search again for any signs of that other fae-borne.”
Bran was silent so long, Fionn thought the bastard had hung up. Until, “Or you could let this go, my friend, and start living your life. Convince Rose to forgive you. Devote your bloody long life to protecting her, to making sure no one uses her. That is a worthy purpose, Fionn.”
As if that hadn’t fucking occurred to him. The notion of forever with Rose was at war with his revenge, tearing him in two.
The light bulbs in the room began to burst, one after the other, as Fionn lost mastery over himself for the first time in … ever.
Bloody hell, get control of yourself, man!
Remember.
He did. He remembered Aine. Straddling him, beautiful and talented in bed, giving him pleasure despite his hatred for her, which only induced his self-hatred.
She’d made him a whore.
Him. Fionn Mór, high king of Éireann. The greatest warrior in his land.
Aine had violated him down to his very soul.
“I can’t. I won’t discuss it again. Just find out what I need to know.” He clutched the bottle tight in his hand and let his magic envelop it. It whispered to him. “Rose is heading north. Hack the train station security cameras here in Orléans. Let me know if you see Rose on them.”
With a defeated sigh, Bran grumbled his assent. “Where do you think she’s heading?”
“Paris is north of here, but I don’t know what she’d want with Paris.”
“Do you think she’d head home to her parents? Fly out from Paris?”
Fionn considered it but immediately abandoned the idea. “She wouldn’t put them in danger.”
“Perhaps she’s just planning to keep running.”
“Perhaps,” he said.
But he’d seen the fury flash in Rose’s eyes seconds before she’d touched her fingers to his neck. Was Rose planning to take her vengeance upon him?
Yes.
He couldn’t trust her.
Oh, mo chroí, he thought sadly, feeling the sting of her coming betrayal, revenge will always win.
23
Without Bran, Rose was traveling blind.
To her relief, the train got her into Paris in just a little over an hour. Her train to Stuttgart was already leaving the platform when she arrived.
Rose traveled onto the train, focusing on one of the tiny restrooms. Although she banged her elbow on the small sink, she smirked. It was a hard smile. Melancholy.
Her abilities were still cool as hell. She wouldn’t let that traitorous demon spawn take that away from her.
Stepping out of the restroom, Rose’s backpack, carrying all her things and An Breitheamh, got caught on the door. She cursed, tugging it over her shoulder. The dagger needed to stay close. Inside the empty restroom at the train station back in Orléans, Rose had tried to destroy the damn thing. First she tried to melt it. Then turn it to cinder. Then break it. Ice it.
Nothing.
An Breitheamh was apparently immune to destruction.
Like she was.
Satisfied she’d successfully knocked out Fionn, Rose had hovered over him after she’d found the dagger. The box clutched in her hand, she seriously considered dealing with its weakening effects upon her, wrapping fabric around the handle so as not to scar her palm, and plunging the knife into his heart.
Will of steel, her mom always said.
Yet her will failed her as she stared at his rugged face in slumber. He’d once been a good man. Rose believed that. Circumstance had twisted him up inside.
She’d stepped back, slipping the box into her backpack. One day Rose would be ready for him if he came for her, but she didn’t have the heart for revenge. Not on him.
Fionn wouldn’t die by her hand while he was helpless, and she wouldn’t seek his death in vengeance.
But when he came for An Breitheamh, Rose would not hesitate to defend herself.
Stirring beneath her fury was the hurt as she found a seat in one of the carriages. Rose had allowed Fionn beneath her skin. Into her blood.
Into her heart.
His betrayal was a fist punching that vulnerable little organ to pieces. It swiped away who she thought he was, who she thought he might become to her, a future together perhaps where she’d make him laugh and bring him light after so long without it.
Naive hopes and wishes shattered by the truth.
Gritting her teeth against the pain, Rose glared out at the passing world. Fionn was lost to her now, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have purpose. She’d find Niamh and warn her about the warrior fae and An Breitheamh, and together they’d find the last fae-borne.
The three of them would protect each