Chapter 23
23
Morgan stared at her sister’s flushed face. “You didn’t tell me he spelled you.” Morgan frowned. “Gwynnie, you know better than that.”
“I thought I stopped it in time. Nothing works right when you’re pregnant.” Her face screwed up, and she grabbed both sides of her belly, halfway rising off the bed as the next contraction came harder than the last. Finally, she dropped back to her sweat-soaked pillow.
“I’m never doing this again,” Gwyn whispered. “Not even sex. I’m castrating my husband.”
“I heard that,” Torin mumbled nearby, holding his stance in front of Bres.
Rafael and Fáelán raced into the room, which was growing more crowded with each additional body. But Morgan couldn’t have been happier to see her white wolf. Just as she turned to say something to him, a malevolence rushed through her.
Her gaze snapped to Bres, who was staring at her, his eyes completely black. He smiled, and she knew she was no longer looking at the Fomorian but at something else…someone else.
“I told you I would return,” Fer-Diorich’s deep voice rumbled.
“No!” Rhona screamed, and Morgan jerked her gaze back to her sister. A dark cloud hovered above her. Through the roiling substance, a hand descended, clutching a serpentine blade. Morgan scrambled onto the bed, but the blade sliced through her twin’s paper-thin abdominal skin before she could reach her.
The terrified screams of her niece and nephew filled her mind and were quickly joined by Lucas’s wail. Her heart stuttered. “Please let them be okay,” she whispered. “Please let them be okay,” she prayed as she laid her hands across the laceration, blood bubbling from the wound.
Fáelán rushed to Rhona’s side. He placed his paws on either side of Morgan’s while Rhona laid her hands on his paws. Fáelán muttered something that sounded like Gaelic. As Morgan watched, the bleeding slowly stopped, and the babies calmed.
“Morgan, reach in and pull out the child closest to you,” Fáelán demanded. She didn’t hesitate. Reaching inside her sister’s abdomen, she repeated her mother’s healing prayer as she gently pulled out the wriggling body of her tiny niece.
The girl’s blue gaze met hers, recognition in their depths as a smile appeared on her beautiful, little face, and she wrapped her tiny fingers around Morgan’s thumb.
“Hello, sweet Delany. I’m giving you to Rhona. She will make sure that mean old man didn’t hurt you.” The babe stayed calm as Morgan carefully eased her into the guardian’s experienced hands.
“Hurry, Morgan,” Fáelán said, his voice insistent. “Gwyn is still bleeding internally. I can’t finish cauterizing her wounds until the boy is out.”
Morgan quickly removed Stephán, who seemed a bit larger than his sister. She laid him beside his sister, cuddled in the crook of Rhona’s arm, his legs kicking and arms pumping. She smiled, sending up a prayer of gratitude for their well-being.
Rhona reached into her bag with her free hand and pulled out a small cauldron. Dipping a dark metal cup into it, she muttered something unintelligible, the liquid dribbling between Gwyn’s parched lips.
Fishing in the bag, she found a dainty handkerchief and poured the rest of the liquid onto it. Laying the soaked material over the wounds, Morgan’s gaze widened. “It’s sterilizing her wound, isn’t it?”
Rhona nodded as she inspected every inch of the twin’s tiny bodies. “It will also soak through her skin and help heal her damaged womb for her next pregnancy. Not even Fáelán’s fancy sutures will keep out the spelled liquid.”
“There’s not going to be a next pregnancy,” Gwyn muttered, her eyes closed. “I’ll agree to sex…maybe.” Rhona grinned but didn’t argue.
Rafael moved behind her, laying his hands on her shoulders. “That is not Bres, is it?” he asked, whispering against her ear.
She shook her head and tilted her head toward the apparition. “His eyes are fully black. I think Fer-Diorich used the amulet. He channeled himself through Bres to escape the Unseelie Court.”
“That poses a problem for Bres. Channeling isn’t something we do lightly. If the Dark Fae channeled through a magical object, using it as a portal, the Fomorian would not survive without a magical barrier. I doubt the Fae would give him one.”
“What do we do now?” she asked, not wanting an answer. Nothing he said would be good. More fighting. More bloodshed. More death.
A mass appeared behind the Fomorian, swirling and heaving like a violent whirlpool as the vortex opened, and a large furry red leg appeared. The massive body of a werewolf stepped through and stood to the left of Bres.
A human leg appeared but with blue-tinged skin. Next came the bronze chest armor that matched those of the Berserkers outside, followed by massive shoulders and a head of wild black hair. The Berserker smiled, his teeth yellow and chipped, as he stepped to the right of Bres.
“This isn’t positive,” Makari mumbled from somewhere behind them.
“Bres has paid for his deception,” Fer-Diorich said, his voice low and gravelly and not fitting what Morgan knew from hearing Bres’s actual voice in the caves.
“What have you done with him?” she asked. “What deception?”
Bres’s body shrugged. “Does it matter? He was supposed to follow my dictates and keep you in the Unseelie Court until his powers reached their maximum potential and the Veil thinned enough for me to get through. He failed, and for that, he died.”
Morgan frowned. “How was he supposed to know a god would rescue me? He would never be strong enough to go up against Cernunnos.” She tilted her head with a thoughtful frown. “I think you knew that, too.”
An idea formed, and deep in her gut, she knew she was on the right track. “You knew Cernunnos would be able to rescue me and counted on it all along, didn’t you? You lied to Bres and made him believe he would retain his godlike powers if he wore the amulet.”
Bres’s heavy brows rose. “You are, indeed, intelligent, much like your grandmother. Yes, I knew. I also counted on the idiot falling for my false promise. I told him the power from the amulet would transfer to him once I was free of my prison. I didn’t tell him I also needed a sacrificial soul to combine with the power surge.” Bres’s thin lips smiled. “And now, I’m here.”
A movement caught her eye, and she saw Lucan sneak into the room, creeping along the wall until he stood directly behind the Berserker. Kilian eased around the open doorway and inched along the same wall until he stood behind the Ironclaw.
Rafael, do you see them? What are they planning on doing—getting themselves killed? They can’t go up against those two— they’ll be torn apart.
Do not worry, mi pequeno. Even with the Ironclaws, Kilian has an affinity and can calm the inner wolf. I have seen him do that very thing many times in battle. Lucan needs to feel as if he counts. He is not suicidal, but he needs to fight back and help those he cares for. He hasn’t told us his entire story, and I believe whatever he’s withheld can help us now. I believe in my brothers and trust they will carry out their plan, however crazy it may seem to us.
If you say so, now, what’s our plan?
You mean your crazy brain hasn’t worked one out yet? You have driven me to insanity with your recklessness. Why stop now?
I love you, too, you crazy Spaniard. She ignored his pregnant silence and mulled over their options. She dismissed one after the other, the outcomes not good enough. She refused to lose even one person crammed into this room, helping to defend her sister, niece, and nephew.
Before she had come up with anything concrete, the air around them sizzled. Her body hair rose, and an intense itching spread under her skin as the swirling portal behind Bres widened.
“You may have temporarily stopped me from getting the blood, but I will have it soon enough,” the gravelly voice bragged. Bres’s mouth opened in a silent scream, and his head flew back. With his arms outstretched, the amulet rose, levitating in front of him, each etched symbol glowing a deep red.
Lucan said to keep your attention on the mass swirling behind them, not on Bres or the amulet. He feels the Dark Fae’s power growing inside, like a cauldron. He claims to have a plan to keep the Berserker and Ironclaw from attacking, so we must concentrate wholly on stopping Fer-Diorich.
Morgan exhaled and willed away the building tension in her body. Easier said than done. I have no idea what I’m going to do yet.
You have the power of The Morrigan running through your veins. Not only your grandmother’s but Nemain’s as well. My blood is also there and is incredibly potent. I have the Immortal’s strength, fortitude, and a touch of vampire blood, giving me stealth and strength.
She frowned. You’ve never told me that before.
I have never told anyone before, pequeno. There is one other piece of information I have never divulged to anyone.
She groaned, not wanting to know but realizing it may just give her the necessary information to devise a fail-proof plan. Fine, tell me.
When Fer-Diorich experimented on the others, he used a variety of blood donors, but mostly women and children from local villages, if not their entire families. I had no one, so I was given Fer-Diorich’s and Kristof’s blood, along with a few other Fae prisoners, which is why I can change between forms. I think Torin also received Fer-Diorich’s blood.
That means the other Immortals are without hope. They will never be able to shift back. Morgan’s heart broke for the wolves she had become so fond of.
Maybe not, but there are still options. Magic is always filled with options, with new spells or powers. How is that not hopeful?
Morgan studied the room, feeling the slight swell of magic coming from the portal, and knew they were running out of time. Steadying her thoughts and focusing on her magic, she stared into the writhing darkness before them. It was now or never.
Power I need, build within.
Good reigns over evil, my will to win.
With The Morrigans’ blood, triple our power.
Protect the innocents in this final hour.
Her Fae magic increased until she felt ready to burst, but she held it steady until the evil dam broke, and Bres’s body slammed into her. Shoving him out of her way, she turned sideways and sidestepped, knowing Fer-Diorich would come through the portal.
As the Dark Fae emerged, Kilian reached around the Ironclaw’s neck and pulled him back, slamming a silver stake through his heart. The silver immediately liquified as the werewolf’s acidic blood melted the deadly metal.
His mouth opened in a silent scream, blood-tinged silver dribbling from each corner. When his red eyes bled silver, Kilian dropped the body at his feet.
At the same time, Lucan jumped into action. Surprisingly, he sank his fangs into his neck instead of fighting the Berserker. She should have been shocked, but it made sense. If he drained the Berserker, he would be out of commission, and possibly, Lucan would absorb a bit of the giant’s power.
She stepped closer, letting her magic spin around her like a vortex, and as the Dark Fae stepped from the vortex, she slammed her bloody hands against his chest, leaving wet handprints on his muscled chest.
“Give them to me,” Fer-Diorich’s raspy voice echoed in the small chamber, his bare feet touching the cave floor. The only piece of clothing he wore was a pair of black pants.
“Over your dead body,” Morgan whispered. Something other than her, a power as old as time, moved through her. Her hands rose, pressing against his bare chest again.
To the ancient lands you go.
From birth, through life, unto death.
For the sins you have sewn.
Your immortal life is forfeit.
We bind your powers with mercury.
We bind your mind with Cinnabar.
The magical arts are erased from your memory.
Nevermore shall you see the heavens sunlit.
As her ancestral powers slowly faded, she stepped away, her back pressing against Rafael’s. His soothing peace stole through her. For the first time in months, she felt like she could breathe. Her gaze remained on the bloody handprints decorating the Dark Fae’s bare chest.
Her eyes widened as a whisper of smoke curled from the tips of each bloody finger. She bit back a smile as a thin line of red outlined her hands, beginning at the fingertips and closing at the end of each palm.
“Stupid woman, you can’t stand up to me. I’m too powerful,” he laughed, the sound grating. “And it will be over your dead body, not mine. This is my time to reign. I have toiled endlessly to ensure victory. Hand over the children!”
Morgan crossed her arms with a smug grin. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that. For a big bad Fae, you seem to be on fire.”
He glanced down at his chest and waved away the smoke. He tried to swipe away the blood prints. His dark gaze popped up, meeting hers, his brows drawn into a dark scowl. “What have you done?”
She dropped her gaze as the blood disappeared into his skin, and he let out an agonizing wail. Stumbling backward, his skin turned gray and pasty. His black eyes glowed as he mumbled something unintelligible, but nothing happened.
He muttered what sounded like several spells in the ancient tongue, but nothing happened. With a mask of fury on his face, he faced the bed where Gwyn and the babies slept.
“How could we have been so wrong?” Rhona whispered. “The womb blood is the trinity—the beginning is the initial spark of life from both parents. The mother’s love is middle, and the pregnancy’s end, or death, is birth.”
Gwyn's eyes popped open, and she grabbed Torin’s forearm. “Torin…Torin, he’s mortal. He’s mortal!” she cried out in a hoarse voice.
Rhona reached over Gwyn and threw back the bedsheets, uncovering Nuada’s sword from where she had hidden it. Tossing the blade to Rafael, he swung the blade in a wide arc, slicing through the Dark Fae’s abdomen as Rhona repeated her apprentice, Colette’s prophesy.
“Hide one from the other—a child decides fate.
The Claiomh Solais changes the Cursed One's reign.
A vow in stone, this destiny, I state.
One gift is found, the paths maligned.
To discover what’s right, two gifts you need find.”
Rafael drew back the blade, leaving a second deep laceration in the Dark Fae’s abdomen. Fer-Diorich’s head jerked back, his mouth open and disbelief in his eyes. Slowly, his body tipped backward and slid into the dark, billowing portal, which snapped closed behind him.
Makari stood in the doorway, blood-covered and exhausted, his black lips pulled back in a disgusted snarl. “That was disgustingly weird.” His dark gaze landed on the two infants, snuggled against their mother. “Cute kids. The Ironclaws are all dead and only a few of the Berserkers got away, so we’ll need to go hunting.”
Gwyn met her sister’s gaze and mouthed Neanderthal with a smothered chuckle.
Morgan scowled at the black wolf. “You know, Makari, it’s quite disturbing how you slid the ‘cute kids’ remark between disgustingly weird and hunting Berserkers.”
The black wolf shrugged. “Life is both good and bad. Better get used to it now, or you’ll have difficulty dealing with your mate. Rafael is and always will be a conundrum.