The Magic Queen

by Jovee Winters

  “Take him away,” she gasped.

  “No. No. No!” Rayale screamed, reaching for her wolf.

  The galloping of hooves thundered by. Famine clung to the wolf’s shaggy marble head, and Rayale ran after her. But it was much too late. A waver of blue split the air. The horseman ran through it with the wolf in tow, and then they were gone.

  “Don’t do this, witch! Don’t take him from me.” Rayale twirled on her heels, pleading imploringly as tears ran in thick sheets down her face.

  “I saved him from them. I saved him, Piper.”

  Piper shook all over, and pain lacerated Baba’s insides.

  Coughing, choking on blood, Baba laughed as she pressed her hand to her gaping chest still pumping out black blood. So this was how things would end. The irony was thick. The witch finds love and then dies. Wonderful.

  Strong hands gripped her face.

  “Stay with me, Baba Yaga!” Freyr shook her roughly.

  But his voice sounded a the faraway whisper through a long, dark tunnel.

  “I love you, you stupid, wonderful, idiotic woman. Stay with me!” he pleaded, and it tore her heart in two to hear him sound so miserable.

  She smiled. “Love you.”

  The words were barely a gasp as they spilled off her tongue, but she felt the snap of magick tight between them, uniting them eternally, or rather, what should have been an eternity. The powerful magick of true love flowed through her body and his, sealing and binding them as one.

  Rayale screamed, covering her face with her hands, and she vanished in an instant the same way Fiera had with Xolotl, doomed to roam the infinite realm of stairs for who knew how long. Baba experienced a flash of sympathy for the poor woman. At least Baba would get to die with her male by her side

  Freyr leaned over and kissed her soundly, pressing all his need, love, and desire into her. But unlike in the books, there was no magick in true love’s kiss for her. She was not miraculously healed or saved from the fate handed to her. The amount of dark magick it took to a fashion such a punishing spell against a god would have killed a mere mortal instantly. Baba was just powerful enough to get to linger on in agony for a few minutes longer.

  “Why did you do it, Baba? Why?” His Nordic blue eyes peered through her soul, and she smiled, unable to speak for the blood clogging her throat.

  Lifting shaking fingers to his face, she only wanted to touch him one last time. The darkness grew stronger. Death’s presence grew sharper. His strong, masculine visage loomed over her, the perpetual scythe in his bony hand as he waited to sever the final tie of life.

  Baba dragged bloody fingers across Freyr’s beautiful face and nodded once. She closed her eyes and awaited death’s last kiss.

  ~*~

  Freyr

  “No!” he thundered then scooped her frail, broken body into his arms and glared vehemently at Death. The big, black horse with ruby red eyes and flame pouring from its nostrils with each breath neighed violently at Freyr as he rushed past them. There was still life in her. He felt it, and he’d be damned if he let her go now. Baba was his, and no one could have her.

  “Aphrodite. Calypso. Themis!” He roared. “You will fix this!”

  Instantly, the three appeared. But there was another with them, a dark-haired man with olive-toned skin who kept a proprietary hand on Calypso’s shoulder.

  Freyr knew who the male was: Hades, Lord of the Greek Underworld. Baba had died upon the Greek pantheon’s soil, which meant his only recourse was to deal with these gods to get them to relinquish her soul back to his keeping.

  His woman was so cold now, barely clinging to life.

  “This was not how the games were supposed to go,” Aphrodite whispered sadly.

  “Then fix it!” he snapped. “I can’t imagine that you weren’t aware of the fact that a spell had been fashioned to kill me! You’re a god.”

  “As are you!” Calypso thundered. “You know that we cannot know everything. Baba made enemies of all of them. Fiera is a goddess too. But more than, that she is Peabrain’s mother. I never could have imagined he’d do what he’d done. I never...” She swallowed hard. “I never thought him capable of hurting someone as he did.”

  Freyr had sensed Peabrain’s hatred of his woman from the beginning, and Calypso was right. He could not have imagined things taking such a drastic turn, even knowing how much the demon hated Baba. But it was the imp’s fault this had happened, and they were going to fix this now!

  “Those are nothing more than excuses. Fix her now, or so help me...” He seethed, stepping forward and letting them see the deadly intent of retribution flame through his eyes. Freyr might only be a god of fertility and sex, but he was a Viking with the soul of an enraged berserker.

  Hades stepped forward, gently pushing Calypso behind him. “My woman meant no harm by any of this. Trust me when I say that.”

  Freyr spat by Hades’ feet. There were no words that could be said that would mollify him. The only thing that could was action.

  Hades looked at Themis. “The rules of the game, how were they set?”

  The Goddess of Justice nodded. “This was not...” she sighed, glanced at Freyr, and pressed on. “There were no contingency plans in place for something like this.” She shrugged helplessly.

  And Freyr felt fire move through his bones. “You’ve screwed with the wrong god if you think for a second I’ll accept any of this.”

  Death had begun to creep closer and was now hovering at Freyr's back. His hot breath feathered along Freyr’s neck.

  Hades shook his head. “Fates, to me!”

  In moments, the three fates, withered old hags with snakes for hair and fire for eyes encircled Freyr. In their hands they held onto a golden string, a string that led directly to Baba’s heart.

  The middle crone had a silver pair of shears and licked dried-out lips. “The witch be powerful, Hades.” She sounded orgasmic as.

  Freyr’s hand balled into a fist. He would rip their hearts out and eat them for his breakfast if they even came within a yard of her. By the looks on their faces, they knew it too. One by one, they took a measured step back.

  Freyr was hated by none, but right now, he hated the lot of them.

  “If you do this,” he said, “there will be war between us, a war you cannot win.”

  He knew it. They knew it.

  The Greek gods could fight. But they were nothing compared to the raw, brutal power of the Viking nature. Their lust for blood, dominance, and warfare was unmatched by any pantheon in all the cosmos. It would be like pitting a wolverine against a lion, an unfair match no matter how you looked at it.

  “We must needs cut the string!” The fate with the shears screamed, opening and closing the scissors repetitively, moving back in as she eyed Baba’s golden string with lust.

  Death now stood beside them, his scythe held high. Freyr had threatened all he could. His last hope was paltry by comparison. If they let her die, there would be war. But he didn’t want that, and he knew they didn’t either.

  So he ripped open his truth and poured his heart out to Hades. “If this were Calypso, would you let them do it?”

  Calypso’s spine stiffened, and Hades shook his head., looking down at the crown of hers.

  His shoulders gave a mighty heavy, and he sighed deeply. “No. I’d rather die.”

  And Freyr held his breath, almost too petrified to believe.

  “But a price must be paid. Death must be satisfied. It is the only way.”

  There was a legend told by many civilizations, the legend of two bodies sharing one heart, locked together for all eternity, bound by more than just magick, but by souls.

  “Split my heart in two then. Give her the other half.”

  Aphrodite and Calypso gasped, and Hades nodded.

  “That would work,” the women said.

  Freyr looked at the crones then at Death. As one, they nodded. Baba’s soul string would be cut, but she would survive.

  Aphrodite stepped
forward, placed her hands on Freyr’s shoulders, and looked deep into his eyes. “Are you ready?”

  She was beautiful, smelled of sunshine, any other time, he’d have a raging hard-on just being near her. But all he wanted now was to get this over with.

  “Do it, Aphrodite. Split my heart.”

  Smiling softly, she palmed his chest, and a deep crimson glow spread from his chest to her hand. It didn’t hurt as he’d imagined splitting one’s heart should, but he felt the gentle tug of it flitting away from him. Moments later, she stepped back. In her fist beat half a heart.

  With a cackle of glee, the crone holding the shears severed Baba’s life string. Baba’s weight sagged heavily against him. All life leeched out of her. She was a deep blue. Their job done, the fates left, leaving only the traces of their ghostly laughter behind.

  Death passed his hand over her face and breathed in. Freyr had no idea what he’d just done except Baba felt warmer and looked pinker.

  “She is my sister. Anyone else,” Death said in a voice as rickety sounding as one might expect Death to sound, “and I wouldn’t have cared. But Baba deserves her happiness. Treat her well, Freyr, or I’ll be coming for you.”

  Then Death and his wild steed were gone.

  Smiling softly, Aphrodite touched her hand to Baba’s chest. The pulse of his heart suddenly burst to life, and Freyr felt the fullness of it once more. Baba gasped, her flesh flooded with life.

  Blinking her eyes open, it took her a moment to gain her bearings. But when she turned those beautiful moss-green eyes his way, he smiled. They shared not only a heart but a soul.

  She was his and he was hers. Forever.

  “Freyr, you big fat moron, I love you with all my heart.” Baba beamed, leaned up, and pressed her lips to his.

  And that was all he needed: her love.

  Calypso cleared her throat, and for once, she didn’t look happy. “Baba, you fought well and did not deserve what happened to you tonight. Only tell me, and I shall punish Peabrain most severely.”

  Baba blinked, looking between him and Calypso before sighing softly. “He loves her and never seemed to understand that I was never truly her enemy. I think his heart was in the right place at the end of the day. Leave the little demon be. Only make sure that idiot never does it again.”

  “As you wish it, so shall it be.” Calypso spoke the words, and the air quickened with a burst of power. “May you both know happiness for however long your eternity is.”

  “And Rayale?” Baba latched onto the goddess’ elbow as she made to walk past.

  Calypso glanced down at Baba’s hand then at Aphrodite, Hades, and Themis before looking back to Baba. “You took her man away from us. I should be furious with you for doing what you’ve done.”

  Baba lifted a brow, and Freyr loved her even more. The witch had a heart. She simply didn’t care to show it often. He smiled softly and hugged her close.

  “We have our reasons for keeping the Piper. Trust us in this. After all, haven’t we earned a little of your trust yet?”

  Implied was that they’d helped Freyr and Baba find each other, and no matter how angry he was at the way things had gone down, at the end of the day, having Baba was all that mattered to him.

  Baba looked over at him before nodding softly. “Goodbye, Calypso,” she said without taking her off him.

  “Farewell, witch,” Calypso intoned, and the four gods vanished.

  Leaving him alone with his mate. Finally.

  “I couldn’t let them have you,” Freyr whispered into the thick silence and traced her cheek with his finger, marveling at how soft her skin was. “You sacrificed yourself for me.”

  He still couldn’t believe it.

  That old fire returned to her gaze, and she punched him. “You’d better believe it, meat sack. No one gets to kill you, but me.”

  He chuckled. “Yes, well, I do believe you owe me, wench. I split my heart for you.”

  She touched a finger to her chest, and tears pooled in her eyes. Freyr knew without even needing to ask that Baba never cried for anyone. That she did for him was a gift.

  “Hm.” She smirked. “I suppose this means—”

  Growling, he wrapped his arms tight around her. “Bed. Now.”

  He couldn’t wait anymore to take her, to mate her, and to show her with his body how much he treasured and worshipped her.

  Baba’s laughter filled his heart. He might only have half of one now, but when she was with him, he was whole. And he was never, ever going to let her go again.

  Epilogue

  Freyr

  Centuries later...

  “Have I ever told you”—Freyr rolled to a sitting position after another amazing tussle in the bed with his fine wench—“that I’ve always had a thing for cougars?” He grinned.

  Baba snorted. Tonight was the final night of her mother form. The form, oddly enough, he preferred most.

  Her skin wasn’t as tight as that of the maiden. There were a few wrinkles—lines of wisdom he called them—and threads of silver in her chestnut hair. Her breasts weren’t quite as perky, nor her stomach quite as flat. Her thighs carried a little more of a jiggle, but there was something sensual and experienced that came with the maturity.

  “Then you’re very lucky.” She sat up, allowing the sheets to puddle around her hips, exposing her delectable shell-pink nipples to his scrutiny. “I’ve always had a thing for young, male flesh.”

  He growled, tackling her and pinning her arms above her head as he positioned his body over hers, sliding his cock in deep. They’d already made love three times tonight, but there was a frenzy to his need for her that had very little to do with sex and everything to do with his desperation that this night never end.

  “Only my young male flesh, woman. Only me. Only ever me.” He licked at the shell of her ear before planting a kiss on the tiny bone behind it where neck and head met.

  She arched her spine up to meet his touch. Even after all these years, his witch was receptive to him.

  “Only you, moron,” she hissed when he bit her gently then clutched at his naked arse, digging her long nails into his flesh. “It’s always been you.”

  He smirked. The gods of his realm gave him hell for the relationship he kept with his woman, never understanding how he could tolerate to be around someone as sharp-tongued as she. But they did not know his Baba Yaga as he did, did not know the tenderness of her touch, the truth of her love, or the way she made him feel as though he were everything to her and she to him.

  Theirs was a romance penned by the hands of a jester. The god and the witch. The crone and the beauty. They should not have worked, the pair of them. They should have been a comedy of errors, not a romance that burned brighter than the suns of Valhalla. But he loved her, every square inch of her. In all the years and her many incarnations, there’d never been—nor ever could be—another for him.

  They came as one, as they did everything else. Her kiss pressed upon his lips was tender as she whispered, “I love you, idiot male. Always and forever.”

  His heart ached to hear those words, knowing that he would never hear them again. Already, a tinge of mauve filtered beneath the window of their home.

  Baba had, through sly maneuverings, gotten the goddesses to grant her access to the place they’d been dumped in for their games what felt like a lifetime ago. Now, it looked nothing like it had then.

  When they’d returned Baba, had brought life with her. Seeds for planting. Animals to fill the land. They lived in a veritable oasis of tropical beauty now, and apart from themselves and Phlegm, there were no other humans to set foot on what he considered to be sacred ground.

  This was their place away from the politics and chaos of their worlds. But for the first time since they’d laid claim to Sanctuary—what they called home—his world had intruded in a big and violent way.

  Tomorrow was the start of Ragnorak and the end of him. Being a Viking meant he’d never cared or worried about the prophecy proclai
ming his end. To meet death in battle was the ultimate way to go. He’d be a hero, spoken of in tales and legends. He’d lived his life with the knowledge that his end would be a glorious one and had never much cared when it came.

  But he cared now because now he had someone who cared for him too. Closing his eyes, he buried his face in her neck and breathed in her rich scent of lilacs and honeysuckle. His woman, his heartbeat, how could he tell her goodbye?

  Her fingers gently massaged the back of his head as she whispered, “Tomorrow, I become the crone.”

  After all these years, Baba knew him well, understood his moods. She was trying—in her own way—to lighten the sudden tension that filled their bedroom.

  Biting down on his front teeth, he screwed on a fake smile and attempted to join in on her teasing. “You know how much I enjoy screwing a mummy.”

  But his words lacked laughter, and she knew it. Her gorgeous eyes turned sad.

  “Freyr, my love. Do not be so heavy of spirit. I cannot take it.”

  He shook his head. “Once the sun rises, I must leave. For twenty years, I’ll be trapped in that war with no way to reach you, to contact you, and at the end...” He growled, looking away, unable to finish the last part.

  She turned his face, looking him in the eye. He wanted to flinch, to look away, not to be forced to have to endure the light of that love burning through her eyes for him. His woman was strong, the strongest he knew. But Phlegm was still only a child. Goblins apparently took several centuries to age. In human terms, Phlegm was only close to five or six, a little rapscallion and a massive handful.

  He’d grown to love the little weasel over time, a fact he’d thought would be impossible until he realized how much his woman truly cared for the boy. Phlegm had become one of Freyr’s best friends. He took the boy fishing, hiking, and generally taught him how to be a man as best he knew how. He was as attached to that boy as though he was truly of his own blood.

  “My, dear sweet Fellatio,” she crooned, and he snorted.

  After all this time, she never let up. “I fear I’ll be stuck with that moniker ’til the end of my days, which won’t be much long—”