Still, it was hard for Carrick to imagine Lucien in love. It was even harder to imagine him taking the time to write the Libri Mysteria, which was as much travel diary as a listing of powerful objects. Lucien didn’t seem the cerebral type, but that was not to say he was dumb. On the contrary, he was extremely intelligent as all demi-gods were. He was just a doer rather than a ponderer, and Carrick couldn’t imagine him being able to sit still long enough to write all those words.
Lucien was the isolationist, the one with the fewest words and the easiest to provoke to violence. This was in complete juxtaposition to Maddox’s easygoing nature and penchant for mischief. Carrick fell right in between. He wasn’t the oldest or the wisest, but he acted it and was often in the role of others looking to him for leadership when needed.
Despite their differences, Carrick had told both Maddox and Lucien about Eireann when he decided to marry her and make a life with a mortal. After he’d told Eireann the truth of who he was, he’d introduced Maddox and Lucien to her, as well as revealed that Zaid—who had been his companion for many years—was a daemon.
Lucien and Maddox then stopped Carrick from trying to destroy the world after Rune killed Eireann, and rode out each loss with him every time one of her new lives ended.
He supposed he loved his brothers for that alone, although there had to be a million other reasons as long as they’d lived.
Carrick just wished Lucien had shared his tale of woe because he could have been a source of comfort for his brother had he been allowed. He was sure Maddox would feel the same once he told him about Lucien being the book’s author.
Continuing to stare at the ceiling, Carrick contemplated going back to bed. Finley was there, and she was warm, alive, and his for however long the fates would allow it. A small part of him believed she would make it through the prophecy, but only so Rune would have the satisfaction of ensuring her death thereafter. It would be like Rune to give Carrick a small victory only to take it away from him again.
But Carrick wasn’t going to play that game with Rune anymore. He refused to hide from his fate by Ascending, and, as he promised Finley, he would wait for each reincarnation for them to be together again. There was something about Finley—this present incarnation of Eireann—that had shown Carrick that even small moments of happiness were worth the pain to be suffered. He could handle her deaths knowing he’d have her alive again at some point. The real suffering would be if Rune ever figured out that Carrick could be satisfied with this, since he might stop Finley’s reincarnations. But Carrick didn’t want to worry about the awfulness of that punishment should Rune bestow it.
He had enough on his plate.
Regardless, Carrick had resolved to do things differently in the future the next time his Eireann came back to him. He’d offer her the Hall of Histories when she was ready, not because it would push things along but because he saw how meaningful it was to Finley today to understand their relationship the way he did.
Hell, maybe he’d search for another way for them to make her an immortal. There were thousands of realms with different types of magics. Who was to say there wasn’t something out there for them?
Maybe, just maybe, if they defeated Kymaris and came out with the Blood Stone intact, it could be enough to make her immortal. Finley might not want that, of course, but maybe the gods would grant favor on him and render him mortal. That would only work if Rune would lift his curse and let them have their short lives left together.
That would actually be a dream for him. His preference, really. To live a normal life where they would age and experience life together. They’d have children, a dog or two, and even a fucking white picket fence. That was a long shot, though. Rune was unlikely to give up his curse because he was a fucking asshole.
Carrick had his share of turmoil to think about regarding his future with Finley, but at least he had a future. Lucien had his crack at love, and it ended badly and permanently. It made his heart heavy for his brother.
But then, it lifted like mist rising from a mountain, and he knew that wasn’t happenstance.
He sensed her before he saw her.
Dropping his gaze from the ceiling, he saw Finley—his Eireann—standing at the pocket doors, leaning casually against the jamb with her hands crossed over her chest. She wasn’t there long because he had just felt her arrive.
Eireann.
She would always be that to him… the very first time he loved her. Carrick often caught himself almost calling Finley by that name because it was so synonymous with everything they stood for. It had always been hard to get used to her new name each time they met, but it was never hard to get used to her again.
She was the same, over and over again, in looks, spirit, personality, and love. She came back to him perfect every time.
Finley looked delectable in one of his t-shirts that came down to her mid-thigh. Her hair was sex-tousled, and there’d never be a time he didn’t want to muss it up more.
“Penny for your thoughts,” she said with a smile, pushing off the jamb and sauntering his way.
Carrick didn’t move. Kept his casual recline on the couch, hands behind his head, enjoying watching her graceful and seductive movements. But he did answer her. “Thinking about Lucien. If we don’t hear from him today, I’m going to have to go searching.”
“You mean we are going to go searching,” she corrected as her knees bumped the edge of the couch.
It didn’t stop her trajectory as she merely climbed up to straddle his thighs. She sat back, hands resting gently on her own thighs, and studied him.
“Yes,” he agreed. “We are going to go searching.”
Because they were partners in this.
Finley reached out and gently brushed along his forehead and over one eyebrow with a fingertip. “You’re worried.”
“It’s a constant these days,” Carrick replied with a wry smile.
“I’d like to be one of those girlfriends right now who say ‘honey, you look tired—you should come back to bed,’ but we both know you’re not tired and you don’t need the sleep. Lay your worries on me.”
Carrick stared at her for an overly long period, but mostly settled on her eyes.
They fucking did him in every time.
Pushing her hands away, Carrick covered the tops of her thighs with his palms. The softness of her skin wasn’t distracting but oddly comforting to him right now. She was offering her heart to him, and it was something he had not gotten enough of since they met.
He definitely wouldn’t worry her about his worries over their future. They’d face that together at some point.
But Finley was his partner in every way, and so yes, he was going to lay his worries on her. It was something they had always done in every past life she lived. She was his sounding board, always lending a quiet, nonjudgmental ear, and if she couldn’t give advice, she’d give all her support.
This was exactly what he needed.
“I’m worried about Lucien and how he’s going to take the news that we need the Blood Stone, and, more importantly, that we need him to lead us there to get it.”
“Because Charmeine is supposedly trapped inside?” Finley guessed.
Carrick merely nodded, giving her thighs a light squeeze.
“But wouldn’t he want to use this attempt to try to rescue her? I mean, maybe she can be freed.”