Loving Ean (The Fae Guard Book 2) (16 page)

My eyebrows fly up into my hairline. “Since when do you summon me? And, for that matter, why are you calling instead of Grady?” Grady is also the “catch all” between the council and Fate. He keeps the lines of communication between them clear and makes sure they are all on the same page. He also makes the schedules . . . usually.

“Because we need to see you now, not at your next convenient appointment, jackass. Besides, Grady is busy handling something for me. Move it. They are waiting for you.” With that, she hangs up. That woman drives me batshit crazy.

A soft hand rests on my shoulder and I look behind me to see Laila studying me curiously. “Everything ok?”

I shrug, “I don’t know, but I’ve got to run.”
The irony in that comment shouldn’t be lost on you, Forest.
It’s not.

“Ean,” She stops me as I move to get up. I know what’s coming, and I don’t know how to avoid it. I don’t want to hear it again. Or see the hurt in her eyes when I don’t respond.

“No regrets, Ean.”

I debate for a half second, lean over and place a chaste kiss on her forehead, then without meeting her eyes, I dress and beat a quick retreat.
Coward.
No shit.

I’ve come to the council building to meet with them and exchange what we’ve learned. The building is sleek and modern, mostly glass with gray walls, black and white portraits of landscapes, and silver accents. Grady, their young, male receptionist, stands in front of a wall with the words “Fae Fer Li” in bold silver, block letters that pop out from the wall, grabbing your attention.
Life, Magic, Light.
This is the motto of the Fae.

Grady waves me back. Flynn, Callum, Nissa, Calista, and Ailean (the entire council) sit around the table in the large conference room, the wall to wall windows flooding the space with light. They listen intently as I recount the events from my assignment. The meeting is laid back and familiar, putting me more at ease than I have been lately. The group’s function is to advise and to guide, not rule, so our meetings are very informal, often more like a strategy session. Although, considering the petty disputes they also have to deal with, Calista refers to the council as high school guidance counselors.
Fitting, I’m sure.

I keep my emotions out of the story and tell them exactly what happened. Several of them look at me with sympathy, but they seem to sense my reluctance to carry on the subject, so they stay quiet, and let me finish.

“Well, fuck me. That just sucks,” Calista says when I’m through. To my amazement, a chuckle bubbles forth from within me.

“It does,” I agree. Then she moves on, because that’s Calista. She states it like it is, but she also knows when to let it go. She looks like such a wild child, with her piercings and short hair, purple leather pants, white t-shirt, and a black vest. In reality, while Calista can be the life of the party, she is unbelievably intelligent, level minded, and a very talented strategist.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, alerting me to a text message, but I ignore it.

“Flynn talked to Niall, earlier this morning.” Her blue fingernails are tapping away at the tabletop in agitation. Not a good sign. He was in pretty bad shape when we finally got him to the hospital. After getting him into the sun, he was no longer in danger of dying, but his body was still in a state of shock and starvation. He’d been really out of it and we hadn’t had the opportunity to find out what that whole mess was about.

Callum places a hand over top of Calista’s to stop the telling action, and a telltale pink hue spreads across her cheekbones. I figure she’s embarrassed to have put her anxiety on display like that, but then I see Callum squeeze her hand, a move so small I almost miss it. The blush deepens and Calista snatches her hand off of the table. I glance around at the other three people sitting here, a little taken aback by the fact that they are all pretending not to notice what just happened.

These two are the last people you would expect to have something going on between them. Callum is incredibly laid back and cool, but he is also the clean cut, all-American type. Clean, hole-less jeans, a navy polo shirt, with the collar turned up, short, neat haircut, and Doc Martens on his feet. From the outside looking in, they are like oil and water. Normally, I wouldn’t let this go; there would be no end to the shit I’d be dishing out to these two. Unfortunately, I don’t have the energy for that. I file it away to be used at a later date. Right now, we need to get back to the immediate problem.

“What did Niall have to say?” I ask Flynn, eagerly. Hopefully he can give us some cover from the shit storm that is clearly heading our way.

“Those Fallen did everything they could to turn him. They are desperately searching for something or, as he thinks it’s more likely, some
one.
”

“Ok. I suppose that makes some sense. What I don’t get is, why Niall?” I’m watching their faces for a sign as to whether they are holding back on me. To my dismay, they look as confused as I feel.

“We don’t really know much,” Nissa answers. “However, after a little chat with Fate this morning, we learned something new.” There is derision bleeding from her tone. For the love of . . . what the fuck has Fate done now?

“As far as why Niall, we think it was just a timing thing, for the most part, he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
No shit, Sherlock.

Nissa runs a frustrated hand through her long, corkscrew curls and when her fingers get tangled, her expression becomes even more exasperated. “We haven’t ever really understood the power of Fate and the readers. However, we’ve gleaned that the fate of The Fallen darkens along with their soul. Fate says it’s like looking through dark, sheer curtains. She can see some things, but for the most part, it’s all very shadowed.” I want to roll my eyes at her description. It always comes down to shadows and sun, doesn’t it?

“Recent events have us considering the idea that if they were to turn a fate reader, in theory, the reader could see the destinies of The Fallen clearer than a pure-souled Fae.” She continues, “Niall said that they were interrogating him constantly, asking questions about fate readers and what their abilities are exactly. They were also pushing him hard to get him to give up the location of one.”

I’m getting impatient now, why can’t people just get to the fucking point already? And the vibrating alert of my third text message isn’t helping anything. “What has Niall got to do with any of that?” I ask, not bothering to hide my irritation, “He’s not a fate reader.”

Flynn, who has been silently observing through this whole meeting, unexpectedly stands and leaning over, places his palms flat on the table, his bright blue eyes boring into me. “No, but his sister is.”

Ok. I get that Niall would have a little more extensive knowledge of fate readers, and they clearly got lucky when they were able to nab him. What I’m stuck on though, is how they knew about the possible effects of turning a fate reader in the first place. Before I can ask my questions, he holds up his hand in a bid for my silence.

“We don’t have all of the answers, we’re all stumbling through as best we can, trying to stay one step ahead. We’ll be passing the word throughout The Guard, making sure you all are aware of this new information, and a warning to be extra vigilant.” He sighs, looking up to the ceiling, as though praying for fortitude. “Fate knows more than she is sharing right now.”
What the hell else is new?

“Why does she need to meet with me after I’ve been here? I can’t imagine she’ll be any more loose-lipped with me.”

Flynn shrugs and I see the same look of bewilderment and tired acceptance on all five of their faces. I can see that I’m not going to get anywhere by staying and questioning them, so I stand and give them a nod, before walking to the door. In the hall, I feel the buzz of my phone,
yet again.
I pull it out of my pocket and see that all four messages are from Fate.

Fate:
Hurry it up. I’ve got shit to do.
I roll my eyes and scroll to the next message.

Fate:
I’ve haven’t got all damn day, Ean. Move your ass.

Fate:
OMG I’m growing old over here.
That earns a snort.
Old.
Nobody seems to know for sure her age, but I’d venture a guess of at least five or six centuries.

Fate:
Never mind. Take your time. My next appointment just showed up early.

I put my phone away with a little shake of my head, then leave, setting off to a meeting that will, most likely, have me wishing for a straitjacket to contain the purple-eyed bundle of crazy.

When I arrive and pull into the driveway, I park next to another car, not paying it much attention. I slip out of my nineteen sixty nine, black mustang convertible, and move toward the porch. As I walk around the car, I get a better look, and realize its Kendrix’s silver Audi. I guess he was the one scheduled after me. I hop up the steps to the porch two at a time and reach for the door knob, only to find it locked. I stare at it for a moment in shock. Since when does Fate lock her door? I mentally shrug, I don’t have time to play detective, and besides that, trying to understand Fate’s motives for anything is sure to push you down the rabbit hole. I bang hard on the thick redwood door, then ring the doorbell a couple of times for good measure. After a minute the door unlocks and swings open. I’m confronted with a sight I’d never have expected, even if I’d woken up one day in Bizzaro World.

“Come on in, man.” Kendrix is standing on the other side of the threshold in nothing but jeans, holding a mug, and looking at me like this isn’t anything other than ordinary. He steps back and raises his eyebrows when I don’t move to enter. In case you’re wondering, that would be because I’m afraid I’ll trip on my jaw, since it’s still firmly planted on the ground.

At this moment, Fate comes around the corner and starts down the hall, but stops short when she sees me. My jaw won’t be returning any time soon, it’s probably permanently unhinged. I’ve never, in all my seventy-six years, ever seen Fate anything less that completely put together. I don’t recognize the creature in front of me. She’s wearing very little makeup, a short, silky robe, and is towel drying the water out of her long, white-blonde locks.

“Kendrix, what the fuck?” she spits. An aptly worded question if my assumption is correct.

Kendrix shrugs, completely unfazed. “I knew it was Ean.”

I glance at him, and when I look back at Fate, she’s dressed in jeans and a pink, fuzzy sweater, her hair still wet, but in a messy pile on top of her head. It’s so weird when she does that.
Probably a lot like what humans think when you do your fairy shit.
Touché.

“Haven’t you ever heard of stealth? Keeping our business just that?”

Kendrix rolls his eyes and takes another sip from his mug. “You’re one to talk, considering I haven’t heard the end of it from Brannon after your drunken ass gave you word vomit.” I’m totally lost, but so thoroughly entertained that I keep quiet and still, so as not to disturb the show playing out in front of me. Laila would be busting a gut right now. I can’t wait to tell her all—
don’t finish that thought.

I didn’t think it was possible but I’m once again trying to figure out what reality I’m in when I see a very faint blush stain Fate’s check bones and a contrite (ok, now I
know
I’ve been abducted by aliens) expression flits across her face.

Kendrix looks at me, completely unruffled by the last couple of minutes. “Later, man.” He gives me a chin lift, and saunters down the hall, patting Fate on the ass (Did I mention I’ve been abducted by aliens?) and disappearing into the kitchen. I wait for a second, sure that at any moment I’ll come back to reality and realize this was a figment of my imagination. Except . . . I would never have thought this up. Fate’s expression adopts her usual blend of careless and confident, but she doesn’t speak, just waves at me to follow her and we migrate to her office.