Total pages in book: 194
Estimated words: 187021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 935(@200wpm)___ 748(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 187021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 935(@200wpm)___ 748(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
She swallowed at the sight of his powerful forearms. Not to mention him so…undressed. On most men, it wouldn’t be much to write home about, but Graves wasn’t most anything.
She averted her gaze. “If your intent is to keep people from finding you…”
“Then people won’t find me.” He ran a hand through his midnight-blue hair. “At least, they won’t find the car. It doesn’t work on animate beings.”
She’d learned much about her magic and lineage since leaving his home five months ago, in the wake of his betrayal. Still, five minutes alone in his presence and she was learning all new things. She wished the knowledge had all been as easy to acquire as this.
Graves had lied about who and what she was. And while he might have laid clues for who and what he was, she had still learned he was the Holly King, a primordial Celtic winter god, too late. Or that Lorcan, his enemy and the head of the Brooklyn gang, the Druids, was the Oak King.
The night it had all fallen apart, Lorcan had kidnapped her two best friends and forever family—Gen and Ethan—intending to force Graves to give up the spear and the sword, both powerful Celtic magical objects. An ancient battle between Oak and Holly had reignited, and in the end, the gods’ magic had hit Kierse, nearly killing her.
Graves had valiantly attempted to save her life, but it hadn’t worked. At the last second, Gen and Ethan had combined their fledgling magic into a triskel—a powerful bond between a wisp, High Priestess, and Druid. They’d healed her and together been forever changed.
When it was over, Lorcan won the sword, and Ethan had gone with him to study as a Druid. While Kierse left with the spear and fled to Dublin with Gen and the spear to get answers that didn’t come with strings.
And now…the strings had followed her to Europe. Here she was with Graves, on his terms, all over again.
“Well, I guess you can drop me off at my hotel, then,” Kierse said.
Graves didn’t even look at her. He’d pulled a book out and was scanning the pages to recharge his powers. Each magical user renewed their powers differently—for Graves, reading, and for Kierse, it had always been stealing. While Graves seemed blue from their encounter, Kierse was revved up.
The goblin bracelet was in her possession, and she was one step closer to the market.
His lips pursed before he said, “You’re not staying at a hotel with that in your possession.”
She slid her eyes to him. “Where are we going then? Your place?”
“It’s being renovated.”
“Could you give me a straight answer?”
He flipped a page. “We’re going to stay with a friend.”
“You don’t have friends.”
He smirked at his book. “A longtime acquaintance.”
“Why?”
“Why did you need to steal the bracelet?” he countered.
She narrowed her eyes in frustration. Around and around and around again. The same as it always was with Graves. He didn’t give unless she did, and even then, only half as much. At first she’d liked the challenge, but now she saw it for the defense mechanism that it was.
“Never mind. You can let me out here,” she said. “I can find my own way to the hotel.”
Graves finally lifted his gaze to meet hers. She could still see the cruel warlock master in his expression. She hadn’t been wrong that he’d had too long to get used to being closed off again. He didn’t know how to soften on his own. And maybe it was for the better. He didn’t need to soften for her, because she wasn’t playing his games any longer.
“Her name is Estelle. She’s the warlock of Paris.”
Warlocks were territorial, so each major city only had one master. Graves was the one in New York City. Kierse had also met Kingston, who ruled London, and Imani in Chicago.
“They call her the Game Master. Her magic is primarily illusions, but it also shows up in other, more nefarious ways.”
Kierse shivered at that. “And you want to go to her house?”
“Aveline won’t cross her.”
“And…”
“And I want you to steal something from her.”
“You could have led with that back at the palace,” Kierse said with an eye roll. “I knew there was a price for the audience with the queen.”
Graves was silent a moment. “This isn’t the price.”
“No?” Kierse asked with derision. “So what would you call it? A favor?”
“A job.”
She turned away from him and smoothed her dress. “Nothing is that simple with you.”
“It’s for the cauldron.”
Kierse froze. The cauldron was one of the four magical objects of the gods—the Sword of Truth, the Spear of Lugh, the Cauldron of Dagda, and the Stone of Fal. Graves had spent a lifetime trying to acquire them all. At one point he’d had half of them in his possession, and now he had none. Getting the cauldron would be huge.