Reluctant Adept: Book Three of A Clairvoyant's Complicated Life (20 page)

With a shout, I lunge into my swing, but my strike misses the mark when my opponent flees after Lorcán and his fellow confederates, who are fast escaping through the building's rear exit. I resist the impulse to pursue.

John dashes away, whether to give chase or observe their escape I don't know, but accompanying him isn't an option. All my focus is on Lire's limp form.

Fearing the worst, my heart thunders loud enough, no doubt, to be heard in the Otherworld. She's slumped against the wall, her body alarmingly slack, her head canted so far to the side it rests on her slender shoulder. Her hair is plastered to her cheek, russet tresses obscuring her face. She looks small and fragile, nothing like the bright, strong-willed woman I've come to admire. I gently tuck the smooth strands behind her ear and then check her pulse.

Alive
, thank the Three Winds.
Frustration flares in my chest as I recall the agony of her overburn, the pain so debilitating I had to shut her out of my mind to avoid being skewered by my opponent. Locked in combat, I couldn't help her. Never have I been so desperate to vanquish my foes. And when she took down that mountainous vampire, right under my nose, I'd not experienced such relief followed by so much terror in … possibly,
ever
.

I cup my palm to her cheek. She's far too hot, burning, and alarm shoots through me once again. When I hear John return from his walkabout, I shout at him, "Come! She mustn't wake before Wade can tend to her."

He stops at my side, standing over us. "My lord, if you care about her, and I think you do … you won't ask for this."

I tear my gaze away from Lire to scowl at the infuriating part-blood as he crouches next to me. "It isn't a request, it's a
command
," I tell him. "Overburn has broken men stronger than the two of us put together. I don't want her to wake to that kind of pain, and we need to leave. Quickly."

"She won't thank you for it." He grunts and looks away. "And it'll give her another reason to hate me."

I snort at that. "I thought you were too busy resenting her to care."

John's jaw tightens as his gaze snaps back to mine. "And what about the telepath, Michael? He's alive, but they fucked him up good, extracting what they wanted. The safe is open. He won't make it to Wade. I did what I could to stabilize him, but he needs healing. Now."

I stiffen. This is why I avoid involvement with humans. They're fragile and short lived and a majority of them don't know how to defend themselves. I didn't want to care about Michael, nor any of the other telepaths, but my rising guilt tells me it's a futile wish. Three weeks sharing quarters with them has seen to that.

Although, when it comes to Lire, I'd live with any amount of remorse to ensure her safety. I owe her my life.

"The draíoclochs?"

He shakes his head. "Gone."

I nod. "Call Kim, their emissary. She'll send someone to help him. Or summon an ambulance if you believe that to be the better choice."

I frown at John's disapproving expression. Iterating the reasoning behind every damned order has become tiresome. Whatever does Wade see in the man? It's not hard to imagine that his second-guessing has more to do with Azazel's taint than anything else.

I've come to the end of my patience, though, and I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to flay a matching wound on his alternate cheek.
The Prince of Thìr na Soréidh will be obeyed!

"We cannot risk staying," I clip out, instead. "Lorcán's presence means one thing: There's a high-level spy among the king's retinue. Once Lorcán's success in stealing the draíoclochs and his efforts to blackmail Lire are revealed, my uncle will realize a palace revolution is in the making. He'll order Lire's capture. Without any draíoclochs, my uncle's options are limited, but he is nothing if not cunning. Like Lorcán, he'll use any means to compel her obedience."

"And if Lorcán and Maeve should succeed in their overthrow?" John asks. "What then? Faonaín is, at least, bound to the Compact."

He stands to his full height and folds his arms, his golden eyes bearing down on me. "I've already relayed the situation to my mate. She's sought your mother's counsel and her orders in this are unequivocal: Endorse and defend her brother's continued rule. Wade is on his way. They've secured air travel and will arrive in a few hours. We've been ordered to contact Faonaín's emissary immediately."

Bastard.
The man enjoys seeing me run free only to be cut short and whipped off my feet by the length of my chain. I've underestimated him. His soulmate must be one of my mother's handmaidens, or perhaps, even, her Vicegerent. This would explain Wade's faith in him despite his insolence.

Jealousy and frustration rear up but I hammer the feckless emotions down. Thank the Oracle Lire accepted my covenant, and none too soon.

My mother hasn't survived in her position all these years by being short-sighted or imprudent. She serves her interests and those of her people with a keen mind, sharp wit, and undeniable allure that the longest serving and universally loved rulers seem to possess. The question is: Are those interests currently aligned to Lire's benefit? Even in my mother's domain, humans are granted about as many rights as our surface-dwelling animals, and, no doubt, a demon-tainted sidhe will be afforded fewer still, princely birthright or not.

Together, Lire and I will need to tread carefully, indeed.

Together
…

Of course.

Mother must have ordered John to maneuver Lire into accepting my blood oath. A clever move, and not simply because two heads are better than one. My royal connection will grant Lire ambassadorial rights under our laws. At the same time, our blood bond partly diminishes Azazel's hold over me. The king, too, will be stymied by our bond. Lire will no longer be defenseless against his magic and assassinating me will risk the full weight of my mother's wrath. The only better deterrent would be if Lire and I were to bind our souls.

Maybe, in time—

I quash that line of thought.

Lire's feelings on that matter have been undeniably clear. Besides, the Oracle is never wrong. If that doesn't put an end to any thought of pursuit, I'll deserve every last torment that comes with such foolish want.

The front door bursts open, prompting John and me to go for our swords. When Kim, Jackie, and a contingent of Faonaín's coterie, all of them armed and primed for battle, pour into the room and then stop at the sight of us, I straighten and recall my weapon.

After assessing the room for possible threats, Kim issues a curt nod to me. "Didn't expect to see you here, Tíereachán, John." Her eyes widen at Lire's motionless form. "What happened?"

I notice she hasn't relaxed, nor has she issued a command for her compatriots to stand down. "Overburn," I tell her. "We arrived about twenty minutes ago and found your people"—I gesture to the fallen warriors— "already dead. The vampires attacked as soon as we broke shroud. Do you have a healer with you? Lire's not in any distress at the moment, but John tells me Michael is in a bad way, downstairs. Wade is on his way, but it will be too late for Michael by the time he arrives."

She eyes me before straightening and turning to the people around her. "You three, secure the basement. Duran, Jackie, as soon as they give you the all clear, go take care of Michael. Tina, take everyone else and secure the other floors. Check every square inch. All the crawl spaces. Every damn closet and bed. I don't want any surprises. And I want to know how the hell they got past the ward."

Her people stream by, expressions grim and intent, leaving Jackie and a svelte, blonde woman, who I assume is Duran, still standing near the front door.

Kim examines the coterie's two dead warriors, crouching down at each body in turn to mutter something and stroke their hair. When she finishes and stands, her expression is grieved. "I should have sent the entire Seattle contingent," she says, her voice hollow. "At least the telepaths had the sense to listen to Michael and flee."

"Too bad he didn't follow his own advice," John says.

"He stayed to make sure everyone got out—the telepaths, anyway." She walks to the vampire who looks as if he's been frozen while trying to climb a mountain from his back. She gives him a hard shove with her foot. "Lire's too softhearted by half. She should have burned them. Now we'll have to take their heads with a damned chainsaw or risk letting them thaw first."

"Be grateful. Her benevolence is what will save us," I reply. "Besides, one building set ablaze is enough for one night, don't you think?"

Her calculating blue eyes assess me. "Why are you here?"

"She wanted to see Michael before heading to her apartment."

The petite woman nods. "And, now that you've delivered her to us, what are your plans?" She folds her arms and examines me, sending the clear message that there's just one answer that will satisfy her.

John and I are on the verge of overstaying our welcome.

"Even if my mother hadn't ordered it, I'll remain at Lire's side," I reply, knowing that every word will be relayed to the king by her soulmate, Brassal. "I am sworn to protect Earth's first adept and, now, to ensure my uncle's continued rule."

 If the twitch of her eyebrows is any indication, this surprises her. "Is that so?" She smiles, an insincere flash of teeth. "Please do thank your mother, but King Faonaín hardly needs such … help, however capable. His rule is as assured and everlasting as the immortal amaranth."

"Yet even that enduring flower can be smothered by weeds, especially in a garden that grows unchecked," I say archly.

Her gaze sharpens, but I'm spared a response when one of her contingent returns from the basement. He murmurs a few words to Jackie, who then hurries downstairs with her companion, Duran, presumably to heal Michael.

I hope they're in time.

At least Lire's been spared the distress of waiting for word of the telepath's survival. I know she cares for the man deeply. Despite my twinge of jealousy, I hope their healer is as skilled as Wade and has the energy to save him. For a human, Michael is refreshingly honorable, and it's been clear to me, from our first meeting, that he'd do anything for Lire's benefit. Obviously the man is half in love with her.

A short but brawny part-blood tips his chin at Kim. "Emissary, a word?" he asks, flicking a suspicious glance at me and John.

Frowning, she strides to his position near the stairs. He speaks intently at her ear for a few minutes without interruption. His words are too subdued to overhear at this distance, but Kim's posture tells me she's not happy with much of what he tells her. She issues a terse reply and the warrior positions himself at the front door, sword at the ready.

Kim strides toward us, expression fierce. "You know what was inside that safe," she accuses. "You came to destroy them."

"No, not destroy," I say since there's no point being coy. I tip my head and admit, "Temporarily
misplace
—to allow Lire the opportunity to confront Kieran and make her own life's choices free of my uncle's coercion. I won't permit her to be unduly influenced or taken against her will."

"Right. And I suppose your motives in this are purely magnanimous," she sneers.

I take one stiff step toward her, piercing her with my narrow-eyed glare. "She freed me from torment. My motives are clear and absolute: My life, my very blood, is hers."

Her condescending glare turns to outright surprise. "You've forsworn your mother? Lire is your primary allegiance?"

I acknowledge it with my unwavering gaze and the barest nod. "Bound for all time."

Surely, her eyes couldn't get any wider. "You're mated?" Her voice is so breathless I can barely make out the question, but her stance redoubles and she exclaims, "You're tainted. You can't possibly think our people will follow you!"

"If they follow me, it will be because I remain close enough to kill her enemies." It's petty, but needling her is too satisfying to resist.

She pulls in a breath as if to explode, but John interrupts my sport, "Emissary, calm down before you pop a vein. They're merely bound by blood." He folds his arms. "But you do realize, the king has only himself to blame."

"You dare to impugn my king?" Her magic charges the air around us.

"Of course not," he replies. "I simply state facts. If the king had curbed his daughter's self-indulgent behavior years ago, the events that have led us here, today, would never have happened. My prince wouldn't have been tricked into selling his soul to save Maeve. If that hadn't happened, Tíereachán and Lire wouldn't have met. Without Maeve's influence, Kieran wouldn't be the ruin he is today."

He pulls a face. "Scratch that. He'd probably still be a prick, but he wouldn't have been asked to deceive Nuala. He would never have had a reason to lay a compulsion over Lire." He glares at Kim from beneath his brow and adds, "And then
Lire
wouldn't have needed to seek a blood bond in order to shatter it."

Kim blinks at him, now deflated and seemingly lost for words.

"Did you know Kieran had shared his power with her?" he asks.

Her wide-eyed gaze flicks down to Lire, still slumped against the wall, and then back to John. "No, I didn't, but that doesn't necessarily mean— " She stops and frowns at me. "Are you certain the compulsion is his?"