Chapter 21
21
Morgan turned to Rafael in disgust. “Well, that sucks.” Her gaze moved around the area, watching everyone’s reaction to seeing her body and her incorporeal form. This was so many levels of wrong. She waved her hand in front of her face, which continued stupidly staring at the empty podium.
“Where did the book go?” She laid her translucent hand on the stone top. “There was an ancient book here with amazing pictures in it. Like the ones you see in libraries and churches where the librarian won’t let you touch anything without wearing white gloves.” She grimaced. “And Fáelán’s library. Everything in there is do not touch quality.”
Her eyes widened and she turned to Cernunnos. “Do you think Fáelán could help me?”
The god smiled. “More than likely. He is a brilliant and resourceful wolf. But I may have a better—and faster—solution.” He grinned. “How about I reconnect your soul to your body.”
Rafael’s eerie swirling silver gaze pinned the god’s, and for the first time since she had died, she saw the black color seeping through the silver like a slow bleed of ink. That told her more than anything else the depth of his emotions for her. At least, that is what she had told herself when she awoke after the battle last May. Only extreme emotion caused him to lose control.
“You can do that?” Rafael asked in a strangled tone. “Without any harm to her?”
Cernunnos gave him a droll stare. “I am the nature god, and Morgan is a nature Fae. While she was born with both physical and magical abilities through her mother, when you and Nemain saved her life, you both gifted her new nature magic abilities and more. She is of the earth, so to speak.”
The god’s green eyes darkened, his expression far away as if he were looking through Rafael instead of at him. “Your base magic, Rafael Cavallero, is also earthbound…along with something else. It is mostly dormant and will be there for you when needed. You may be surprised when it appears, but trust in yourself and those you hold close to your heart.”
Rafael scowled. “You’re like the third…maybe the fourth person to tell me I need to trust myself and others.” He cleared his throat. “What is this, counsel me day?” he muttered.
Ignoring his grumbling, Morgan stepped up beside her body. “Please send my spirit back. Like you said, the longer I’m out of my body, the more difficult it is to return—if at all. Too much time passes, and I won’t be able to because my body would have already begun the dying process.”
Cernunnos and Zhivko nodded, but the demon stayed silent, his curious gaze watching Cernunnos. The Celtic god moved in front of her and placed his hand on her shoulder and his other on her forehead, which tingled. The sensation grew until it became more of an itch and morphed into a slow burn. It was not uncomfortable, but she didn’t like it.
Her body jerked. At the same time, her spirit form mimicked the motion, only more so, and didn’t stop. It was as if her spirit was in a gale-force wind. Suddenly, she felt frozen and pulled thin. Like a giant rubber band, her spirit whipped toward her body and snapped in place.
Morgan blinked, then blinked again as her blurred vision cleared. The first thing she noticed was the warmth in the cave instead of the frigidness she had been feeling. Of course, it could have been because she was entombed in thick white fur. Need to breathe in here. You have very thick fur.
Rafeal’s grip around her eased, but he didn’t let her go. “Thank you, Cernunnos. I am in your debt.” Her wolf’s voice rumbled against her ear. Underneath that, his heartbeat drummed solid and steady, giving her the sense of safety she needed. His words jolted her out of her cocoon, and she leaned her head back, the only part she could move that wasn’t still pressed against him.
“Wait a minute. You don’t owe him anything. I was the one who needed his aid, so I should be the one who owes him. I don’t slack on my debts, Rafael. Not even to make you feel better. Cernunnos rescued me from the Unseelie dungeon at Ceridwen’s request because my grandmother is one of her best friends. He was the only one who could find me—the only other god allowed into the court because of the Wild Hunt.”
“Hmm. Surprised you knew that,” the god muttered with a frown. Just as quickly, he turned thoughtful. “How are you with strategy?”
Rafael grinned. “Put the two of us together, and our strategy is sound—better than most, I might add. She has amazing insight and knows how people think, while I have centuries of experience that backs her up.”
Morgan smiled up at him, loving the complete return of his mercurial gaze, all black gone now that she was whole again and safely ensconced in his embrace. “We do make an excellent team, don’t we?”
He smiled down at her and winked. “We do, mi pequeno. We do.”
The Celtic god nodded. “Perfect, because I have it on good authority, we need a master strategist back at the Immortal’s headquarters. There has been a development.
Makari stepped forward, his black gaze hard, reminding her of chiseled obsidian, like the spearheads she and Gwyn used to collect as children. “What do you mean by development ?”
Cernunnos glanced at Zhivko. “Meet us at the front entrance to the Immortals’ caverns.” Without waiting for a reply, the god leaned forward and wrapped one arm around Morgan and Rafael. His other arm snaked around Makari as he apparated from the ice mountain.
In less than two minutes of wind pummeling them, making it impossible to speak, they landed next to the caves, but Morgan was horrified at the sight greeting them. Not only were the Immortal wolves fighting Ironclaws, but there were so many other people darting in and out. She couldn’t tell who was who. The ordinarily quiet clearing was now a battlefield.
“Oh, my gods,” she breathed.
“True, there are many of them here,” an unfamiliar deep voice said beside them, making her jump.
Glancing to her left, she saw what she could only describe as one of the most gorgeous men she had ever seen. His long, black hair had been pulled up in a man’s messy bun, but on him, it was anything but feminine. His dark green gaze met hers and he smiled. Her breath caught in her throat.
“And you are?” she said in a breathy voice. She cleared her throat and hoped Rafael hadn’t noticed.
“I notice everything, pequeno,” Rafael whispered in her ear, his fur tickling the tender skin, but his warm breath made her shiver.
“Well, stop, or I’m just going to keep embarrassing myself, and I don’t need that,” she hissed back.
The stranger’s smile widened as his gaze met Rafael’s. “I’m Lucien, the demon king, and the demons running amok are my doing. My wife, Cassia, is the gorgeous blond in the middle of the melee. Ares is somewhere around her, as are my head enforcer, Niki, and the Fallen leader, Malachi. The death gods, Osiris and Arawn, just arrived with a few of their pantheon, and Freyja, her Night Witches, and their mates are also fighting.”
His gaze flicked to the battle and then back to Rafael’s. “I’m afraid it’s a large enough contingent that the humans may notice if someone can’t slap an invisibility spell around us. Even though it’s midnight, magic flashes will attract attention.”
“Why are you all here?” Morgan asked in an awe-filled voice. She couldn’t believe she was standing in the presence of the king of demons. Gwyn was going to be so jealous. The thought of her sister anywhere near this craziness made her nauseous.
Gwyn, are you safe?
Her sister’s mental dry chuckle was all she needed to hear. Are you kidding me? If Torin could, he’d wrap me in ten layers of bubble wrap. The only thing stopping him is that I would need to breathe and pee.
Hearing her voice calmed down Morgan’s rioting nerves. Her gaze followed a few of the demons fighting with wickedly long swords in front of them. Just checking, but… Wherever you are, stay. There are too many people out here, and until we know who’s fighting whom and who the bad guys are, I need to know you won’t try something stupid.
Why would I do that? Her sister’s chuckle filled her mind. You’re the crazy twin, not me.
Ha, ha, ha.
Seriously, Morgan, stay safe. I need you to help me birth these babies. I can’t do it alone.
You aren’t alone, ma petite soeur. She knew saying ‘my little sister’ in French would help calm Gwyn down and turn her mind from her needless fears. Gwyn would be the perfect mother and already was now that she and Torin were raising his nephew. The little tyke was adorable and had everyone wrapped around his little finger, even Makari.
Lucien’s glowing blue sword disappeared in thin air as he crossed his arms. “Not long ago, Zeus tried to take over Dark World and throw the realms into chaos. We learned that a united front was the only way to defeat him. We now believe Zeus wasn’t alone and that whoever was helping him had been causing problems here for years.”
She studied Lucien’s handsome face, his expression grave. “You think Fer-Diorich was helping him.”
He nodded at her statement. “We do. However, there is another who seems to stay in the background. We haven’t found any evidence of who this person is or why they are helping.”
“We just returned from an ice cave in Austria where we found Bres,” she said.
The king’s gaze turned thoughtful. “The Fae-Fomorian king of the Tuatha Dé Danann?”
“The same. He managed to send me to King Oberon’s Unseelie dungeons—not a pretty place, I might add.”
“You ought to try the Hell Hole or the Pits of Despair sometime,” a pretty redhead said, standing a few feet from where they stood and staring at one of the Berserkers. The giant warrior’s already scary face morphed into an expression of paralyzed fear as the metal he wore slid around him like a snake. It wrapped around his neck and tightened, his face turning a mottled blue-gray. It was not a pretty look.
When the Berserker dropped to the ground, another gorgeous man with a scar almost identical to Rafael’s but on the opposite side of his face cut off the head. He grabbed another gorgeous woman with red hair by the arm and all but carried her to Lucien’s side.
“She’s going to be the death of me. Keep Johnna here,” he bit out and stomped back into the fray.
“You know I can help, Niki! Lucien can’t control me any better than you can!” She rolled her eyes and glanced at the demon king. “You didn’t hear me say that. He’s being a bit overprotective, but that’s nothing new.”
Lucien shook his head and scrubbed his face, his weariness showing. “Things were so much easier—and quieter—before you, Willow, and Cassia disrupted all our lives, you know that?”
She stood on the tips of her adorable black boots and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll be okay, Uncle Lucien. Everything will work out. You’ll see. Now, I have more evil people to kill,” she shouted as she ran after Niki.
Morgan met Rafael’s gaze and burst out laughing. “And you thought Gwyn and I were bad?”
“You’ve only met my niece, Johnna,” Lucien added, his gaze searching the field. “Her cousin Willow, now my stepdaughter, and Willow’s mom, my new wife, are just as bad. Put Johnna’s mother in the group with her mother, and our lives, along with everything else, get much worse.”
“Isn’t love grand?” Morgan smirked.
Lucien returned her grin. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the Multiverse.” His glowing blue sword reappeared in his hand. “Now, before the boss shows up, we must end this.”
She frowned. “Who’s the boss?”
Lucien’s dark green gaze glistened. “Lucifer.”
Morgan’s stomach knotted up, and she held her abdomen. “Forget I asked.”
As Lucien ran back onto the battlefield, his sword swinging in a wide arc and taking out several enemy soldiers, Rafael turned to Makari. “Go find Osiris and Arawn. If what Lucien said about the death realms is true, their powers will be nullified, and they will need all the help they can get.”
Morgan frowned. “I must have missed something. What’s wrong with their realms?”
“The dead are disappearing, and when the last soul is gone, the realm will collapse. When that happens, the other death realms will follow. They are like the foundation stones for each pantheon.”
“Dear gods, that’s not good,” she whispered.
“No, it isn’t,” Rafael agreed. “From what Lucien just said, we have little time left. Samhain is the day after tomorrow?—”
“Wait, what?” She grabbed his furry arm. “How is that possible? We still had a week left when we went to Austria.”
“You were in the Unseelie dungeon longer than we realized. If Bres has amassed enough power, he can crack the Veil in a few hours, and the Dark Fae will escape.” He met her steady gaze. “Stay here and monitor the battle. I can’t worry about you and fight out there, mi tresor.”
“But I can help…”
His upper body changed to his human form, and she stared into his beautiful silver gaze, worry filling their depths. Reaching over, he wrapped his hand around her head and pulled her to him, his lips pressing against hers. As the kiss deepened, her body felt as if it were floating, and even her toes tingled. She kissed him back, pouring all her love for him into the kiss and hoping he understood.
Breaking away, he pressed his forehead against hers and stared into her eyes. “I will not survive if something should happen to you, Morgan. I have never felt this way before. You hold my heart and everything I am in your hands. I’ve almost lost you once, and I don’t ask this lightly. Please stay here and remain safe. Lucan is on his way with Kahlúa and will protect you.
He started to pull away, but her hand stopped him before he got too far, and she placed her lips against his, once more letting him feel her love. “I love you with everything I am and will watch over you from here. If, however, I see someone I care for in trouble, I cannot promise to stand here and watch them die.”
His mercurial eyes blazed and he sighed. “I would expect nothing less. You are a true warrior and would make any man proud.”
Morrigan appeared next to them. “Or woman,” she said, wrapping her arm around Morgan’s shoulder. “I will keep my granddaughter safe. Go. The north flank is failing, and the east side isn’t doing much better.”
Morgan watched Rafael’s fur-covered back until she couldn’t see him over the fighting creatures. Not only were there gods, goddesses, and demons, but mixed in were taller, ruddier looking men—a different type of demon maybe, and even a few wraith-like draugar.
A massive brown werewolf loped from the forest and rose onto his hind legs. Slobber flew from his snarling mouth, and his teeth were pointed and totally gross. As was the blood-stained fur around his mouth, which was matted with blood and bits of meat.
A woman stepped in front of him and didn’t hesitate, slashing and cutting as she drove him back into the tree line. Morgan loved the battle and lived for the adrenaline. Always had, but it was the women who drew her attention. They were dressed in tight black leather with a red cape and what looked like a golden phoenix woven across their chests. They fought as hard as the men, each movement fluid and simply breathtaking. She wanted to fight like that. Without fear or reservation. Sure of her every movement and spell.
Trying not to feel sorry for herself, which would get her nowhere, she reached out to her sister. Gwyn, has Torin or the others heard from Killian?
He sent a message yesterday. He will return before Samhain with a group of newly trained werewolves and even a few draugar. He seems to think they will be the answer to our Berserker problem—if that’s who the Dark Fae plans on sending. Did you find any sign of Bres?
Morgan swallowed, not relishing the thought of telling Gwyn through their mental link, but knew her sister had the right to know. Forewarned was forearmed. Unfortunately, yes. He was in the ice cave in Austria. Please don’t panic, but he managed to trick me into separating my spirit from my body and trapped me in the Unseelie Court dungeon. And, before you wig out, the Celtic god, Cernunnos, Lord of the Wild Things, I think his title is, rescued me and put me back together—unharmed.
You don’t make life any easier, do you? Her sister’s voice was filled with worry. How did Rafael react?
Morgan caught a glimpse of her white wolf. Not well, but I think he’s learning to appreciate living on the edge more.
No, mi pequeno, I am not.
Her body jerked. How are you able to do that? No one should be able to hear what I say to my sister. She rubbed her temples, her head aching from the four-way conversation.
He lunged, narrowly dodging a golden dagger as it flew by his face. He slammed his paws together, and the Berserker who had thrown it found himself wrapped in a blanket of golden chains. Falling to the ground, the Berserker jerked from side to side but couldn’t free himself. More magical blasts flew around, some slamming into the ground, others finding a victim. A warmth flowed through her head and a second later, her headache disappeared.
Thank you , she whispered and refocused on something Lucien said to Makari and Zhivko, who had just joined their little group. Now, pay attention to the battle. I won’t be very happy with you if you get hurt.
She had halfway listened during Rafael’s conversation with the demon king about who was fighting where and their next battle strategy. What little she heard, she liked. The king’s idea was sound. Surround the enemy and take them out one by one. Staring at the battlefield, she narrowed her gaze as a giant man near the epicenter was sliced almost in two, but before his body hit the ground, another took his place.
She studied the field, memorizing the players. The soldiers from the different pantheons had one thing in common: They all wore a red ribbon. The women wore it tied in their hair, as did some of the men, but most had it attached to their undershirts, where the breastplates met the shoulder straps.
Realization dawned. “Our side recognizes each other because of the red ribbons.”
“Correct. But don’t say it too loud. The last thing we need is for the other side to replicate them,” Morrigan answered. “Never underestimate Fer-Diorich. He’s a ruthless son-of-a-bitch, but incredibly intelligent. I always thought he was too smart for his own good. He was constantly looking for the new and improved, but once he reached it, he was already thinking about the next thing. Not much gets past him, I’m afraid.”
“Can you teach me to fight like those women?” Morgan asked, her attention entirely on the leather-clad women darting among the fighting groups. “I want to be able to do that.”
Morrigan chuckled. “I was wondering how long it would take you to ask.” Her grandmother turned to her with a smile. “Granddaughter, you already have the knowledge inside you. I am the goddess of war. Fighting and strategy are in your DNA, as they are in Gwyn’s. It’s how you look at things and react that’s important—how you read the battlefield. In your mind, you play out all scenarios of where your opponent—and allies—will be or move. You already do that when you rescue your animals. Your mother and father taught you this strategy from when you two could walk.”
Morrigan cupped her chin and lifted her face. “You were born for this, Morgan. All you need is to trust in yourself.” With a mischievous smile, she glanced at the battle raging mere yards away. One of the women ducked under a Berserker’s arm while another slid along a muddy blood slick and cut a deep furrow in his side as she ducked under his arm.
“I think our friends could use a little help. Would you like a few lessons to see what I’m talking about?”
Morgan laughed. “Do werewolves growl?”