And desperation was the emotion currently overwhelming him as he sat in the apartment, alone, while Rose was out there, fleeing him.
This couldn’t be how it ended between them. Fionn wanted to find her, to convince her he no longer meant her harm, but he knew it was best he didn’t.
From the moment he’d closed his eyes beside her on that bed, knowing deep in his soul from the stories he’d heard on Faerie that something greater inextricably linked him and Rose, Fionn’s plans for revenge changed.
They no longer included Rose.
He’d find the other fae-borne.
Fionn remembered how it felt to kill Rose in the dream. It had felt so real. It had cut deeper than anything ever had in his long life, and Fionn had faced his share of tragedy and violation.
Rose would live.
He’d let her go. Even if it made him feel desperate.
A tingling sensation tickled down his spine seconds before Rose appeared in the doorway to the bedroom. “Ro—”
She disappeared and reappeared directly in front of him, his knees touching her thighs, her expression strangely blank.
“Rose?”
Too late. So distracted by his feelings for her, Fionn had no chance to react.
Rose’s blue eyes gleamed coldly as she touched his neck.
Everything went dark.
Blinking awake, Fionn stared up at the cracked ceiling, momentarily confused.
What the fuck had happened?
Rose!
Fionn flew to his feet, letting his senses take over. She wasn’t here.
But she’d come back for a reason.
Why?
It quickly dawned on him, and a guttural growl of disbelief and outrage ripped out of him. She wouldn’t!
Of course, she would. It was the only damn thing that would open the gate for him!
She’d ransacked the bedroom. Drawers and cupboards were thrown open, the safe in the wardrobe broken into. Tearing out of the bedroom and down the hall, he found the living area the same. Some kitchen cupboards had been torn off their hinges. Blood pounded in his ears as he blurred across the space to the cupboard where he’d hidden the dagger.
The silver box was gone.
The little vixen had taken advantage of his emotions, caught him off guard, knocked him out, and stolen his fucking dagger!
And wait. “Her things?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
A tornado through the apartment, Fionn discovered Rose had also wiped the apartment clean of any personal items.
Standing in the bathroom, chest heaving with frantic, short breaths, he glared around at the space. Then he caught sight of the opened bottle of complimentary coconut shampoo in the shower.
Exultant, relieved, he reached out and snatched the shampoo bottle in his hand. Once opened and used, i.e., claimed, that shampoo was now a personal item.
Marching out of the shower room and into the bedroom, he picked his mobile off the bedside cabinet and dialed Bran.
Five long rings later, the vampire picked up. “Again, I sleep through the day. I just got into bed.”
“Rose knows the truth,” Fionn bit out.
Bran hesitated a second. “How?”
“She can dream-walk.”
“She can what?”
Fionn suppressed a snarl of impatience but only just. “It was a rare ability among the fae. She hid it from me and then fucking dream-walked me.”
“And I’m guessing you were dreaming bad things?”
He frowned. Before he’d fallen asleep, he’d started to understand all the things sparking between him and Rose—the way they could sense each other’s emotions, how, despite his supposed dark intentions toward her, Rose never felt she was in danger of him.
While his conscious mind insisted it didn’t change their circumstances, his subconscious felt differently and showed him so he’d know what killing Rose would mean to him.
It was bloody bad timing for his conscience to kick in.
“She found out about An Breitheamh and about her and the gate and my revenge.”
Bran exhaled. “I take it she’s gone?”
“She left and then she returned and used my own fucking carotid sinus attack against me.”
Bran snorted. “You sound almost proud of her.”
He kind of bloody was, beneath his outrage.
“She stole the dagger, Bran. I won’t kill her but I can’t kill one of the others without the damn thing.”
“You’re not going to kill Rose?”
The very thought made him sick to his stomach. “No, I’m not.”
“I see.”
“Once I get my dagger back, I’m letting her go.”
“Well, tell me she wasn’t smart enough to clear the place of all her shit.”
“I can’t.”
“Double fuck.”
Fionn stared at the shampoo bottle. “But she left behind a bottle of shampoo she’d opened and used.”
“That’s something, at least. What do you need from me?”
“I need to know if Niamh is my kin, and fast. If she is, then you need to