Reluctant Adept: Book Three of A Clairvoyant's Complicated Life (22 page)

"Lorcán's a dead man," I hissed. "He just doesn't know it yet. He and that bitch
Maeve
. Everything, all this grief—Michael, Daniel, Vince, Kieran, my friends …
you
—every shit thing that's happened to the people I care about, it's all because of
them
… because of their sick, filthy greed." The words poured from my snarling lips, coated in derision and hate so heavy they all but choked me. "They destroy and destroy and destroy!"

As bitter resolve settled over me, I drew in a long, raking breath and heaved it out. "I've had enough. They're going down. I'll make them pay. I swear it!"

Ignoring the spiking temperature, courtesy of my unruly magic, Tíereachán leaned forward to curl a strong hand around the back of my neck and stare into my eyes. "They will feel the brunt of our combined fury. I promise you," he said, punctuating the words with a firm pull at my neck. "But you need to leash that anger, Lire. Save it. Cultivate it, until you've received your training and come into your full power. Until then, they have the advantage. Lorcán will kill or disable you before you can touch him. His vampires underestimated you,
this time
. They've not lived in a place where a majority of the population can kill with one touch, but they'll learn from their brethren's mistake, especially with Lorcán guiding them."

I frowned. "Kieran warned me. He said Lorcán has no offensive magic, so he's spent his whole life training and perfecting his physical skills." I stiffened my jaw at the memory. "He told me to sidestep away, if I ever saw him."
Even if it meant leaving others to fight Lorcán alone.

Tíereachán released me and barked out a scornful laugh. Once again, he reclined lazily against my tufted headboard, as if there was nothing at all unusual for him to be hanging out, naked, in my bed. The man's gall was epic.

He folded his arms across his chiseled abdomen, hiding half the cans in his sublime eight-pack, and clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "My dear cousin should have known better, considering the rather unimaginative pet name he gave you.
Bídteine
," he scoffed. "Evidently, he hadn't looked past the color of your hair to notice that your fire goes deeper than a surface trait. And there's nothing
little
about it. He'd have had more success forcing the sun to reverse course than pressing you to hide when your friends' lives are threatened." Expression darkening, he added, "Which is why he resorted to a transfixing."

I recalled Kieran's demeanor when I'd asked him what his foreign endearment meant—an endearment he'd uttered when we'd made love for the first time. 'Little fire … if you like,' he'd said, looking almost boyish. It was a memory I'd cherished. Now, though, it would be forever tainted by the knowledge that he'd magicked me.

I looked away, angry that Tíereachán had made me remember. No lover had ever given me a pet name, until Kieran. Unimaginative or not, the diminutive had made me feel prized. Attractive.
Wanted
. Tíereachán's disdain for the moniker cut me as readily as if he'd told me I was nothing special.

Withdrawing, I whipped off the covers and threw my legs over the side of the bed to stand up.

"Lire— "

He sounded apologetic, but I didn't give him the chance to finish.

"Go downstairs, Tíereachán," I said, each word as tightly fashioned as a clenched fist. "I'm taking a shower. You and Wade can have your turns when I'm done." I walked to my bathroom, not caring if my hip-length jersey revealed more skin than I wanted to display. When I closed the door, I didn't look back.

I took a long shower. I shaved my legs. I conditioned my hair while painstakingly scrubbing every square inch of skin. Sitting on my shower's built-in bench, I combed through my hair as though the fate of humanity depended upon silky, untangled strands and then oiled my skin for good measure. After countless minutes of trying to lose myself with all the methodical, senseless preening, I stood, defeated, under the body-pounding jets. I faced the hot spray, alone in my decadent shower, until my skin was a ruddy pink and prunes had formed on top of my prunes.

Under normal circumstances, a long shower relaxed me better than anything else, but with all of my troubles, I emerged more exhausted than ever.

By the time I'd finished getting ready and trudged downstairs, my fingertips were no longer puckered. Harshly muted voices emanated from my kitchen, along with the scent of brewed coffee, even though it was nearly lunch time. I wondered whether Red had helped direct breakfast or if Tíereachán and Wade had rooted around in cabinets until finding what they were looking for.

Or, maybe, Kieran had helped them.

I hadn't seriously considered that idea until I carved a path through the family room and got a clear view of my kitchen. Kieran sat in his customary chair at my battered farmhouse table (which, my helpful voice reminded me, had been Vince's favored perch too), leaning back with his arms crossed. He scowled at Tíereachán who had planted his hip against my kitchen's center island, casually sipping from a large black mug, clad in nothing but his leather pants from last night. A pink box of what I suspected were doughnuts sat next to him on the granite counter. Wade, looking tense, observed both men from the safety of my kitchen's built-in desk while eating a glazed cruller. The atmosphere was so thick an entire tank of nitrous oxide wouldn't have lightened it.

Drawing upon a lifetime of moderating my expression, I breezed into the room and plucked my favorite pink coffee mug from its place next to the sink. "Shower's free, Tíer, if you want to go next. Morning, Wade." I glanced at my former lover and added, "Kieran."

"Good morning, Adept," Wade replied as he stood to greet me.

I'd forgotten how tall he was. The man was a shoe-in to play a Viking on that History Channel show. And who knew? He was a half-blood, mated to the amhaín—no doubt he was the genuine article.

"I hope you don't mind," he said, raising his half-eaten cruller. "We're trading you doughnuts for coffee. The proprietor at the shop a few blocks over ensured me, rather … tersely, that everything they make is psi-free."

As I poured my coffee, I glanced at the box, spotting Donut In My Pie-Hole's signature logo. "Yeah, Bob's an interesting guy. Thanks for going to the trouble."

"No trouble at all. It's the least I could do," he said.

"Seems to me, I'm the one who should be saying that." I looked at him inquisitively. "I haven't gotten the whole story yet, but … I think you healed me last night?"

He nodded, his gaze kind and attentive. "I stepped in to help when your friend—Duran?—could hardly stand after expending herself healing the king's telepath." He looked me up and down. "How do you feel?"

"Good. Really good." Even the wound on my hand had been healed. "Physically, anyway," I muttered, trying to ignore the feeling of Kieran's gaze on the back of my neck. I frowned down at my filled mug as I stirred sweetener into my coffee. "I wasn't sure … I thought I might have damaged myself beyond repair." I shot him a weak smile. "So, thank you. I owe you, big time."

Wade dismissed the notion with a shake of his head. "I was happy to help." His expression clouded over. "I know the circumstances were dire, but you shouldn't have pushed yourself after overburning. Another hour without healing and I might not have been as successful in reversing the damage."

Again, he shook his head. "You owe me nothing." He arched a pale eyebrow and added, "Besides, seeing John humbled by your ability to incapacitate two empowered vampires in practically as many minutes was, in itself, a reward." He grinned. "He hasn't stopped scowling about it."

Since that was all Fisk seemed to do around me, this didn't sound like much of a transformation.

Mention of the two strigoi again triggered the memory of Kim, kicking the larger of the two. But this time, I also recalled her comment about using a chainsaw. Even though they were our enemies, I hated thinking their heads had been cut off while frozen and helpless.

I straightened. "What happened to them … to the vamps I froze?"

As Wade's speculative gaze met mine, I pondered whether the amhaín was inside his mind, watching me. How much of that perceptive gaze belonged to her?

"That wasn't left for me to decide," he replied. "But I believe the king's emissary has them in custody. Are you concerned for their well-being?"

"Of course I am," I said, gripping my mug hard. "They were helpless. And if I'd wanted them dead, I'd have burned them to ash."

"Even though they've enslaved your friends and tried their utmost to kill John and your
mionngáel
?" he asked, gesturing to Tíereachán.

The jarring
thunk
of a dropped cup made me jump.

When I turned to its source, I watched Kieran stagger back from his chair, his eyes widened by shock as his spilled coffee streamed over the edge of the table to splatter on the maple floor at his feet. But his stunned gaze wasn't directed at the mess. Instead, he stared at me, his expression a dizzying mixture of confusion, horror, and anger.

Everyone seemed to freeze until Tíereachán put down his mug and began to pull a handful of paper towels from my countertop dispenser. He glared at Wade. "That could have been handled better, my friend."

Wade sighed and then muttered, "I assumed John had already opened his big mouth about it."

"You're bound?" Kieran stood rigid, hands clenched.

It wasn't until he leveled the question with such frank disapproval, his dark-eyed gaze pinched with regret and jealousy, that I realized how angry I was. The telltale heat of it blossomed in my chest and threatened to explode from my mouth in the form of poorly chosen, incendiary words. I wanted to throttle him. Rage at him. I wanted to lash out and hurt him the way he'd hurt me. He'd betrayed my trust. He'd made me feel small and stupid and he'd keep doing the same things over and over because it seemed that's all he knew how to do!

I closed my eyes when I realized …
that
, right there, was precisely why I couldn't do it.

Because of my gift, I'd read thousands of people's thoughts by coming into contact with the objects they'd touched. Seeing cause and effect, witnessing their thoughts followed by their actions, gave me a unique insight into the human mind. Most people drew on a sample of one—
themselves
—and based their assumptions about others on that limited viewpoint. But I had a sample of
thousands
—thousands of people's deepest thoughts and desires. I'd witnessed, from the inside, what motivated them, what drove them to do the things they did. Millionaires and peasants, bishops and thieves, actors and regular working folks, the powerfully endowed, the meek, the depraved—folks who lived in modern times and long ago—I'd encountered it all. One thing I'd learned is that people are complicated creatures whose actions are, more often than not, driven by emotion. And nearly all emotion is derived from an individual's prior history, from their past associations, from their experiences, both good and bad.

Kieran had a difficult past. He'd made a mistake that had plagued him for close to two thousand years.

Screeching hurtful things in his face and watching him wince wouldn't make me feel any better. It would be like kicking an injured animal.

And I had no desire to damage him further.

So, instead, I took a breath and did my best to let it go.

It wasn't easy, and without the anger, I simply felt sad—for him, for me, and for what could have been.

Opening my eyes, I replied, "Tíereachán and I were bound before you and I met. Something you were well aware of, since it was one of the reasons you transfixed me." I peered at him. "Wasn't it?"

He stared back, hiding behind that stony face of his, but I didn't wait for a reply.

"I think the thing that upsets me the most
isn't
that you felt the need to lay the compulsion on me. I mean, I understand why you did—in the beginning, at least. With a demon haunting my dreams, telling me secrets, and helping me break glamour, I can see why you thought I was headed to the dark side. Still not okay to spell me, though—not by a long shot—but I understand and I might have forgiven it." I shook my head. "The thing that upsets me the most, the thing that wrecks me, is that you didn't believe in yourself enough to
remove
the compulsion once you realized I wasn't tied to a demon at all … but to your cousin."

After a moment of enduring his continued silence, I sighed and put my coffee on the counter.

I intercepted Tíereachán and took the wad of paper towels from his grasp. "Go take your shower," I said and then opened my mind to him.
Please.

As soon as he received my thoughts, his expression went from narrow-eyed concern to thoughtful.
I'm here if you need me.
His gaze shifted to Wade and he jerked his chin toward the front door.

They both left the room without another word, leaving me alone with a stiffly silent Kieran.

After evaluating the table and floor, I snatched the entire roll of towels from the dispenser and advanced on him.

I pressed the loose wad I'd taken from Tíereachán onto the tabletop.

"Jesus, Kieran. The things you do …" I sighed and righted his toppled mug. "You break my heart, you know that? Half of me wants to slap the living shit out of you and the other half wants to hug you hard enough that you get a goddamned
clue
." I turned to glare at him. "But I know, even if I did, it wouldn't make a damned bit of difference."

His austere expression shattered to reveal the depth of his regret, his frown so pained, it was almost a grimace. "I know it means less than nothing, coming from me, but … I
am
sorry. I never intended to cause you pain," he said, his voice coarse and ragged, as if it hurt to speak. The muscles in his jaw jumped, and he took a half-step backward, clenching his fists. "I'll not ask your forgiveness. Not because I don't wish it but because … I know I don't deserve it. I don't deserve
you
." He glanced away. "I never did."