Finley immediately raised an arm, blocking him from getting any closer.
“Ironic, isn’t it?” Lochlainn said, words cold and demeaning. “Coming from thegirlwho didn’t know who the man that raised her really was, or even who her own blood parents are, for that matter.” He tilted his head with a serrated look. “Talk about true connections. Tell me, Carwynn—how doyoufill that void?”
Shots. Fired.
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words—words are fucking bullets . . .
I held his stare, even as the prickling burn of tears began to pool.
I hated feeling so emotional. Hated that a simple string of words could carve me up from the inside out, hollowing me. I felt like an exposed nerve—too raw and unprotected. My skin had weathered a lifetime of blows. So why wasn’t it any thicker by now?
Maybe I’d been too harsh, but I wasn’t wrong about him. And judging by his cutthroat response, he knew it too. Yet, he wasn’t wrong about me either.
Of course, Ididknow who my mother was—but he wasn’t going to know that.
Pogue finally migrated away from the fireplace. His shoulders tense, as if sensing something that put him on edge.
A cold shiver crept up my spine.
Light orbs flickered around the room as a soul slipped into my mind.
A fool, that boy. He’ll make right in the end…it whispered.
The voice sounded faintly familiar. Yes—her. The relativeLochlainn had me summon the first time I worked with him—to locate a family heirloom. His grandmother. Though her voice was stronger. No longer distant.
My head began to throb as I felt her sliding in, taking up too much space—pressing, pushing.
I clutched my temples and shut my eyes tight as the tension built behind them.
Get out, get out, get out, get out . . .another voice seethed.
”Get out of my head!”
My eyes shot open. Realizing I’d screamed the last part out loud, looking like I’d completely lost my damned mind. Like I’d completely lost controlagain. It made me feel weak.Vulnerable.
My chest tightened. I needed to get out of here.
Without a word, I stormed out the room, not daring to look back. I didn’t want to see their faces plastered with whatever judging emotions—pity, horror, concern, irritation.
It didn’t matter. I just needed out, needed air.
The tension in my chest swelled as I strode down the hall. Feeling like I’d stepped on a boobytrap—and now the thick walls of the vault were closing in.
Someone called out my name, begging me to stop. But I ignored it. I tunneled ahead, locking my every focus on gettingout.
My hand reached the door.Locked. It was locked.
I twisted the knob desperately, over and over.
No, no, no. I need out! Right. Now.
My lungs constricted, squeezing out the last drops of air. A torrent of anxious weight crashed over me, towing me under, drowning.
Open, goddamn it!
No sooner had the thought crossed my mind, a green vine spiraled out from my hand, coiling around the knob. Just asbefore, a bud spouted—blooming into that beautiful, hummingbird-shaped flower.
Bird of Paradise.
