Chapter 11
11
Rafael studied Mathayus as the black wolf picked up his beer and drank the whole bottle. He stared at the empty green bottle before setting it on the floor next to the first one. “Basically, we’re here to ask for help. After hearing Angel’s story, you know we served under Fer-Diorich—against our will."
Morgan leaned toward the red-haired wolf beside her and placed her hand over Garrett’s paw as it gripped his knee. Rafael wanted to pull her back but dug his claws into the back of the sofa instead. Trying to control her was like harnessing the wind. It did him no good.
“I’m glad we were able to help those of you escape that egotistical idiot during the fight at the castle ruins. Hopefully, the heartache he’s caused can be put to rest, and his punishment will be for eternity.”
Garrett’s smile turned up slightly at the corners of his mouth as he stared at her. Rafael saw how the wolf looked at her beautiful face, knowing how it felt when her gentle blue eyes stared into his as if seeing into his soul. Whether Morgan knew it or not, she was an old soul and so special.
Most people believed Gwyn's presence soothed, but Morgan had the same ability. Glancing over at Garrett’s two companions, Rafael caught their looks of gratitude and, surprisingly, hope. He also knew that emotion well.
Hope is what drove all of them—kept them sane while searching for the cure to their curse. Now, though, it had been so long since any of his band of brothers had even thought of hope, much less felt the emotion.
His gaze moved over Morgan’s face, like her grandmother’s but more so. Her straight, blue-black hair was thick and soft, making the blue shade of her eyes even more striking. Her long, black lashes were the perfect frames. Her skin was without blemish and accentuated her dusky pink lips. Lips he dreamed of kissing.
Yet, he saw the hesitation deep in the pools of her blue eyes. Trust for her didn’t come easy, and these three had been under their enemy’s command. Here was this woman, beautiful and kind, offering the three wolves something she didn’t yet understand. They were strangers, but it didn’t matter. She was truly amazing, and he would never be able to let her go.
Rafael saw rather than felt the werewolves’ surrender and acceptance of Morgan. Inwardly, they projected a fading level of doubt that any one person could help them or reverse the curse of living as wolves. He studied the large black wolf, sensing a reluctance. They still withheld something momentous, but with their emotions on edge, now wasn’t the right time to confront them.
His gaze moved to Morgan. Whether his mind realized it or even accepted it, his heart knew. He loved the precocious and passionate Fae. He could no longer fool himself or deny what his heart had tried telling him for months. He would give his life for Morgan DeBois, and when this battle against Fer-Diorich was over, he probably would.
Sadly, his soul remained so torn by past sins and current secrets that sharing his true feelings would only complicate matters. Once those secrets were revealed, not only would Morgan despise him, but the other Immortals would as well. After centuries of keeping the Immortals at arm’s length, the brothers he considered family had no idea how he truly felt about them. He had lost too many people in his life to open his heart again.
He turned his thoughts back to Mathayus. He was alpha, like Torin, Makari, and himself. He would be the difficult one—the one he would need to defeat first if they should turn out to be spies from the Dark Fae.
Torin offered another beer to Angel, who passed with a wave of his paw and reached for the French press, pouring himself a steaming cup of coffee. Taking a sip of the dark, bitter brew, his face twisted into a grimace. Feeling for the man and liking a touch of milk and sugar in his own coffee, Rafael touched on his Fae magic and added just enough to sweeten the wolf’s drink. Angel took another sip and, as if he somehow knew, met Rafeal’s gaze. Giving him the barest of nods, the black wolf left Rafael wondering how he knew who had helped him.
The pain from these three wolves beat at him, familiar and haunting. If they were imprisoned like they said, they would have no idea others like them suffered in much the same way. He could ease their pain by opening up and telling them his story, but what would it do to him? It had taken him centuries to learn to live with his deception.
His gaze moved over those he called brothers and knew he had no choice. He couldn’t let these new wolves suffer when he could ease their pain. He just had to hope his brothers would understand and not shun him. He wouldn’t blame them if they did, though. Of all the Immortals, Makari was the most volatile. His relationship with him had always been the rockiest, with Torin and Fáelán acting as buffers.
He exhaled and stared at the rocky floor in front of his paws. “To have lived and suffered under the Black Fae and his followers will be forever part of my soul, as is my homeland. Spain is still tormented by its history. Does any country ever truly recover from the evil spread by those in command?” Rafael asked.
“Like Hitler?” Makari said, leaning back in his uncomfortable chair. His large body looked as if it were perched on top of a pin cushion.
Rafael nodded. “Exactly like Hitler. Over the centuries, rulers as far back as Caligula to Isabel and Ferdinand, Hitler, Pol Pot, Stalin, and so many others have ruined the beauty around them. They destroyed their people. No one race, religion, or culture is perfect, and to put such demands on people to become so only brings about long-term confusion and disorder, ultimately leading to death. I wonder if people will ever learn the lessons history teaches.”
“No,” Torin answered. “The answers to so many problems are right in front of those capable of saving humanity, and they choose to ignore them, thinking it is in the past and doesn’t apply to today. It is sad but inevitable. émilien, the Guardian of Gevaudais and our ancestor, told me the gods had witnessed this repeatedly. One day, they will no longer intervene to save humans from their inevitable fate, and our race will die out.
Rafael’s gaze met Angel’s, whose brown eyes were glazed with pain and unshed grief, which beat at him until he could no longer take the agony and leaned toward the black wolf. “I, too, was tortured and imprisoned. For twenty years, I was subjected to extreme pain and isolation. Fer-Diorich needed new blood for his experiments, and I fit the bill. Just before he was sent to the Unseelie Court, several of us were turned over to a druid named Kristof. My new jailor was a heretic and well-known to me. I had served under him during the Inquisition.”
Angel frowned. “The Spanish Inquisition, right?”
Rafael nodded. “Kristof was crazed by the dictates of the Dark Fae and believed himself to be better and smarter than Fer-Diorich. He and his fellow druids were zealous in their methods and used any blood they could to further their goal, which was to become more powerful than the Fae. Kristof took up where the Dark Fae left off and tried to create an army more powerful than the Ironclaws. He wanted his army to be able to infiltrate any society, fitting in and not standing out so they could slowly change ideas and beliefs and murder whoever stood in their way without getting caught.”
Understanding dawned on Mathayus’s face as he leaned forward. “You can shift back to your human form, can’t you?”
Torin’s head jerked around, and Makari stepped around him, his stance wide and with a snarl on his face. Rafael nodded, holding Mathayus’s gaze with his. “It is not something I have been proud of and the reason I stay away from most.” He dropped his gaze, unable to look at the wolves he considered his family but knew this apology had been a long time coming. Forcing his head up, his gaze met Torin’s, then touched on Makari’s and, lastly, Fáelán’s and his brother, Kilian’s.
I have always known you were hiding something, Rafael. Morgan’s voice whispered in his head, soothing his rioting nerves. They will understand once you explain your reasons to them.
Not all of them will.
Morgan chuckled. No, Makari will scream at you and stomp around, but in the end, he will understand, too. You hid your true self out of love for them. To protect them. Don’t belittle your gift. You are an honorable man, and I love that about you.
His breath caught in his lungs, which didn’t seem to want to work right as he replayed her words. While she hadn’t outright admitted to loving him, it was so very close. He wanted to ask her what she meant—what was in her heart for him. Somehow, while denying his feelings, he had fallen hopelessly in love with Morgan DuBois and had no idea what to do with the knowledge.
Pushing back his shoulders to ease the heaviness gripping him, he nervously swallowed. “While I don’t deserve it, I ask for your forgiveness. I made the decision to keep my ability hidden long ago. I saw how everyone looked at Torin, with envy and frustration in their eyes. I also watched the guilt for being able to shift eat at you, Torin, and I didn’t want to add to your burdens. If that was wrong, I am sorry.”
Torin patted Gwyn’s leg, then rose and squatted in front of him. “You are one of us, whether you can shift or not, Rafael. We are a brotherhood and bound together by honor and blood. Knowing I could live my life as both man and wolf while the others could not was difficult. At times, guilt consumed me, but it also made my resolve to figure out the solution even stronger. It made my bond with each of our brothers stronger. Don’t shut us out. We help one another as family does, in good times and bad.”
Makari stepped closer, standing behind Torin, and crossed his arms. “While I ought to wring your neck, Torin’s right. I hold everyone at arm’s length and never talk about my feelings. My father pounded it in us boys at a very early age to never show emotion because it could get us killed. I realize times have changed—drastically—but those lessons have been difficult to unlearn. We fight together, depending on one another to stay alive. I am not so far gone I can’t admit that Torin has kept me sane over the last few centuries. My past was… is difficult to live with, and if not for him pushing every button I have, I don’t know that I would still be here.”
He leaned forward and laid his sizeable black paw on Rafael’s white fur-covered leg. “We need you, Spaniard. I also think a certain spirited female needs you more than we do.”
Rafael glanced over to where Morgan sat, but her chair was empty. He frowned, his gaze moving around the room, then returned to Gwyn. “Do you know where Morgan went?”
Gwyn shook her head. “A few minutes ago, she said she needed to do something but didn’t say what. She did tell me that, if you asked, to let you know it wasn’t dangerous, so quit worrying like a mother hen.”
Torin laughed. “That sounds exactly like something she’d say.”
Gwyn rolled her eyes. “Of course it does—she said it.”
“Are you all always like this? One moment biting each other’s heads off and the next, uncomfortably sappy?” a familiar female voice said.
They all turned to see Morrigan standing in the doorway. Behind her stood another beautiful woman. Her blond hair was braided and wrapped on the top of her head with short, curled strands framing her perfect face. Light gray eyes met his.
“I recognize you,” she said, her voice soft with a touch of another emotion he couldn’t quite place. “You are the Spaniard who fought under the traitor Kristof. You were an inquisitor who turned against the Crown. Cernunnos noticed you and the men loyal to you after you stood up for a group of Jews being tortured near the border of Aragorn. You then protected and helped a Muslim family escape their tormentors.”
Rafael nodded. “I could not and still cannot condone cultural genocide. No one has the right to proclaim themselves perfect in the eyes of God or man and murder those he believes are beneath him.”
“My name is Ceridwen. My best friend, Cernunnos, watched over you after that, following your life. He lost you for a while and wondered if you had died. He usually traces souls, but you gave him a run for his money.” She smiled, and her beautiful face lit up the room. “Thank you for that. I love it when he gets stumped.”
Morrigan nodded. “He does tend to think highly of himself, doesn’t he?” She turned to the group. “As you probably have guessed, Ceridwen is also a goddess?—”
“The Celtic goddess of inspiration, if my memory serves,” Fáelán interrupted and bowed at the waist in an old-world style. “As I’m certain I speak for all the Immortals, you are welcome here any time, my lady.”
Ceridwen smiled, slightly tilting her head to one side. “Thank you, Fáelán. You are worthy of being a druid, much like your father, if memory serves.”
Kilian leaned forward. “You knew our father?”
Ceridwen nodded. “Very well, actually. I know you miss him and wished for his wise counsel over the years, but he has followed you from the Otherworld. Even Arawn has sought Jodoc’s counsel a few times. A father couldn’t be prouder of his sons, no matter what forms they wear.” She chuckled. “He has even lamented on how unfair it is that you two should be able to experience life as the sacred wolf and to treasure the gift.”
She tilted her head. “Something tells me, though, that no one in this room thinks of it as a gift.” Her light gray gaze touched each wolf, and Rafael noticed how everyone squirmed the moment she did. Even he wasn’t immune, feeling as if she saw into his soul, and he didn’t like that anyone could see the darkness swirling there. It was for him to know and him alone.
Her gaze stared into his a moment longer than the others. “No one can handle every aspect of life alone, Rafael. Not even you. When you learn to open up and allow others in, you will experience a new world…and realize what you have lost in keeping out those who love you.”
Morrigan smiled, linking her arm with Ceridwen’s. “I, more than most, understand how bitterness and hate can color our sight. It makes us blind to the good still in our lives. Each of you knows my story and why Fer-Diorich is after my granddaughters. His curse has taken so many of my children. My only remaining son, Caith, is as you all are—cursed to live as a wolf. Fer-Diorich unknowingly captured him. He has been helping me keep tabs on his movements and machinations. We’ve got to keep ahead of the Dark Fae with the Samhain deadline being so close.”
“What of your other descendants?” A strange female voice asked.
Another gorgeous woman stepped out from between two bookshelves as everyone turned toward the library section. With strawberry blond hair braided in an intricate design on top of her head, she was dressed in a long, elegant purple gown that perfectly matched her eyes, and her smile lit up the room.
“Freyja!” Morrigan dropped Ceridwen’s arm and hugged the goddess. “What in the world are you doing here? Don’t you have Norse things to be taking care of?”
Freyja rolled her eyes and hugged Morrigan. “It has been too long, my friend! How are you?” Before the goddess could answer, Freyja continued. “Idunn will have my head if I forget to tell you she has the recipe Nemain asked for.”
“I will pass that on to my sister.”
Freyja stepped back and waved at Ceridwen. “Nice to see you again, Ceri. It’s been, what…a couple thousand years?”
The blond goddess grinned. “Probably. Goddessing takes up all our time.”
Freyja chuckled. “Goddessing… I’m going to have to start saying that.” She turned and faced Rafael. “Have you any clue where your wayward friend has gone? I can’t find him anywhere, and he was supposed to report back to me. I need to know what you all know so we can keep that idiotic Fae behind bars.”
“If you are referring to Lucan, he was supposed to be resting at my house, watching over my wolf pack.” He narrowed his gaze and glanced at Morgan’s empty seat again. “I might have an idea who he may be with.”
Morgan, if you are with Lucan, tell him the next time I see him that we will have to set some boundaries, or he will not be forgiven.
Seriously? Morgan made a rude noise in her throat, loud enough to echo through his head. You are a terrible friend. He came to you and asked forgiveness, and all you can do is threaten him.
Why are you there, mi pequeno?
I had a bad feeling and wanted to check on him. He seems fine, though. He is very pale and probably needs blood, but there’s nothing I can do about that. He isn’t getting any of mine. With all the different kinds of blood cells floating around in my veins, it would probably make him explode.
Rafael chuckled. Please bring him to the library. Freyja just arrived looking for him.
Freyja? As in the Norse goddess? That Freyja?
Yes, pequeno. That Freyja. I would suggest you hurry. She doesn’t seem very happy.
He smiled at the peaked expression on Freyja’s face. “Morgan and Lucan are on their way?—.”
“We’re here!” Morgan announced, dragging a very reluctant Lucan into the room and pulling him to stand beside her. Although, from the way he dragged his feet, his reluctance to be there was apparent.
Her gaze landed on Morrigan. Hurrying toward her, she wrapped her arms around her grandmother in a warm hug. “I love seeing you so often,” she whispered in Morrigan’s ear, then kissed her cheek.
Morrigan smiled down at her, cupping her cheek. “I love seeing you too.” Laying her hands on Morgan’s shoulders, she turned her to face the goddesses. “This is my granddaughter, Morgan.” With a quick wave of her hand, she motioned to where Gwyn sat in the corner of the room. Gwyn waved at them with a sweet smile. “That is her twin sister, Gwyn.”
“Oh dear,” Freyja muttered. “She’s pregnant.” Gwyn’s hand dropped back to her lap, and she nervously clasped her fingers.
Ceridwen gave Gwyn a quick nod, but her gaze flew to Morrigan’s. “Bres is missing. No one has seen him in a few days—not since he came to visit me. Cernunnos has been searching for him, but so far, nothing.”
Freyja’s scowl deepened. “That’s not good either.” Her purple gaze looked over the werewolves. “Seems like you need a good tracker.” She turned to Morrigan. “I would volunteer the ones under Raisa’s control, but they aren’t minding very well now. Just a heads up, but pairing werewolves with draugar is not a good idea. Like a bunch of teenagers, they refuse to get along.”
Angel glanced at Mathayus and then Garrett before turning back to Freyja. “Excuse me, but what exactly are draugar?”
Freyja smiled, and not in a nice way. “They are the undead. The first draugar were evil, and their punishment in death was to be cursed—neither living nor dead. Now, though, we have discovered many have been cursed for a wide variety of reasons, most being they were in the way of someone evil. One of my Night Witches and her mate discovered someone, probably Fer-Diorich, was controlling them as the ultimate weapon. As a collective, they can drain the life from anyone or anything. The number doesn’t matter. If they are in the range of the draugar, their lives are forfeit.”
“When we were helping during the war against Hitler, my group ran into a few of them, but thankfully, émilien was with them. They are…formidable.”
“Really?” Mathayus scoffed. “More than we can be? I find that hard to believe.”
Freyja smiled and waved her hand in front of her. A white mist appeared to hang in the air between them. The center darkened and spread outward, revealing what looked to be a cave with strange blue pillars. Rafael’s eyes widened when the pillars moved. As one, they turned toward the light, revealing their ghost-like appearance. The man in the center stepped forward and dipped his head to Freyja, his handsome face pale, his cheeks sunken, as if death was riding him, but his emerald-green eyes were very alive as they glistened in the light spilling through the window from their cave.
“My lady, do you need our help?”
Freyja smiled. “No, Daqar, but thank you. I am on Midgard and was asked about you by several werewolves.”
The creature next to the one she named Daqar rolled his light-green eyes, his shoulders slumping forward. “Not more of them. We cannot handle the ones we have now.”
Freyja chuckled. “No, Banayl. I realize you have your hands full with those in your care, although I wouldn’t let them know that. The new breed of wolves you are dealing with seems to believe they are superior to most others.”
Torin made a rude noise in his throat. “That’s because of the idiotic Nazi ideology. Germans are above all other cultures.”
Daqar nodded. “True. It is a difficult concept to overcome, but we are progressing, are we not, cousin?”
“Yes,” Banayl answered. “It is as slow as molasses but progress all the same.”
Daqar straightened his slender shoulders. “I must ask, my lady, but have you heard anything about Himra or those who traveled with him?”
She shook her head. “I am sorry, but no. We haven’t given up the search, though. We will find your leader and friends, Daqar. Even Heimdall is searching for them, and nothing gets past him.”
He nodded. “Thank you, my lady. I know you will do what you can to save our brethren.” He turned toward something just out of the window and nodded. “We must get back to our training, or what little advancement we’ve made with the wolves will disappear.”
Freyja laughed, the melodic sound lightening everyone’s mood. “You will succeed, my friend. The wolves will join forces with the draugar and become an army to be feared. The Dark Fae won’t know what hit him on Samhain.”