Chapter 22
22
Morgan hurried after her grandmother to one side of the battlefield, where several warrior women fought what appeared to be vampires. Behind them, and a little too close for comfort, were several werewolves slashing and biting each other. Unable to tell the good from the bad, she refocused on Morrigan.
Her grandmother summoned a shorter sword than the men’s and handed it to her. “You know how to handle one of these, I hope?”
Morgan nodded. “I got pretty good with it before our fight last May. I wouldn’t have lasted as long as I did without it.” She moved the blade in front of her, cutting through the air several times before dropping the blade slightly so she wouldn’t hurt anyone without meaning to. “I had hoped to learn how to fight using magic.”
Morrigan nodded. “I know, and you will. Now, vampires are easier to take down than a full-grown, enraged Ironclaw, so you’ll start small and work your way up to bigger and better opponents—physically and magically.”
Laying her hands on Morgan’s shoulders, she turned her toward the vampire who was creeping toward her, his red eyes gleaming. “Now, show me what you can do with a weapon,” Morrigan whispered in her ear.
Morgan gave her a slow nod and grinned at the vampire. “Come to dance with me?” she asked, taunting him. It was the one thing she did remember from her studies with Rafael. Most vampires did not like to be belittled or baited, and from the angry expression on the man’s face, he was no exception.
Raising her sword, she eased into the familiar battle form she and Rafael had practiced so many times, and when he drew close, she leaned back as if hesitating. The move worked, and the vampire lunged, his sword swinging in a short arc toward her abdomen.
She sidestepped the swinging blade with ease, but the vampire quickly recovered. She twisted, deflecting his sword with hers, the clanging of metal deafening. His thrust hit her harder than she expected, and her arm momentarily went numb. Jumping away, she moved sideways and willed the burning tingle to subside.
The vampire stepped toward her before she was ready, stabbing with a ferocity that surprised her, and Morgan couldn’t move her arm fast enough. The blade’s sharp end knicked the tender skin on the inside of her arm, the burn ferocious. She couldn’t stop the growl deep in her throat and refocused on her prey. She was better than this.
During the fight with the Ironclaws, she made the fatal mistake of thinking they were human and still had humanistic traits. She had been so very wrong, and it had cost her life. She was not about to make the same mistake twice. The vampire facing her was no longer a living being but an object to be beaten in battle, a hard-learned lesson.
The vampire blocked her parry and feinted. She followed through, though, and with a hard downward chop, severed his arm at the elbow.
His agonized scream was shrill and turned a few heads, attracting the attention of a nearby Berserker who shoved the vampire out of the way and raised his massive axe, his stench hitting her in the face. Without thinking and trying not to gag, Morgan drew on her Fae magic and deflected the sharp blade, throwing it sideways as if he had struck something hard.
With a loud grunt, he dragged the axe back to him and swung it around his head with one arm. Morgan stepped backward, her gaze never leaving the weapon. When it returned to his front, his other hand wrapped around the handle. He swung it one more time, momentarily letting the handle go when it was behind his head.
She focused on the core of her magic, pulsing deep inside her chest, and conjured a powerball in the palm of one hand. If she correctly conjured it, the ball should act like a small grenade. She hadn’t been able to in all her practices, but it was the only thing she could think of that might stop this behemoth in his tracks.
Before he could grab the handle securely, she blew on the ball of light, launching it toward his stomach. It hit against the thickened leather and stuck in the indentation. The Berserker glanced down, his yellow-toothed grin widening as he flicked the ball from his hubark.
The ball exploded, throwing him backward, the force taking out several vampires as he bowled them over and landed on top. A glance at the Berserker’s body showed a large, gaping hole where his abdominal organs should have been.
“Well done, Morgan!” her grandmother cheered. “For a moment, I didn’t think it would explode.”
“I didn’t either,” Morgan said and turned her head to smile at her. Instead, her eyes widened as she caught sight of her sister slumping against the open doorway of the caverns. Gwyn held her extended stomach with one arm, her face scrunched in pain.
“Morgan,” she sobbed. “I need you—now!”
Morrigan grabbed the bloody sword and motioned with her head toward Gwyn. “Go to her. Her ordeal is more important than any of this. Keep her and the babes safe or that damned Fae wins.”
“He won’t win,” she yelled, already running toward her sister. When she slid to a stop beside her, Gwyn fell into Morgan’s embrace. She grunted, not expecting the heavy weight bearing down on her, and her knees almost buckled.
“Where’s Torin? He wasn’t supposed to leave you.” Morgan groaned, realizing without help, she would never get her very pregnant sister to the central cave she and Fáelán had set up months ago for the upcoming birth.
“Bres showed up. While Torin was fighting him, I hid Lucas in the library and spelled him to sleep so he wouldn’t be scared and give away his location. Bres seemed determined to get to him, although I have no idea why.” She stopped and leaned forward, letting out a low, pained moan.
“Breathe through the pain, sister. Don’t fight it. We won’t move until it lets up.”
“That will take too long. The contractions have been coming regularly for the last four hours, and when I left Lucas, they quickened to every three minutes.”
Her breathing eased, her body relaxing from the contraction. “My water broke as I was coming to get you.” Gwyn’s worried green gaze met hers. “I’m scared, Morgan. So very scared.”
Morgan held her sister’s hands between hers, drawing her into a much-needed embrace. “Morrigan is outside, and all I have to do is call Nemain to us.”
“Do it. Before I can’t move and the babies come, call her. I need to know Torin is okay. I can’t do this without you, sister, but I can’t live without him.” Her pretty face scrunched with pain, and her breathing turned thready. “Another contraction…”
Morgan followed the mental path to her great aunt, reaching through time and space faster than she ever had. Fear for her sister, Torin, and their unborn children gave her a strength she hadn’t known existed. The swirling void brightened, and she saw a magnificent room decorated in royal purple with white furniture and silver accents.
“Nemain—Gwyn needs you!”
Her great-aunt stepped into view and, a second later, crossed through the portal and stood before them. Without a single word, she waved her hand in front of Gwyn. Her sister rose, her feet dangling about a foot off the floor. Nemain wrapped one arm around Gwyn and hurried them through the caves toward the birthing room.
“Have you been here before?” Morgan asked, trying to keep up.
“No. I pulled the information from your mind when you connected with me. Remind me to help you work on your barriers. I now know way too much about your life and relationship with the Spaniard.”
Gwyn chuckled, which quickly turned into another pained groan. “Oh, my gods, this hurts,” she panted as tears slid down her cheeks.
As Nemain settled her on the wide bed, Morgan slid her hand under her sister, sending a small burst of numbing magic into her body. Not enough to completely mask the pain but enough to help her get through the fast-paced contractions.
Gwyn smiled at her. “You have been practicing your spells. You don’t even need to speak them anymore.”
Morgan grinned. “I told you I was. I can’t let you keep lording it over me that you are better at performing spells than I am.”
“Please go get Lucas. He calms his cousins better than anyone else, and I need to know he’s okay—that Bres hasn’t found him,” she whispered as her breathing turned shallow once more.
“No need,” Torin said, carrying a sleeping boy in his arms as he strode into the room.
Morgan turned to smile at him and caught sight of his sliced, blood-soaked shirt. Catching her brother-in-law’s knowing gaze, she edged in front of him so Gwyn wouldn’t see it and laid her hand over the jagged wound. Taking a deep breath, she whispered the healing spell in her mind.
Mother Earth, hear my claim,
Stop the blood, take the pain.
Skin and muscles close and bind.
From nature I am, to nature I go.
Through me, let your power flow."
No sooner had she thought the last word than the bleeding stopped, and the skin knitted together, leaving a red line that would disappear in a few more minutes. She met Torin’s gaze and smiled, seeing the relief in his eyes.
He handed Nemain the sleeping boy, and she tucked him against Gwyn’s swollen abdomen, laying his arm over it. Gwyn’s relief was immediate as she threaded her fingers through her husband’s.
“I was so worried,” she whispered. “What happened? Did you kill him?”
“You don’t need to think about that, mon ange. We are all here together—safe. Try to rest.”
She squeezed his hand and hunched up, her head rising off the pillow. “I don’t think our babies understand that word. I need to push,” she gritted out between clenched teeth. “I’m so tired—haven’t had a full night’s rest in weeks.”
Nemain smiled and wiped Gwyn’s forehead with a damp towel, her other hand resting on top of Gwyn’s bulbous stomach. “They are past ready. It seems as if their mother has been holding them back.”
Her teal gaze met Gwyn’s. “I know you are worried and scared for them, but you can’t stop their birth. They are both strong and healthy. Delany says Lucas has helped them grow faster, so they will be prepared for what will come. Stephán is eager to help and seems to be the strongest, which they will need in the future.”
Gwyn frowned. “How do you know their names?” She threw an accusing glance at Torin. “Did you tell anyone?”
He shook his head. “I haven’t breathed a word about the names we chose.”
Nemain smiled. “ They told me their names. Delany said they both loved them when they heard your choices.”
Gwyn’s eyes widened as she caught Morgan’s knowing gaze. “It seems, my sister, you are about to bring the next and newest version of twins into the world.” Morgan chuckled. “New versions always have better options and more power.”
After another push, Gwyn’s head dropped back onto the pillow. “You make them sound like we’re getting new computers.”
Nemain laughed. “In a way, you are. These are just a biological version.”
A loud pop sounded behind her, and before Morgan could turn, she was shoved away from the side of the bed. Stumbling, she grabbed the end and felt a stab of pain as her hand slid over the sharp edge of the metal bracket holding the bed together. Rubbing her hand, she glanced up. Her blood froze. Standing in front of Torin was Bres.
Gwyn cried as she pushed, unable to stop her children from entering the world. Nemain’s soft voice reached Morgan, breaking her heart.
“You are doing so good, my child,” Nemain whispered. “You must be brave. Trust your family and those who love you. Focus on your babes and bring them into the world. I can’t wait to meet them, nor can their grandmother.”
Morgan pulled her attention away from the touching scene, wishing it was she consoling her twin, but a horrible feeling had settled in her gut the moment she had seen Bres. Torin raised his sword and slashed at the unmoving figure, but his blade sliced through empty air. She studied Bres, his eerie glare focused on her sister. She could see right through the Fomorian’s body.
The hostility grew until her stomach was all but cramping. Pressing one hand to her churning abdomen, she tried to figure out where the sensation was coming from and noticed a black obsidian charm hanging around his neck.
She studied the small amulet, recognizing the symbol of Thor’s hammer with a snarling wolf nestled underneath the guard. Jutting out at an angle from the underside of the wolf were two Berserker axes, and two dragons were surrounding the wolf’s head. It was a power totem.
Rafael, we need you—fast. Gwyn is in labor. Nemain’s with her, but Bres just arrived…sort of, and he’s wearing a power totem. I think that’s how Fer-Diorich is able to funnel his power to him.
I am making my way there now. Two Berserkers are trying to stop me, and an Ironclaw just joined our fight. Every time I try to move toward the entrance, I’m stopped. It’s like they know I’m trying to get inside. What do you mean ‘sort of’ showed up? He’s either there or he’s not.
Morgan’s gaze narrowed on Bres’s transparent body. She didn’t like the crafty sneer he was wearing. It’s the same thing Zhivko can do. Bres is projecting his body. He’s incorporeal. There’s nothing we can do to him. Torin’s already tried stabbing him. I also believe the Berserkers do know. There’s an energy emanating from the amulet. Bres can communicate with them through it.
Hurry…I really don’t like how this room feels. The air is thick and growing heavier every minute, yet my body feels cold and clammy. It would serve the bastard right if I just threw up all over him. Too bad he’s incorporeal.
Morgan turned to her sister, needing to make sure she was doing okay. One glance at her sister’s pale face and blue-tinged lips, and her heart painfully pounded in her chest. “Nemain, what’s wrong?”
Nemain squeezed the water from the cloth into Gwyn’s mouth and let the moisture soak into her dry lips, the blue receding a bit. “I have scryed and done everything I know how to do. I am not well-versed in childbirth or healing. I belong on the battlefield with my sisters. This is beyond my knowledge. There are only a few gods I would trust to help. One is Idunn, but she isn’t answering my summons. I have also tried to summon Dian Cecht. He is the son of Dagda and knows all healing spells. Sadly, he also disappears into the wilds for weeks, searching for herbs and other medicinal and magical plants.”
“I don’t care where he is,” Morgan hissed as she held her sister’s hand during another contraction. The blue tinge returned to Gwyn’s lips, slightly darker than a moment ago. “Please, Nemain, do something—anything! I can’t lose her. She’s all I have left.”
Nemain met her gaze and nodded, handing her the towel and a bowl of cool water. “I will return as soon as I can.” She clasped Morgan’s hand between hers. “This is not just about Gwyn and the babes. This includes you as well. While the unborn are the key to thwarting the Dark Fae’s plans, it is you and your sister who will bind him to the Unseelie Court once more. With your combined blood, it will be permanent this time, and Morrigan’s curse will be no more.”
Nemain faded from view, her sharp teal gaze boring into her. You are never alone, Morgan. We are all with you. Your magic will show you the way. Believe in yourself.
A shimmering purple light expanded where Nemain stood a moment earlier, and Rhona appeared, the guardian of Nuada’s sword, a welcomed sight. Morgan stared at the sword clutched in Rhona’s hands and prayed they wouldn’t need something so powerful. She had a bad feeling this night was going to get much worse.
Rhona glanced at Gwyn and laid the sword between Morgan and Gwyn on the bed. She grabbed the cloth from Morgan’s hand and pulled a glass vial from her pocket, the ice-blue liquid inside reminding Morgan of pure glacier ice.
With the flick of her thumbnail, the stopper flew off, and the guardian poured a liberal amount on the damp material. Pinching Gwyn’s chin between two fingers, she opened her mouth and squeezed the liquid from the cloth.
Working Gwyn’s throat, Rhona forced her to swallow. After adding more liquid to the cloth, she brushed it over her sister’s face and neck, tracing a Christian cross over her heart and a Celtic triquetra across her belly. She folded the cloth and placed it underneath Lucas’s hand, which remained where Nemain had put it.
Straightening, Rhona nodded. “That should do it. Now, we must let nature do the rest. The potion will act as a barrier against whatever spell has been placed on her.”
Morgan frowned. “No one placed a spell.”
Rhona gave her a droll glare. “Have you not been learning your birthright? Your sister is practically glowing green. She has been recently spelled, and I am certain it was the angry man staring at us. Has he been with her before this?”
“No…” Morgan hesitated, remembering what Gwyn had told her when she first came to get her. “Damn it,” she mumbled. “Just before Gwyn found me, the Fomorian appeared in their room momentarily and then disappeared.”
Morgan stared at her sister’s wan face, realizing just how close she had come to losing her.