Page 26 of The Seer

“Will you shut the feck up and listen to what I’m tellin’ ya, woman? I had a vision.”

She shut up. But only because he’d shocked her into silence. Staring into his troubled eyes, she understood one thing. If there weren’t a threat to her life, Fintan would’ve had her out the door faster than a witch denying she hexed her ex, even though his hair had mysteriously fallen out.

Taryn eyed Fintan’s head for a bald spot and sighed when she didn’t find one. She hated that he was perfect and impervious to her petty magic.

Sagging against him in defeat, she sighed. “What’s this vision?”

Over the topof Taryn’s head, Fintan met Creed’s worried gaze, and an unspoken understanding passed between them. They’d both protect her at the cost of their lives. Indeed, if they didn’t, theirs would be short-lived anyway. The Aether would wear their femurs as a crown if she were hurt under their watch.

It seemed that in the short time Creed and Taryn had been alone, she’d wormed her way into his friend’s heart. Fintan wasn’t surprised. Her charm was effortless and addictive to the unsuspecting.

She poked him in the ribs. “Quit stalling. Tell us about the vision.”

“I was standin’ beside your grave as dirt was shoveled over your coffin,” he said roughly.

Her body stiffened, and the blood drained from her face. “That’s pretty fucking specific.”

“Aye.”

Creed sank into a nearby chair. “Anything leading up to it?”

“Not much. Just a general sense someone evil was targeting her.”

Taryn swallowed hard and relaxed into him as if seeking his warmth. Holding her felt better than he remembered, and he rested his chin atop her silky hair.

“It has to be linked to Bloodstone’s necklace. It’s the only artifact I’ve been researching lately,” she said. “Don’t you think?”

“Aye, but why? Who would know besides the Sentinels that ya found it?”

Her brows met as she considered Fintan’s question. “Just the Archive Keeper at the Witches’ Council and Ryanne Thorne.”

“Ryanne Thorne? That’s not a name I’m familiar with. You?” Creed asked him.

“No.”

Taryn curled her legs up and rested her head on Fintan’s shoulder, and it felt natural for him to tighten his arms around her, cuddling her close. The scent of her freshly washed hair was a delicious mix of apples and cinnamon, reminding him of his favorite pie. Inside, his Siren stirred, tempted by her closeness.

“Don’t do it,”he warned the creature.

He must’ve been too forceful and telegraphed the thought to her via their link, making her pull away. The separation caused a literal ache in his heart, but he told himself it was for the best.

“That wasn’t for you,aoibhneas mo croí.It was for my Siren.” Why he’d felt compelled to say it aloud, he had no clue. Maybe it was the flash of hurt he’d witnessed or the whirlwind of insecurities dancing inside her head. “He’s a feckin’ gobshite who craves one thing.”

“Got it.”

Her stiff response told him she didn’t understand. Not really. But he let it go. The distance would benefit them in the end.

When he met Creed’s watchful gaze, he felt the weight of his old friend’s disapproval.

Taryn steered their conversational ship back on course. “Ryanne is Nash Thorne’s wife. I told you about him earlier, Fintan.” To Creed, she said, “He’s Alastair’s son and now heads Thorne Industries. It’s one of the Council’s largest archives for documents and magical artifacts. Nash’s knowledge is extensive, and what he doesn’t know, his father does.”

“So he’s the Archive Keeper?” Creed asked.

“No. That’s actually someone at the Council. I went there after I spoke with Nash and Ryanne.”

“Sure, and ya could’ve led with that earlier,” Fintan muttered. “You had me believin’ you were in tight with the man.”

“I only told you I spoke with him. You were the one who built it up to be more than it is,” Taryn retorted.

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