Chapter Eleven #3
“Welp, that’s it for me,” the druid standing to the rear said, his phone in hand.
“My husband says I’m needed at home, and no one said that dragon demigod was going to be here.
He sliced me in half the last time we met, and Da took forever resurrecting me, then blistered me up one side and down the other with scathing comments about letting myself be cleaved in two.
Which is ridiculous, because who asks for that?
Anyway, I’m off. Nice to see you again, Owain.
Stop by sometime when you’re in the north of Scotland.
My husband would love meeting you and your mate. ”
The druid flew off without any of his brothers acknowledging the departure.
“I’m about ready to divorce the lot of them,” Béibinn told Owain, who did not look amused or impressed by the candor. “Can you divorce a brother? Maybe disown is the word.”
“Why does Jerry think I have the amulet?” Owain repeated.
“She felt the curse of blood being lifted from you,” one of the other druids answered, gesturing at Béibinn, “and since Bay is keeper of the group chat, she called him to summon the clan. Congrats on the no-curse thing, by the way. I take it that your brothers are not so affected? Asking for a friend. Well, and me, because if we’re going to have to worry about Rhain and the other one who isn’t Cadell—”
“Deacon!” a druid shouted from the back.
“—Deacon being set free, then we need to know so we can protect our families. I’ve got sixteen kids.
Do you know how hard it is to protect all of them and their descendants just because your brothers are crazy bent on revenge?
I don’t have time for all that. So get with the program, nephew, and hand over the amulet.
” The druid crossed his arms and glared at Owain, which just heightened the ridiculousness of the situation.
“Where is Jericho?” Owain asked, once again sounding profoundly martyred.
“The Akasha,” Béibinn admitted, giving them a wry smile.
“She ... uh ... got tossed there by the head of Celtic pantheon, Cernunnos, for lipping off to him. Well, and trying to assassinate him. Mostly it was the assassination attempt. So he stuffed her in there for three months as punishment. But she still felt the curse being destroyed, and said that only the blood moon could do that, and since you were looking for it, you must have found it. So hand it over.”
Owain glanced in disbelief at the hand the druid held out.
“No,” he said.
Hunter admired the brevity of the answer, and gave a showy spin of Archer’s élan vital. Behind him, he heard the sound of a bow being tightened, as well as various metallic rustles that told him the tribe and the visiting dragons had armed themselves.
“Don’t make us fight you again,” Béibinn said wearily, waving a hand in the air until a wooden staff topped with a crescent moon sparkled into being.
Likewise, the remaining druids repeated the gestures, each of them magicking up their respective staves.
“There’re eight of you. We handled almost the entire complement of Clan Cailitin with fewer people than are present now,” Owain pointed out.
“That was because that damned dragon demigod splashed all sorts of magic on the arrows your annoying mate kept shooting into us,” Béibinn answered with a flare of his nostrils at where Berry and Becket stood clustered with the other mates behind the wyverns.
Hunter couldn’t help but notice both women stood on the top step, two of his bows in their respective hands, their eyes narrowed on the druid.
“I like those two mates,” he told Mabel.
“Do you, indeed?” she asked, ignoring the brief fight between Béibinn and Owain about a previous battle. Her eyes glittered with a dangerous light. “Tell me all about how much you like them, Hunter. Tell me everything.”
He wanted to laugh at the overt threat in her voice, but instead leaned into her and squeezed her waist. “I like Becket because she’s good for Yrian.
He had some emotional issues when he rejoined the mortal world, and finding Becket has settled his mind.
And Berry is just as pissed at the druids as Owain, and that can only help us. ”
“Hmm,” Mabel replied, mollified enough into allowing him to put himself between her and the druids.
“Are we fighting, or not?” Baltic said, striding forward with one of Hunter’s favorite morning stars in his hand. “If not, we have other things to do. Ones involving the weyr.”
“Sorry,” Ysolde said by way of an apology when everyone turned a questioning eye on her mate. “There’s little Baltic loves more than a chance to fight someone who can stand up to him, but I do agree with Owain that the brothers Cailitin seem to be at a distinct loss, fighting-men-wise.”
“Yes, they are,” Hunter said, still trying to quell the urge to laugh at the situation.
Then he remembered just how many people were looking for the blood moon, and what it would mean to the dragonkin—and Dark Ones—should it be taken from them, and stepped forward with a bellowed, “Enough!” that stopped the arguing between Owain and Béibinn.
“You’re not getting the blood moon,” Hunter told the druids. “So kindly bugger off and don’t return, because if you do, my tribe will see to it that more than just your flight feathers are pruned.”
Béibinn reeled backward, his mouth agape and his eyes wide. “You dare! I am Béibinn, son of Cailitin!”
“I don’t care who you are—just get the hell out of here!” Hunter roared, and shifted to dragon form.
Baltic, with a grunt of delight, followed suit.
“What an excellent idea,” Yrian said, taking the form of a light smoky-gray dragon.
Owain cracked his neck to the side, and smiled.
“Oh, it’s on now,” one of the remaining druids snarled, lifting his staff.
There was a rush of bodies, Owain and Hunter leading the charge, Archer’s élan vital feeling strange yet familiar in his hand. Two of the druids jumped him, both summoning vines from the ground to root him in place, but the élan vital made short work of that.
The courtyard was filled with Dark Ones and dragons, while his tribe members circled the druids, fighting when they came close, but otherwise confining them to a tight circle.
Owain faced Béibinn, and although Hunter wasn’t surprised to see blood on Owain’s chest, he didn’t expect that the head druid would be so resilient. Perhaps Owain wasn’t as powerful as the wyverns had described?
Owain clapped his hands together, resulting in a blast that knocked everyone over.
“And clearly, I’m wrong about him,” Hunter murmured to himself when he leaped to his feet, checking to make sure Mabel was unharmed.
He was pleased to see she was standing with the other mates, protected by his tribe.
He was even more pleased to see her looking mad as hell, waving her hands around as she attempted to gather up power.
He wasn’t sure that her reaper abilities would work outside of an underworld, but he decided that wasn’t important.
Ridding his compound of the druids was, though.
He snarled an oath he’d learned in his childhood from the huntsman who’d reluctantly taken him in, and leaped forward onto three druids, the élan vital glowing gold and blue as he swung it, neatly taking off one of their heads, and an arm from another.
“That is so uncalled-for!” the now one-armed druid said, kicking his brother’s head out of the way to snatch up his arm, and clutch it to his chest. “Do you know how much it costs to have these reattached? I’ll be sending you the bill, see if I don’t!”
“You’re the one complaining about being a warrior.” Hunter spat the words along with a mouthful of blood due to one of the druids jumping him and slamming the wooden staff into his face. “We’re just giving you what you want.”
The druid lunged, but just as Hunter raised the élan vital again, a crashing noise followed immediately by the scream of metal on metal had everyone in the courtyard turning toward the drive that led to the road.
Two vans roared down the drive, spraying gravel as they slammed to a stop, part of his front gate tumbling to the ground in front of the vehicles.
To Hunter’s complete surprise, women poured out of both vans. One of the attackers, a tall blonde woman, paused as she scanned the crowd.
“That’s the best thing that’s happened to me today,” Hunter said to no one as he rushed forward toward the thieving Finn who had taken his élan vital. “Payback is definitely going to be a bitch.”
Lattsa the thief, who had been staring in stark surprise at the druids before yelling for the sisterhood to clear them out, spun around at his words, her eyes narrowing on him.
“Dragon hunter,” she barked, her black-ringed eyes all but spitting fury at him.
An explosion shook the ground.
“Well ... shit,” Béibinn said, looking down at himself. Owain stood in front of him, his hands pushed together, clearly having just blasted a watermelon-sized hole in the former’s torso. “This is going to be a real bitch to heal.”
“I’ll save you the trouble,” Owain said, leaping forward to lop off Béibinn’s head.
The three remaining druids stopped, glancing from the crumpled body of Béibinn to the women streaming toward them, and all promptly turned into ravens.
“That’s it for us. We’ve done what we can,” one of the ravens called down to the dragons.
“Jerry can’t blame us if the others all bolted or are dead.
Er ... Owain, be sure to tell your mother that we fought valiantly.
And if you could manage to mention the dragon demigod was here, as well, I’d appreciate it.
She heard what he did to Bael and is pretty much afraid of him. She says he’s too powerful for her.”
“I’m a thane,” Owain protested, gesturing toward Béibinn’s body. “I am the equivalent to a demigod. I have powers that others fear.”
“You sure do,” Berry said, moving alongside him, although Hunter noticed she still held the bow. “You’re as badass as they come.”