Page 151 of Fated In Ruin

Then something caught the back of my jacket and heaved, cold ripped across my face and I was flying. Not down, butup, the forest blurring by until we were back on the stony outcropping and I was looking down at what remained of the Château des Ombres.

Somehow, everyone was here, Blake and Riordan, Nash and his shell-shocked guards, even Fiona and Eldric, looking equally surprised they’d survived the cataclysm.

The ruins were gone, a long tendril of sparkling magic leaking up into the sky.

Ravok and Romulus stood on the edge of what used to be the Keep, staring across the ravine at us, matching scowls on their faces. Romulus cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, but the words took a minute to reach us.

“We opened up the ley line.” Ravok’s face split into a cruel grin. “In a matter of days, this world will end.”

“Fuck me, is that possible?’ Riordan looked to a white-faced Fiona, who nodded shallowly.

“You stole my future, so I’m taking yours,” Ravok called, needing nothing but his magic to make his voice carry. “You will give me what I want, and I will give you back your pathetic lives. Deny me and…” He swept his hand across the ruins, the tendril of magic forming a small, dark hole where it touched the clouds.

“He’s creating a rift,” Fiona muttered, her eyes wide. “But this one…this isn’t some small pocket, this one will make reality collapse in on itself, put a tear in the veil none of us are strong enough to repair.”

“What the fuck do we do?” I whispered. “How can we possibly fix something like this?”

That portal below had been full of frightening power, but looking at the massive amounts of energy already escaping…this one would be ten times the size. A hundred times bigger.

Malachi hesitated, those burning eyes flicking between me and the collapsing portal. Then, with a speed that stole my breath, scooped me up in his massive arms. Blake and Riordan lunged for me, only to be brushed away.

We must go to Ireland. Find Brendan Thorne. He can help us.

“He said we’re going to Ireland, to find Brendan Thorne, whatever that means.” I tried to wiggle free, but the beast wasn’t having any of it, clinging to me like his favorite teddy bear.

“How the fuck does he know Brendan Thorne?” Nash yelled as he turned away.

He’s an old friend. And he owes me.

“He says Brendan’s an old friend, and he owes Malachi a favor.” My fingers dug deeper into his tough, leathery skin as glimmering shadows swirled around us. “I expect we’re going to collect.”

66

EVANGELINE

Ireland/Laith Castle

We weren’t in the air for long, only a handful of seconds, which was good, because Malachi was squeezing me so tight, I couldn’t fucking breathe.

I seriously had to learn to do this myself, instead of being carted around, because this was just embarrassing.

We landed in a thin, cold rain, the sky overhead even grayer than the castle before us, surrounded by sectioned off gardens, overflowing with drooping water-heavy peonies and pink tea roses and spikes of pale blue delphiniums that didn’t even look real.

A long, curved gravel walkway led to that ancient castle, the kind I’d seen in tour books and travel logs, made from enormous stacked stones with arched gothic windows and fanciful turrets, sporting two long ivy-covered wings beneath an equally slate-gray roof.

Laith Castle. Brendan Thorne’s home.

“I take it they won’t be expecting us.”

They won’t be expecting…this.

Another slow blink of those amber colored eyes and I swallowed, taking my first good, long look at Malachi in the light, his bulky form outlined by the pale sky.

He was big, over eight feet tall, wide shoulders, tapered, toned waist, muscled thighs. I studiously ignored the monstrosity that hung between his legs, along with that little tingle of arousal between mine. Long, ropey arms terminated in what could pass as hands, five fingers with curved black talons, sharp enough to carve through soft flesh, his toes ending in the same type of claws, only shorter.

His face…

I tipped my head.

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