The Bloody Moon #2
But she slips back into herself, unresponsive.
I make the decision then—one that may cost me. I bind her to the bed with what I can find. Scraps of clothing. A scarf. Enough to keep her from harming herself.
I need time to understand what this means, and I know exactly where to find the answer. But there is no time. Not with something coming. I have to face it. Determine what kind of danger we’re in first.
I don’t know if she can hear me, but I speak the words anyway. “This is just so you don’t hurt yourself. I promise I’ll untie you the moment I’m back.”
Dread builds as I stride down the hallway and out of the house. I may not live through what’s coming, so there’s no telling if that’s a promise I can keep.
Something else is at work here, and if I’m going to help her, I need to understand it. I need that damn book. I need to find the crossed-out pages and learn what the mark on her skin means. But before I can do any of that, I have to meet this threat head-on and deal with it.
The moment I step outside, the pressure bears down harder against my own.
I draw on the edges of the forest, then send a wave of power through the trees. A violent gust tears outward, ripping through branches, leaves, dirt, and stone. Like a force of nature, it surges in every direction.
A warning.
Stay the fuck away.
Because this—after everything I’ve already pulled from the god—is the least of what I can do. If it comes any closer, I will level this forest. I will feed every ounce of that power—and everything left in me—into it, until nothing remains but a rotting husk.
If it means protecting her, I’ll take everything this world has to offer.
Calm. Brother. It’s me.
“Pollock?”
Relief rises—only to be smothered by doubt.
This power… I don’t know it. It isn’t his. Which means this could be a trick.
I’ve not seen my brother in many years, and though I’ve searched, we’ve not been able to communicate.
I want to believe what I hear in my mind.
But instinct holds me still.
Also, our history has taught me better than to place too much trust in the bond between us. I did once, and it put me in an early grave.
He appears on horseback, still some distance away, and moves through a break in the trees, leisurely.
On Cali.
In full Horseman regalia.
Under the stain of the moon, he could be mistaken for Kahill at first glance. No longer white, but like everything else around us, he is painted in red.
“Stop right there.”
Cali slows, and he raises his palms. “Peace, Brother.” There’s exhaustion in his voice and the way his shoulders curl forward. It’s as if he’s in pain.
My hands lift as well without thought, power gathering at the ready, coiling just beneath the surface.
“I said stop. Don’t come any closer.”
“And here I thought you’d be happy to see me. Is that any way to greet your twin?”
“Show yourself.”
He lowers his hood until it falls back against his shoulders. The metal mask beneath it remains in place.
“The mask too.”
He studies me for a long moment, then reaches up and removes it. “It’s me.”
I study him in return—his features, his eyes, the hard line of his mouth set tight against the unfamiliar power he’s exuding.
Just then, Eridessa cries out.
We both go still.
His head tilts, listening as her voice carries—pleading, breaking, calling for me. He clicks his tongue, and Cali steps forward.
“I know that voice,” he says, something like awe creeping into his tone. “The white female. The marked one. Her scent’s on the wind.”
His eager expression sets my teeth on edge. More so, the way his gaze fixes on the house.
I thrust my hand up, a shield forming between us. “Don’t come any closer.”
“Orán. I’m not going to hurt her.” He palms his chest, rubbing at it before shaking his head as if to clear it. “Who is she?”
“None of your concern.”
“Here’s the thing, brother—it is.” His gaze flicks back to me. “If she’s who I think she is, she’s tied to this. Tied to me. I’ve been following her scent. It’s what led me here… after the wolf.”
“Wolf?”
“Yes. A wolf guided me for days in this direction. Then this morning… he was gone. I had to find my own way. I could feel something pulling me this way. I thought it was you, but then I caught her scent, and it brought me the rest of the way here. To this forest. To this place.”
“Something’s not right with you.” I study him, unease settling deeper. “Your power—it’s changed. It’s seeking mine out. Trying to force it to submit.”
“I can’t control it.” His jaw tightens. “Something happened. To tell the truth of it, I haven’t yet wrapped my mind around it.”
He looks at Cali, then back at the house. “I was led here, Orán. I’m not lying. And I’m not sure why yet, but there has got to be a reason.”
I want to believe every word he utters, but I’m leery for Eri's sake. “If it’s really you, then what’s my name? The one given to me by Mother? What unnecessary drivel did she always pander on about that made Father groan?”
“Orán, really?”
“There are trickster gods. Gods who can take the form of another. You and I both know this. So before I let you take another step toward that house, I need to know it’s really you.”
He glances aside, then grabs the reins and swings his leg over, dismounting with a slow shake of his head. He drapes the reins over the pommel, the corner of his mouth lifting.
“I haven’t thought of that in… well, many, many moons. Further back than I can remember, it seems.”
“You’re not getting any closer to me—or that fucking house—until you do.”
He studies me for a long moment, then tips his head back, eyes tracking the sky.
A dark chuckle leaves him.
“Well, let’s hear it.”
He exhales. “Alright. If I must.”
His regalia melts away, leaving him in black—more man than immortal. His gaze meets and holds mine.
“You are Lorán Andres Valor McTierney. Graceful as an ox and as smart as a falcon. She also likened you to her content old cat, Tommel, when he found a house mouse to play with. Said, I was somehow the mouse, and you’d be miserable without me.
As long as I didn’t get sick of you, you’d be happy as a clam for the rest of your days. ”
A brief pause, his gaze drifting somewhere past me.
“And she used to say the day you became a fish would be the last we’d ever see of you. That you’d lose yourself to it… wander too far to find your way back.”
I can’t help the huff of a laugh that leaves me. “Heaven’s Gate, I’d forgotten that last part.”
“She always did like comparing us to sea creatures, wild beasts, house pests, or her beloved Tommel.”
“And guessing what we’d shift into if the family blood ever ran true.
” I shake my head as more memories surface.
“She likened you to that old billy goat—the one that used to jab Old Man Kelly in the ass if he didn’t get fed first. Said the only time you were right as rain was when you had a full belly. ”
His grin builds into an impish smirk. “Which was a lie. A pint and the love of a good woman did the trick a time or two. Not that I could ever tell her that. She already wanted to tan my hide for getting the neighbor girl dismissed.”
“Was that the one she caught you with in the stables?”
“Yes. Buck naked and taking her over a bale of hay when she walked in.”
I laugh. “She said your ass was the whitest thing she’d ever seen and cursed her luck for it, because she’d never be able to scrub that image from her mind.”
“Probably why the cloak.” He huffs a quiet breath. “Though most don’t believe it, God does have a sense of humor.”
We fall silent, studying one another.
Finally, he asks, “Is that proof enough for you?”
I nod.
He closes the distance between us. His hand clamps around my arm as mine does his, and then he pulls me in. We embrace—something we haven’t done in this life.
That’s when I know something is wrong. Pollock rarely shows this much emotion.
When he steps back, his features have gone somber, his gaze sweeping over me as if to make sure I’m still whole.
“You have no idea how relieved I am to see you’re alright. When you didn’t reach out and the earth started falling apart, I got worried.”
“You? Worried about me?” I say it lightly, more to steady myself than anything else. “Maybe I should still be suspicious.”
A dour smirk tugs at his mouth. “Yes, imagine that. I actually care about you. Quite a bit, in fact.”
An awkward silence settles between us. Because what the hell am I supposed to say to that when the memory of his sword in my belly is a visceral one?
“I have news.” He sighs. “Kahill… we were together when the stars began to fall.”
I don’t like the look on his face. It speaks of death and destruction, the same fate we faced here.
“Is he alive? Where is he now?” But it’s as if I know or can feel the loss he feels, leaking out into the unstable powers working against mine.
“It wasn’t him that the god contended with. It was Lazreth. Lazreth had me pinned—doing his usual best to cause chaos, mayhem, and pain, and neither of us realized what was happening until it was too late. A god fell right on top of us.”
He shakes his arms out at his side. “That’s why my power is unstable.”
“I barely made it clear of the fallout. Lazreth kicked me free at the last moment, but the god’s power still flared outward and burned me to a crisp.
When I woke… I woke like this. Changed. I still haven’t fully grasped what it’s done to me.
Suffice it to say, I feel different, and using my power has had…
odd consequences. The more I try to control it, the more chaotic the results become. ”
I understand him fully.
I’d grappled with the same thing, though my circumstances were different.
When I’d taken the power from Dagda, it had been too much.
Completely unstable. I’d felt explosive, as if I couldn’t contain it.
It was only after I expelled power to mend things here that my powers and his had begun to steady.
That hadn’t been intentional. It had been instinct. Survival.