doing that. But you’ll never cross that line, Niamh. It’s not who you are.”
“You’re so sure?”
“I know dark when I see it. You’re not it.”
A groan of agony caused the hair to rise on the back of Kiyo’s neck, and he and Niamh jerked toward Conall, who had fallen to one knee, his hand clutching his chest. His eyes flew to Meghan, whose whole being seemed to crackle with electricity.
Something like fear for Conall flooded him, and he crossed the room to protect him just as the silvery gray weapon appeared in the witch’s hand.
A dagger.
An iron dagger.
His gaze flew back to Niamh, who seemed momentarily paralyzed with shock at the sudden turn of events.
The dagger flew across the room, crackling with magic as it headed directly toward Niamh’s heart.
A roar of outrage escaped him as he sped back toward Niamh, a blur of movement as he threw himself in front of her. Pain blazed through his chest, taking his feet out from under him.
The iron dagger was embedded in his heart.
Niamh gaped in horror at the sight of Kiyo falling to the floor with the dagger lodged in his chest. Fury at the witch and at herself for stalling burned within her as she felt her eyes bleed gold.
Meghan paled but reached out a hand toward Conall, the magic sparking the air as she tried to use him as her coven had used Ronan.
As Niamh moved toward Meghan, Conall bellowed at Niamh to see to Kiyo just as Conall transformed into a black wolf. He lunged at the witch. Stunned, Niamh could only stare for a second. She had never seen a wolf transform that fast before. As his wide jaw opened, his sharp teeth glittering in the dull light of the apartment, Niamh fell to her knees to help Kiyo.
She flinched, feeling somewhat sick at the sound of Conall tearing apart their foe, screaming in torment. Niamh ignored it and turned Kiyo gently onto his back.
He hissed, his handsome face contorted with pain. “Just … yank … it out.”
“Are you sure?”
He nodded.
Trusting him, Niamh conjured thick gloves to cover her hands. She then wrapped them around the dagger’s hilt and shuddered as a feeling of utter lethargy crawled through her. Fighting the sensation, she gave the dagger an abrupt, quick jerk.