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 would earn your trust back,” he said finally after a moment, his voice hoarse and full of sincerity, “if you’d let me. I know where I went wrong the last time, and I will do better. Let me prove it to you. I am here for you, Wren. For you.”
“Not the cauldron?”
“A convenient excuse,” he admitted. “While your skills are valuable, I would do everything in my power to prove that it is the woman that I want and not just the little thief.”
Kierse tilted her head. There was no way to ensure that he kept his word—no sacred vow that she knew of that would make him do what he said. And would she trust him if he had to vow to be true to her? No, there was a measure of faith here.
Their eyes met. The weight of the tension between them turned warm and inviting.
“Fine. Prove it to me, then.” She lifted her chin. “My help with the cauldron for your help with my memories.”
“Sounds fair,” he said, offering his hand.
She swallowed hard, staring down at his outstretched hand with apprehension. Was she making a mistake? Putting her faith in someone who had already betrayed her? Someone who had kept secrets, hid his motives, and worked against her? She didn’t know. But she felt as if she had no other choice.
“Trust me,” he said like a death toll.
“Okay,” she said and took his hand, hoping she was making the right decision to enter another bargain with her winter god. “Time to go home.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Spring weather in the city was erratic at best. Graves insisted it had been in the fifties when he left, but somehow it was in the high eighties when they landed. Kierse stripped out of her jacket as they exited Graves’s jet into the balmy heat, the sun alighting on her dark hair and pale skin.
“Feck,” Niamh said, holding her long, burgundy hair off her neck. “It’s hot as the devil’s tit.”
Gen covered her mouth. “It’s not normally this hot in May.”
“It’s usually variable,” Kierse said, “but not like this.”
“At least you have air con,” she grumbled.
Graves said nothing, just glanced at Kierse as if she could discern what his stubborn silence meant. Was what happened on the winter solstice responsible for the unseasonable weather? Was that even possible?
A limo pulled onto the tarmac, and George opened the back door. “Sir.”
Niamh held up her patchwork quilted bag in goodbye. “Don’t have too much fun without me. And come to Brooklyn if you need a place to stay.”
Her eyes flitted to Graves and back to the girls. She’d been adamant that they shouldn’t live with Graves again. But Kierse wasn’t going to live with the Druids and Gen wanted to stay with Kierse and maybe, just a little bit, wanted to see the inside of Graves’s brownstone when not under threat of death. Of course, Gen could be playing protector…as she always had.
“We’ll be fine,” Kierse said.
“We’ll miss you not being right next door,” Gen said. “Even if you lied to us.”
Niamh laughed. “Yeah. Sorry about that, babe.”
Gen’s cheeks reddened.
“You don’t have to stay there, either,” Kierse reminded her. She didn’t know the deal with Niamh and Lorcan, but she did know Lorcan and his duplicity. He was every bit as frustrating and just as deadly as Graves.
She waved her hand. “I’ve got it covered. It’s you I worry about.”
“They’ll be taken care of,” Graves said sternly.
“I bet they will,” Niamh teased.
Then she was off and away, and Graves was shuffling them into the back of the limo where another man was already seated within.
George pulled away from the airport, and Graves gestured to the man. “Kierse, Genesis, allow me to introduce you to an associate of mine, Lazarus Kates.”
Laz was everything and nothing like Kierse had imagined him. Graves had briefed her on the long plane ride over that they would be meeting his elusive treasure hunter who had been away for Passover. Somehow she’d envisioned a man in ragtag khaki with a wide-brimmed fedora and a perpetual five o’clock shadow. While he had an actual beard and the khaki wasn’t far off, there was no hat in sight. Just deep, dark-brown eyes, a swath of curly brown hair trimmed short on the sides, and tan hands and forearms marked with tiny scars, like he’d seen his way around a few knife fights.
“It’s a pleasure.” His eyes found Gen, and he nodded once before turning to Kierse. “You must be the wren.”
“That’s me.”
“Yeah, Boss told me about you,” he said gruffly. He pulled out a folder from a dark brown leather messenger bag and offered it to Graves. “Good to have you back on board.”
“Thanks,” she said hesitantly, her eyes flicking to Graves in question. He’d told someone about her? That didn’t sound like him at all. Graves quirked an eyebrow that said, See? Things have changed.