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)
“I’m okay,” Kierse confirmed.
“The cards…” She shook her head. “They didn’t like the market. It was like I was blocked by its magic from scrying you.”
Niamh patted her shoulder. “It’s a pocket of ancient energy.”
“I didn’t like it. I don’t think you should go back into that place.”
“You and me both,” Kierse said. The last thing she wanted to think about was what had happened in the depths of that place. She had no strong urge to ever go back inside. Not if she could help it.
“What happened to you? You all look like you’ve been through hell.”
“It was just…” Kierse shook her head. “I could use a shower.” She removed the bottles from her pockets. “But first, I got what I was looking for.”
Gen chewed on her plump bottom lip. “How does it work?”
Kierse explained how to use the three bottles. “Then I’ll lay down and the memories will surface.”
“Let me just…” Gen trailed off, hurrying back to her deck. She arranged it back together before bringing it to Kierse. “Cut.”
Kierse knew better than to argue when Gen’s psychic energy was at its zenith. She split the tarot deck in half, placing the bottom on top. Gen shivered as the weight of her magic bloomed. Kierse had always said she’d had a touch of prophecy while reading the cards. It was the reason she had earned the name Prophet Genesis back in the city.
Gen slowly turned over the top card: The Magician.
They turned as one to look at Graves, silent and sinister, beside the door with his hands in the pockets of his bespoke suit. A lock of midnight-blue hair had fallen forward onto his brow. He was the epitome of dangerous, and utterly delectable. Kierse could have devoured him in that moment if only things weren’t so complicated.
“An anchor,” he said. “That’s what the card suggests.”
Niamh snorted. “You think you should anchor her?”
“You doubt the prophecy of your own people?” he challenged.
Niamh ground her teeth together at the accusation but shook her head stiffly.
“Yes,” Gen said with relief in her voice and set the deck aside. “She needs you.”
Kierse didn’t know what she thought about that, but Gen was never wrong. Only a fool would ignore divine intervention.
“What does an anchor do?”
“I hold your magic while you drop into your memories,” he said evenly. As if he wasn’t suggesting something intimate as hell. “I’ll pull you out if anything goes wrong.”
“I could do it,” Niamh said earnestly.
“Graves is stronger,” Gen pointed out.
Graves met her gaze. “And I won’t let any harm come to you.”
Kierse could see the sincerity on his face. He’d had her back in the market. He’d saved her after she had been stabbed. He’d bartered for her. He’d paid the sum for the potions despite disagreeing with the whole endeavor from the start. She didn’t trust him, didn’t know how to trust him, but he would do this and he would do it right.
“Fine,” Kierse said. “You’re with me.”
Gen relaxed, her magic spent. “Good.” She touched Kierse’s arm. “Be careful.”
“After you,” Graves said, gesturing to her bedroom.
“We’ll be right here,” Niamh said more to Graves as a threat than anything.
They walked into her bedroom, and suddenly it felt like it was too small, not enough air for both of them to breathe at once. Graves somehow took up the entire space.
Kierse turned away from him hastily, but now she was facing the bed and her thoughts drifted back to them entangling at his Paris flat. Gen asking if they’d had sex. Not yet. She shook off that thought, too. It was a distraction. He was a distraction. That was all.
“Are you ready?” he asked in a low, throaty voice.
She slipped out of her red jacket and tossed it aside before sinking into the bed. “Now I am.”
She didn’t normally spend time worrying about what could have been, but now Kierse had to wonder what exactly she was going to see in her past. Would she finally have answers? Or would she only find more questions in the recesses of her mind? What if she couldn’t sort through the memories? Had the spell turned all of her nightmares against her?
And now she finally held what she hoped was the key.
Graves slid a chair over to the bed and began to remove his gloves. She watched as his fingers worked over the material—every move was somehow both methodical and erotic. “Remember our conversations about intent. Keep your thoughts on exactly what you want to drive the spell to the correct destination.”
What she wanted. She glanced up at him and away. She needed to get her head in the game. Graves was not what she wanted.
Her parents. This was about her parents. She wanted to know so much. What had happened to them, how they had died, what was in her nightmares, what it had been like growing up. Everything. She wanted everything. But she needed to be specific to guide the intent.