Tell her the horse says you are welcome #2
“Until I have spoken with Therael and know what that male is? Yes.” I pluck a leaf from her still-damp hair and tuck it behind her ear. “You may shower when the marsh is empty. Or when I am back. Whichever comes first.”
“And if I just go shower anyway?”
“Then we will refill you,” Ashán says pleasantly. “Now be our velkíra and stop fighting with us. Please?”
Her cheeks flush scarlet, and she mutters something that sounds like unbelievable and plant husbands and takes the dress from my hand at last.
“Droot and I will not miss you while you’re gone,” she quips as Droot jumps onto her shoulder.
Uh-oh, Droot chirps. The Big Bird and the Big Bony Bird are in big trouble.
“I will be right outside the back door. Okay?”
She rises up on her toes, nowhere near far enough, so I meet her halfway, bending down until her lips reach mine.
“You taste like peaches,” I whisper against her mouth.
“You taste like me.” She smiles.
Vresh, this woman, Ashán groans.
The back door is already opening for me before I reach it. Nook, complicit as ever. I step out into the yard, and I calmly summon my mentor.
“THERAEL!” My voice echoes across the meadow, sending birds scattering from the trees.
Nothing.
“THERAEL, I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME!”
A vine shoots up from the ground beside me, wrapping around my calf in an attempt to calm me down. I shake it off.
“I don’t have time for this!” I shout at the empty meadow. “Get down here, or I swear to every god there is I will—”
“Will what, exactly?”
I spin around.
Therael is standing at the edge of the clearing, his arms crossed, looking thoroughly unimpressed. He looks like he’s been standing there the entire time, just waiting to see how long I’d scream.
“There’s a male in the meadow,” I say. “Three souls inside a single stitched body. He was close to Eden—”
“I know.”
“Come again?”
“Of course I know, Sage.” He steps into the clearing. “Did you truly think I was not monitoring your territory with the Horsemen lurking around?”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because he is not a threat to her.”
“Not a—” I take a step forward, vines erupting from the ground around me. “He was alone with her, Therael.”
“And he ran,” he says calmly. “The moment she got too close, he fled. Does that sound like a predator to you?”
“I don’t care what it sounds like. I want him out of my meadow.”
Therael sighs. “His name is Damien, and he is one of Damon’s charges.”
“Damon has charges? You’re not the only one?”
“We all do.”
“Well, you are not exactly forthcoming with information, Therael.”
A ghost of a smile crosses his face. “Fair point, Little Reaper. Each god watches over two soulbonds. You and Andrik are mine. Damien is one of Damon’s.”
“Two charges each. Which means he cannot watch over Damien at all times.”
“Do you really think the God of the Afterlife would allow his charge to be anywhere near your mate if he posed a threat?”
The thorny vines inching toward him retract slightly. “Then why is he here? In our meadow?”
“Because he just returned from a deal with Damon. The kind of deal that costs more than flesh.” He gestures vaguely to his body.
“Three lifetimes were bound into one body. The process… is not an easy one. He isfalling apart, quite literally. The threads holding him together are splitting open, and will only continue to get worse the longer he hides from his soulbond.”
I think about the way Eden explained his gaping wounds and how he kept his face covered with his hair.
“Eden said he was in pain.”
“Constant, excruciating pain. And the three souls inside him are all trying to fix it in different ways. He can barely hold a coherent thought.”
I bite my tongue. “That’s why he was talking to himself.”
“He was not talking to himself. He was talking to themselves. Damien, Jack, and Lucifer. Three different life cycles with very different personalities who all love the same woman and have very different ideas on how to get back to her.”
“So he’s unstable.”
“Unstable, yes. Dangerous to your mate? Not at all.”
Therael walks toward me.
“Sage, he is more terrified of himself than you could ever be of him. When Eden got too close, he ran. He did not lash out or threaten her, didn’t even speak to her beyond warning her to stay away.”
“You said each god has two charges.” I cross my arms. “Who are the others?”
Therael’s expression shifts, amusement crossing his face.
“Curious, are we?”
“You just told me there’s a network of gods watching over hybrids. I think I’m entitled to curiosity.”
He sighs, but there’s something almost fond about the way he does it.
“Fine. But do not expect detailed histories. Most of them prefer to keep their charges’ identities private.”
He gestures, and a log appears between us. He sits gracefully and pats the bark next to him.
“There are six gods, and six domains.”
I settle onto the log beside him, my wings folding quietly against my back.
“Damon, as you know, is the God of the Afterlife. He deals with death, the afterlife, and resurrection.” Therael pulls a sprig of lavender from thin air, twirling it between his fingers. “He oversees Damien and two others, though one of them is… complicated.”
“Complicated how?”
“Another three-souled situation.” His lips quirk. “Well, technically three bodies, but you get the idea.”
“I do not. I really do not get the idea, Therael.”
“There’s Tellian, God of Chaos and Origins. He’s read every script from the beginning of time,” Therael says, his tone sharpening in a way that makes me wonder if they don’t get along.
“And his charges?”
“He watches over two hybrids as well. Neither of them is dangerous to Eden. I know that is why you are asking. Cillian is one of the tamest hybrids there is, and Danté has not even ascended into his true nature yet.”
“And the others? You said there were six gods.”
“Indeed.” He gestures to the meadow around us, and new flowers bloom in spiraling patterns.
“I am the God of Seasons and Traditions, as you know. I watch over life cycles and rebirth.” He meets my eyes. “I oversee you and Andrik, the winter beast that lives in the frozen forest to the north of your territory.”
Andrik. The name scratches a place in my brain.
“Have I met him?” I ask quietly.
“Andrik has never met Sage.” His voice tightens.
Why is he wording it like that? Ashán murmurs.
“What do you mean Andrik has never met Sage?” I lean forward, my wings rustling. “Why did you say it like that?”
Therael’s face smooths into something unreadable, his halo slowing until it stops completely. “Because it is the truth.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is the only one I can give you.”
Frustration flares in my chest.
He’s hiding something, Ashán growls. Push.
“You do this all the time,” I rasp. “You answer just enough to make me think I’m learning something, but you never actually tell me anything that matters.”
“Sage—”
“No.” I stand, flowers wilting around us.
“I am tired of half-truths and cryptic wording. You tell me that there are six gods watching over hybrids, you explain what they govern, but the moment I ask about myself—about why a name I’ve never heard feels like it’s carving itself into my skull—and you shut down. ”
He rises slowly, his gaze fixing on me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
“There are things I cannot tell you,” he says quietly. “Not because I do not wish to. Because the curse—”
“Then explain this, Therael.” The words rip from my throat. “Earlier today, I had a vision of a woman I don’t know, running through a snowstorm. Wrong hair color, wrong place, wrong season, wrong everything. I’ve never seen her before in my life, but when I closed my eyes—”
My voice cracks.
“She felt like mine.”