The Phoenix Charm by Helen Scott Taylor Page B

Michael. Niall would probably banish her anyway after what had happened to his son. Tears welled in her eyes. She brushed them away with her knuckles, hoping Michael wouldn’t notice.
    “Is that image in your divination mirror what you’re expecting to happen in Wales?” he asked.
    “Gods save us, no,” she said on a rush of breath. “Absolutely not.”
    She glanced over her shoulder to find his eyebrows raised. For the first time since they’d lost Fin, Michael’s lips twitched, almost making it into a smile. “The timing is undoubtedly bad, but the foretelling did not look that terrible to me, lass.”
    Turning to face him, she scraped back the loose wisps of hair fluttering in her eyes. “There’s no way anything like that can happen between us, Michael. Ever.”
    “I thought you foretold the future.”
    “Possible futures. Or in the case of that ridiculous image”—she jabbed a finger toward her room—“an impossible future.”
    He frowned. “So you’re sure that’s not likely to happen in Wales?”
    She drew a shaky breath, released it slowly. “That image has nothing to do with Wales.” She’d learned as a child that she must remain neutral during a reading or she could summon a false image. She feared the image of herself with Michael was nothing more than a representation of her desire.
    Silently, she begged him not to ask any more questions. She’d rather jump off the cliff than admit she liked to watch him making love.
    He rubbed the back of his neck and stared out to sea. “I’m thinking you’ll not be able to give us any clues how to free Fin.”
    The wind ruffled the chestnut waves of hair around his blue eyes and dark, unshaven jaw. In the low morning sun, his gaze glittered with pain, bright as the jewel in Troy’s dagger.
    She was beyond selfish worrying about her own longings when all that mattered now was rescuing Fin. “Do you think Troy’s knife is magic?”
    Michael’s eyes fixed on her again. He seemed to take a second to focus. “Don’t know, lass. Troy said to take the blade to Wales and show it to someone called Master Devin.”
    “ You’ll just do as he bid?”
    “Aye, lass. There’ll be a good reason, to be sure.”
    “You trust your father? I thought Niall had issues with him?” And after her experience with Troy, she wasn’t sure she trusted him.
    Michael laughed, a hollow, lost sound that brought tears to her eyes anew. “I cannot deny you have a point. Me father’s thrown me off kilter. What I do know is we must leave for Wales as soon as possible. ’Tis down to us to rescue Fin before the protective shield Troy spun around the lad disintegrates.”

Chapter Four
    Nightshade slouched sideways on the backseat of the Range Rover, his wings bent uncomfortably as the car shot along the motorway toward Wales. Michael slept beside him, head propped on a cushion against the door. Although Michael’s face was serene in sleep, Nightshade kept remembering Michael’s angry expression earlier when he’d rejected Nightshade’s comforting touch.
    I’ve lost him.
    The thought circled in his brain, cutting and slicing and ripping until his heart stuttered with the pain.
    His fangs ached in his gums at the musky fragrance of Michael’s skin. Yet he would never taste him again unless he took him by force. The thought of Michael fighting him off cracked his heart.
    Nightshade shifted to ease the ache in his shoulder from sitting sideways. Sometimes he hated his wings. They forever marked him out as a peculiarity, not only among humans, but also among The Good People.
    The noisy silence in the vehicle oppressed him, the hum of the tires on the road maddening. Thorn drove, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music from his headphones. Cordelia slept in the front passenger seat, her head lolling to the side. He hoped she woke with a stiff neck. Michael hadn’t taken his eyes off her legs since she’d walked out to the car wearing fitted