Chapter 21
When you’d lived as long as I had, you saw a lot of religions come and go. Some stuck around, but most disappeared in the blink of an immortal eye. However, maybe this “new age” religion of crystals and manifesting was onto something, because one minute, I’d been dreaming about the pretty little human, about impaling her on my dick while she screamed my name. The next minute, I was waking up to the woman herself crawling into my arms.
It wasn’t until I’d felt the ice of her skin, the way she was shivering against me like she was frozen, that I’d snapped out of the lust haze I’d woken in.
The big guy had been close behind her, as were Erus and Tryp, and those three being in my room had definitely chased away the last of the fantasies.
I’d wrapped her in my beast, warmed her body with mine, and by the time Teron made it into the room, she’d stopped trembling. That hadn’t stopped him from ordering Tryp and Erus into town to collect medical equipment.
Néit had tried to gently pull her off me, but she’d clung to my body like a barnacle, even though she was unconscious. Eventually, he’d stepped back, looking heartbroken. I was glad she hadn’t been awake to see that expression. I might have only spent an hour in her presence, but even I could tell she thought the sun shone out of this guy’s ass.
So Teron had taken her vitals, and they’d left her there, sleeping on my chest. I hadn’t been able to go back to sleep, but those five hours when she’d slumbered soundly in my arms had been the most peaceful rest I’d had in centuries. She’d soothed the beast, and that feeling of contentment buried itself into my chest, wrapping around my soul.
I should be scared. What if she was another trap? Instead, I felt at peace. If she was a carefully laid assassin, then at least I would die happy.
Back in the present, our fearless leader was pissed.
“Snap out of it,” Demke barked at me in our native language. It was long forgotten by the humans of today. Not even scholars could decipher its written form. “She has bewitched you.”
I shrugged. “Not on purpose, Dem.”
Once upon a time, I would have called him my King. But those days were centuries gone, and now, he may be a God, but we all sat on the same pedestal, equally cast aside and forgotten. It was no pedestal at all, really.
He frowned at me, then shifted his focus back to the woman in question. Her cheeks were still a little pink. Good. She’d been far too pale earlier.
She met Demke’s furious gaze with her own, which was ballsy. People had supplicated themselves at his feet for centuries, rather than meet his eyes. But not this little firecracker; she met and held them like she was the Goddess, only a slight wince telling me that he was still “bright” to her.
“What did you mean by bonded?”
Demke sighed, and I noticed he was looking old. Not physically old—none of us would ever look older than late twenties, but the weight in his eyes felt heavy. “I think that perhaps the lights you are seeing are the threads of fate.”
I hissed a sound that wasn’t even remotely human. The threads of fate? That wasn’t… “How?” I gasped.
Everyone looked shell-shocked. Even Wren’s protector looked like he’d been suckerpunched.
Only Teron didn’t seem surprised. “I’d wondered if that was what it was. You’ve confirmed?”
Demke shook his head. “No, not really. But with the evidence presented, it seems almost irrefutable, don’t you think?”
Wren waved a hand. “Okay, now for the human in the room? What the fuck are the threads of fate? And what does that have to do with Milo?”
I got the expression on Demke’s face now. The last few turns of the Ouroboros had not ended well for us, or those we loved. We’d been forced out of our world and relegated beyond the annals of history, right into pits of obscurity.
I’d seen three turns of the Ouroboros, and had no wish to see another.
But here she was, the tiny little catalyst, and something inside me reared its head. An urge I hadn’t had in so long. The urge to protect.
“The threads of fate affect us all. They weave the patterns of history, of mortality, of our kind. They come from a power higher than any God or Goddess, and they are gifted and taken away at their whim. The current wielders of the threads of fate are the Moirai. Humans know them as The Fates. The Maiden, The Mother, The Crone.”
“Bitch One, Bitch Two, and Bitch Three would have been better titles,” Tryp grumbled, and I had to agree. They’d screwed us hard in their time holding power.
“Before Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos, there were the Norns from the Norse Pantheon. Before them, there was another trio. And another before them. Every time the snake bites its tail, the higher power resows the ability to weave the threads of fate, and the old Fates lose their powers.”
Wren had gone pale, her hand reaching out toward Néit, and I tried to push down the jealousy. She might’ve unintentionally needed me, but she relied on him. There was no cause for this feeling of envy in my chest.
He came to her, of course, sitting on the couch beside her, pulling her tightly to his body like he could protect her from Demke’s words. “What are you saying?” she breathed.
Demke looked like he was giving her the worst news, and in a way, he was. “I believe you are carrying the three new weavers. The Fates. I think that’s why you’re being attacked. The Greek Mythics are trying to hunt you down to preserve their power for a little longer, and to do so, they need the new Fates out of the way. By killing off the new weavers before they are born, the power gets reseeded by the higher power again and again. Because until the new Fates are born into the world and take their first breaths, the ability to see and weave the threads remains mostly with the old Fates.”
“Unless those old Fates die,” Teron added, his eyes filled with heavy meaning.
I breathed through my teeth. Fuck. Fucking fuck. It was the best word invented in the last five hundred years, and encapsulated my feelings about this moment perfectly.
It was a death sentence for this human. A death sentence for her babies. The power of the Greek Mythics was that there were so many of them. Polytheistic religions were always harder to topple than the monolithic ones, and those fuckers did it best, running roughshod over every religion and adapting it to their own, until they also fell out of favor two thousand years ago.
However, there were enough believers around that they’d maintained some of their power, including the ability to weave fate. They held enough sway through recent history that it had taken this long for the Ouroboros to reach the end.
They were selfish, murderous bastards. Wren didn’t stand a chance. The idea made me want to shout at the moon like a mournful wolf.
She sucked in a shuddering breath. “And what about this bond with Milo?”
“I think, somehow, your threads and his have tangled together, and now he is yours.”
“Mine?” she repeated.
“His life is entwined with yours. Your fate is his fate. As is that of Néit.” Demke looked like he wanted to spit the words like poison from his body.
Wren shook her head. “Impossible. I don’t have any golden threads. Maybe I’m just a blank spot and that’s why they want to kill me? I can’t be all that. I can’t—” She started to breathe heavily, and Néit pulled her onto his lap, stroking a hand up and down her back.
“It’ll be okay, mo stóirín. I won’t let anything happen to any of you.”
Teron looked at her sympathetically. “It’s my belief you can’t see your own threads, Wren, but if you live and breathe, they are there. We all have them: humans, Demigods and Gods alike.” He gave Demke a pointed look.
“So what he’s saying”—she lifted her chin at Demke—“is that I’m screwed, and I’ve dragged Nate and Milo down with me, all because I ate a piece of fruit?”
Tryp looked unusually solemn. “Welcome to being a Mythic, babe. It makes no sense.”
Words trickled away, and only Wren’s panicked breaths and the soft friction of Néit’s hand running up and down her spine broke the silence.
Finally, she seemed to get herself under control. She looked up at Demke, her jaw tense and her eyes blazing with determination. “So what do we do?” There was still fear there, but her hand rested over her stomach. She was determined, for her young, if not for herself.
Demke raised an eyebrow. “We?”
I shot him an aggravated look. “Yes, fucking we. When have we ever just stood by and let an innocent woman die?”
Erus huffed. “The Bronze Age? Women and children died at the drop of a hat back then.”
I growled at him. “You know what I mean, Erastus. Besides, my fate is tied to hers now. Would you so easily cast my friendship aside, after four thousand years?” I pinned Demke with a stare. “Just roll over and let us—let me—fall to the people who fucked us over in the first place?”
Teron rested a hand on my shoulder. “Of course not, brother. Demke is just making a point. Even without the prophecy of the Oracle, we would not let Wren be harmed.” He gave the others a hard look. “Besides, the Ouroboros has turned, and perhaps this could be the Age where we are unwoven from the web completely. We cannot go into oblivion without a struggle. It is not our nature. At least, it’s not mine.”
He was taunting Demke, who’d become more and more apathetic over the years. As each cycle came and went, marked only by death and rebirth, he’d lost more and more of himself. Teron might’ve seemed confident that Demke wouldn’t hang me out to dry, but I wasn’t so sure anymore.
Demke sucked in a breath. “We’ll help, the best we can. You’ll have to stay here, in the compound. It is warded against other Mythics.” He glared at Néit, and I wondered how Néit had made it through the ward. Maybe it was because he’d had Wren in his arms?
“I can’t stay here forever. I have to go home. I have appointments, and the babies…” Her voice trailed off, the panic returning.
I found myself edging closer and closer to her seat. I tried to inconspicuously touch her skin, but I should have known better. As I wrapped a gentle hand around her ankle, sitting at her feet, the eyes of all my brothers took in my position.
Fuck it. I had no regrets. I was tying myself to her voluntarily, and they could make of that what they wanted.
“It isn’t safe for you to go home. We can’t protect you back in America. We can protect you here,” I told her as gently as I could. “Teron has more knowledge trapped in that giant head of his than all of your specialists combined. I promise, whatever happens, we’ll take care of you all.” I looked up into her pretty face. “Trust me.”
Her eyes were big and damp as she stared down at me, and I saw Néit’s hands flex where they sat on her hips. But he didn’t contradict me, perhaps because he knew we were right. He didn’t have to like it, but right here with me?
Nowhere else in the world was as safe.