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)
In that time, a soulmate bond was sacred and special. Niamh couldn’t be the one to take that away from her love.
It had all gotten complicated the day that Lorcan had brought Graves into their midst. A secretive and melancholy youth with none of the ease and humor the rest of them had. Only Emilie seemed to be able to draw him out of his shell in those early days.
In the end, it was Emilie’s death that had brought Lorcan and Saoirse together. After their wedding, the triskel appeared, drawing her into their merry union. Something she thought would be awkward but was as easy as breathing. She finally had her love back. Saoirse the center of both of their entire worlds.
Until Saoirse’s death. And then being around Lorcan was like a knife through her chest. Every look from him said, It should have been you.
“Is everything okay?” Gen asked.
Niamh pulled herself from her old thoughts. Nothing could be done about the past. Only about the unsteady future.
“She’s in magic drain,” Niamh said.
Gen was another problem. Like the way she made Niamh’s heart beat wildly in her chest as if she’d resurrected the decaying thing. The only way Niamh knew how to survive that was to push Gen away. She’d lived a long, full life with the love of her life. She couldn’t watch a second one die.
“Is there anything I can do?” Gen asked with those wide, earnest, clouded eyes that saw so much.
“Actually, I need you to call Graves and tell him that she’s going to have to stay here until she wakes up.”
Gen bit her lip. “He’s not going to like that.”
“No,” Niamh agreed, glancing back at the closed door where Kierse lay in Lorcan’s bed. “He’s really not.”
Part V
monster con
Chapter Fifty-Two
“I don’t care what he wants!” a voice yelled. “I am not moving her!”
Her body ached all over. Like someone had sat on her chest and crushed her ribs in. Her fingers and toes tingled as if they were coming back online. Her head pounded.
And yet she was comfortable. The bed she was in was warm and soft and pliant. It smelled like rain and soap. She could have buried her nose in it and inhaled. For some reason, it was like coming home.
Her eyes peeled open slowly to take stock of where she was. Unfamiliar.
Everything was unfamiliar.
She stiffened when she didn’t recognize the bed or the room or anything inside of it. The space was all exposed red brick and floor-to-ceiling windows with long, gauzy drapes. The bed was a mahogany four-poster with an olive comforter and crisp white sheets. A desk sat against one wall, covered with old dusty tomes and a large ledger. The door next to it was cracked to reveal a bathroom.
She focused on the present. She was in a stranger’s bedroom. It smelled like summer and looked like…an old Brooklyn warehouse.
The pieces began to slot into place. She gasped and tried to jerk upright. Her body screeched in pain at the overuse, and she flopped backward.
She was in Lorcan’s bed.
She was in Lorcan’s bed.
Oh, fuck, she was in Lorcan’s bed!
How long had she been here? What was she doing here? What the fuck had happened?
She didn’t remember exactly. Only that she was in a long, white button-up that must belong to him. Had he changed her? Oh dear God, she’d need to process that some other time. At least the other side of the bed looked unslept in. She must have had the bed to herself. She fucking hoped she’d had it to herself.
Gingerly this time, she righted her body, waiting for the pounding in her head to slow to a small pulse. Then she kicked her feet to the side and tried to stand, holding onto one of the posts for support.
At first her head swam, but slowly her vision cleared. Pieces of the night came back to her. The triskel training. Magic sharing. Ethan.
Oh.
Ethan had drained her magic. Accidentally. She didn’t think he’d known how to do it on purpose. Yet he’d still done it.
“Yeah, you can tell him to go fuck himself!”
Kierse narrowed her eyes. Lorcan. That was Lorcan.
And if he was arguing with someone…that meant…
“Graves,” she whispered.
She was halfway across the room when the door creaked open again and Lorcan padded forward on silent feet. He froze at the sight of her standing in the middle of the room in nothing but an oversize button-up.
“You’re awake,” he said, his eyes traveling down her legs.
“Is he here?”
He huffed. “No. Even he isn’t that stupid.” Kierse took a step toward the door and then stumbled. Lorcan was there an instant later, catching her. “You should be in bed.”
“I’m fine.”
“You just fell walking.”
Her head felt fuzzy all over again at the feel of his hands. She wanted him to stop, but at the same time it did steady her.