“Yeah, but how can he keep all that testosterone in one place, under control?” I asked.
Marcus reached toward me and cupped my hands in his, the hard, slightly rusted metal beneath our fingers. “Faline,” he said, his tone changing from informative to heart-felt. “The incubi aren’t Wild Women, but they’re a lot closer to your kind than Hunters are.”
“So you’re considering having Aleksander change you?” I said.
Marcus only looked into my eyes for a long breath. “If it worked, I’d have my Hunter abilities and incubus abilities. I wouldn’t have to pretend to align with the Hunters anymore; I could cut myself free and belong to another brotherhood.”
His brotherhood—this hadn’t occurred to me. But of course, he missed being a part of a brotherhood. I wouldn’t want to live without my sisterhood, my community of like-minded females that both supported me and helped me grow. The unconditional love. How much of a struggle must it be for Marcus to love the Hunters like brothers—because I had no doubt he felt unconditional love for those Hunters he’d grown up with—and yet absolutely disagree with their life decisions? Deplore their choices, even?
The next obvious question popped into my head. “And if it doesn’t work?”
“He’s never changed a Hunter,” Marcus answered. “Hunters don’t get along well with other supernatural beings; they kind of have a god complex when it comes to that stuff.”
“Wait,” I interrupted. “Can you unpack that?” It was obvious that Hunters had a god complex with Wild Women, but I wanted to know how that varied with other supernatural males.
“The council of Nicaea was a group of influential men, rich and powerful,” Marcus explained. “One of those men, whose name was removed from the official record of attending those meetings and helping to decide which books made it into the Bible, disagreed with the direction those leaders intended for the church. He left the conventional church of the time and took his religious servants, men later called monks in our Hunter history, with him, to follow the path he believed was the more righteous one.”
Just hearing such words as church and righteous caused my muscles to tense. The fear ran deep, the history of persecution and the stories whispered by my mother that told of the burnings of midwives and herbalists. The Hunters’ constant teachings covering the inherent evil of Wild Women and their inability to find righteousness didn’t help. Marcus’s history, his present, and his future, were worth the discomfort, though. He needed to talk about this and since leaving his brotherhood, I was all he had. I knew this was a decision he’d made freely, but I still felt guilt over it.
“They built the first monastery that passed as something else,” he went on. “It’s not even in history books, I don’t think. Because to the world at the time, it was nothing special. They didn’t even have monasteries for the mainstream church until much later. But it was the home of the first Hunter complex.”
“How did he create Hunters, though?” I asked, my gaze bouncing to the intricate tattoos standing out against his skin in the dark, along his smooth, muscular bicep. “You aren’t a human male.”
“We kept records for everything, except that,” he answered. “If there are no records on how we were made, there will be no way to find out how to unmake us.”
“Makes sense,” I said, assuming the Goddesses and their priestesses kept no records of how we were made either.
“But what I’m trying to get to,” he continued, “is that we were created in response to supernatural beings. There are holy texts that refer to supernatural beings. Most weren’t included into today’s holy scriptures because of the man who created us, he wanted all non-humans stricken from people’s minds, and eventually he obtained his goal, or at least his descendants did. Like thieves in the night, we removed your kind from power, and then from history, and almost from folklore. We believed that we were created by God himself to govern and kill your kind. Think of it as the right hand of the creator.”
“Well,” I said. “You and I have different ideas of who created the world and everyone in it.” I paused for effect. “And why she did it.”
Marcus’s seriousness finally melted and he cracked a smile. “True. But I’m answering your question about why Hunters don’t get along well with other supernaturals. We believe our whole existence hinges on protecting humans from them. Kind of like the way bleach would feel about E. coli.”
“But they’re wrong. So very wrong,” Marcus said deeply before leaning across the table to kiss me just as deeply.
I could have easily gotten swept away in the moment and stood from the chair to trail the sexy man into the quilted bedroom and have my way with him. Unfortunately, something else nagged at the fringes of my mind.
“If Hunters are really so set apart, then it stands to reason that whatever incubi do to change human men could interact with your Hunter genes and kill you,” I stated.
“Or maim me,” he corrected.
I had no idea what my face looked like at the moment, but apparently the word “concern” was written in my eyebrows because Marcus stood to pull me up and closer to him. “Babe,” he rumbled into my ear. “I haven’t made the decision yet. I’m only gathering information.”
“And from what you’ve gathered so far?” I asked, my cheek pressed against the soft cotton covering his chest.
“I’m not gonna lie, there are more pros than cons.”
I huffed. “What other pros can there be?” I asked, only counting two: more abilities and being accepted as my mate. Oh, and the third of belonging to a brotherhood.
“Aleksander will stop pursuing you,” Marcus said as though his statement was as normal as letting me know he picked up peas from the grocery store for dinner.
I pulled away to stare at him. “You don’t have to worry about him. I’ll never choose him over you,” I assured the male who’d risked life and limb for me, the man whose touch melted me.
“The reason I couldn’t stand him in the beginning is the same reason I can’t fault him now,” Marcus said, again too calm for the topic. “He’s an incubus, Faline. They rarely find a life mate to lock onto, and when they do, there’s no unlocking their intentions. He’s old and he can manipulate your energy and mine, make us feel and think things. He’s assured me that he’s not that type of man, under oath, which is the only reason I didn’t slit his throat. But I’m not dumb.”
“How do you know he wasn’t shifting your energy to feel things about him, your trust of him, when you saw him?” I asked.
“Because.” Marcus pulled a Hunter’s dagger from a sheath tucked beneath his pant leg. I cringed at the sight “He gave me this as a show of good faith.” Marcus tapped the red stone in the dagger’s hilt. “And this right here weakens the abilities of supernaturals, just as much as it enhances mine.”
“How did he get that?” I said on an inhale.
Marcus grew serious again. “I told you Aleksander’s powerful, Faline. Too powerful to be underestimated.”
Twenty-Two
The thought of Aleksander pursuing me certainly wasn’t what turned me on, I swear. But something about embracing Marcus, his words forcing me to see his heart behind them, his intention to stay with me at any cost and his place in all of this at the same time, turned me on like a light switch. The nap earlier did a lot to help, too.
Marcus kissed his way from my mouth to my jaw and down my neck. My breath hitched when he pulled my shirt over my head so that his lips could more easily reach their destination. I arched my back giving his hands more room to unbutton my jeans. When his mouth found mine again I stood in front of him while he sat on the iron chair and shimmied my jeans to the wooden slats of the deck to step out of them. There was no way I’d give Marcus the show of my nakedness without getting one from him in return. Our kisses paused enough for me to pull his shirt over his head and expose his swollen muscles, art-filled chest, back, shoulders, and arms.
He reached for me with need and intensity, his supernatural s
trength meeting its match in mine. I straddled him, positioning myself just right when…my pants pocket vibrated along the deck.
We reluctantly paused.
It vibrated again, the muffled noise distinct against the otherwise silent night.
“Goddam it,” Marcus growled. He released his firm hold on me. I climbed off of him and the chair, grumbling my own obscenities at the phone and its fabulous timing.
One day the Wilds wouldn’t be fighting for their lives and freedoms and maybe then Marcus and I would be free to ignore late-at-night phone calls from unknown numbers. Unfortunately, we still fought for those things and tonight was not that night.
“The phone number isn’t American,” I said to Marcus before swiping to answer.
He sat up taller.
“This is Janice,” I answered. Since we’d taken down the Hunter complex I’d used burner phones, but as an added precaution I’d also answered the phone with another name if an unrecognizable number popped up. My coterie and Marcus had grown used to my extra step of precaution, making a joke about which name I’d pick next. This caller, however, did not find my precaution so endearing.
“Faline Frey?” the woman asked in a British accent.
“This is Janice,” I corrected, waiting for more information before the charade led to honesty.
“The rusalka told me you’d give a false name,” she stated curtly.
How did the rusalki know I’d been doing this? It wasn’t like they’d called me since everything went down. Then again, when it came to the rusalki, after seeing what I saw under their lake, nothing out of the ordinary should shock me.
“Faline,” the woman stated. “This is Anwen of the nagin group. We understand our distant sisters are in trouble and we’d like to help.”
I gave Marcus a quizzical look before returning to the phone call. “Thank you, Anwen.” My mouth caught up to my brain and the next part of the conversation finally presented itself. “Yes, uh, the succubi galere led by—” I stopped abruptly. I’d assumed the woman at the other end of this phone call was who she said she was. How stupid of me.
“Which rusalka told you to call me? What was her name and what did she look like?” I asked, knowing the Hunters probably knew our names by now. Still, I hoped they didn’t know them well enough to spot one from a particular group within a second’s notice.
“The rusalka, Drosera,” she answered without hesitation. “She has green eyes and auburn hair. Her voice reminds me of a mix between a breeze and a fairy.”
Well, she’d passed the test and her explanation of Drosera’s voice was spot on.
“Thank you,” I said. “We can’t be too careful right now, with everything going on.”
“I’ve heard rumors that America still had its Hunters, but I had no idea the Wild Women still answered to them. We were absolutely shocked to hear about Marie and her people.”
So many questions bloomed from those two sentences, but I let them grow while she finished her spiel.
“We didn’t know Marie,” Anwen continued. “Hadn’t heard of her or her sisters until today, really. But no snake daughter should be forced into confinement; like she who created us, we must be free to grow, to stretch, and to shed.” Her words made no sense to me, at least not the shedding part.
“So are you offering to come help us?” I asked.
I thought back to my mother’s stories. She’d told of the daughters of Lilith, of course, but also the scaled ones, and once she’d even mentioned a great and ancient cobra goddess and her many daughters from all over the world, some of which appointed the pharaohs themselves. I’d never heard mention of the nagin group, though. Now I wished I’d taken my mother’s stories seriously as a kid. I wished I’d read up on these women of folklore, these goddesses of old. If I’d spent hours in my local library, scouring the books, I’d actually be prepared to meet these strange Wilds. As it was, I planned to do enough googling the moment we ended the call to put a nervous, end-of-the-quarter college student to shame.
“We are offering to help the succubi,” she clarified. “Once we make contact with their leader, Marie, and learn their agendas, then we will know more.”
I let out a sigh and rolled my eyes. Marcus stood and placed his hand on my back, watching my every expression as though each bite to my inner cheek and each scowl I gave were part of a coded message.
“Do you mind if I ask the size of your group?” I said.
“I’ve met your kind, huldra,” the nagin said. “And I was impressed, so please don’t take this poorly, but a captive Wild Woman may pose risks that we’d rather assess in person. You understand.”
I didn’t, but it wasn’t like I had much of a choice.
“Fair enough,” I said, deciding a general response was better than my true thoughts and more preferable to a lie that yes, I did understand her concern. I had no clue what a nagin was, or if they could detect lies. I didn’t want to start what could become an allied friendship off on a lie. “So then you will be flying here? Are other groups joining you?” I needed to know which other types of Wilds I should research.
“Yes, we will be flying into the Portland International Airport,” she said. “If you’ll please send the location of the succubi’s building to the number I called from?”
“We aren’t there,” I said. “We’re currently staying at a safer location, but I’ll send you the address.”
“And as far as other groups joining us…” She let that last part ease from her mouth as though she considered her next words. “The echidnas and the shés will be meeting us there as well. That’s why I’ll need your address, because I don’t expect you have a vehicle that can fit all of us.” She added just in case I hadn’t caught her drift, “A vehicle to pick us up with.”
“No, I don’t expect we do,” I confirmed, repeating in my mind the Wild groups she’d just listed, hoping I could find information about them online, with at least a little portion that was semi-accurate.
“Fabulous,” Anwen said. “We’ll see you tomorrow then.”
She ended the call and I lowered the phone from my cheek, my mind spinning.
“What is it?” Marcus finally allowed himself to ask.
“Three Wild groups are on their way, all connected to a snake goddess, I think.” I peered around the deck and down below to the back yard. “We’re going to need to find enough computers in this building, one for each of us. We’ve got until tomorrow to figure out what kind of Wilds we’re dealing with.”
Twenty-Three
Freyja, known by her Nordic name, is not an old Goddess compared to the many who came before her. The story of the creation of Wild Women speaks of Goddesses breathing their life force into their highest priestesses as patriarchy ravaged their temples and their people’s way of life. But some Goddesses, like Freyja, weren’t known to dwell in temples made from human hands. And others were worshipped, and their temples destroyed, far before Freyja’s name entered the mouths of humans.
But is a deity ever born? Or have they always existed, serving different societies, receiving different names according to which ways they’ve best helped the people who’ve named them?
I pondered these questions as I searched the internet for information on the snake goddesses of the world. Olivia and Celeste looked for nagin facts in particular, and the rest of us scoured the digital highways for any nuggets of truth we could extract from the pile of unknowns and speculation we found ourselves dealing with.
As it turned out, the quilter’s haven we holed up in was fairly connected to the digital times. We found one laptop on top of the dressers in each room, all connected to strong Wi-Fi signal throughout the building; more than enough to aid in our search. We congregated in the large living room, using the couch and the coffee table, and at the dining table in the adjoining kitchen.
Our main goal was to find out about the Wild Women connected to snake Goddesses. The major snag we knew we’d hit before we even powered up the laptops was the lack o
f public knowledge concerning Wilds. We could easily find folkloric tales of the nagin, but to really know what these women were capable of, we’d have to learn which Goddess had created them and what her role was in the society in which she was said to have created them from.
For instance, Freyja is a Nordic Goddess. If one was to only go by what the humans said about huldra, that our backs were hollowed out bark and tails grew from our tailbone—they’d be highly misled. But to research the Norse stories of Freyja, her connection to nature, her protectiveness of her people, then one could begin to put the pieces together to create a more actualized idea of the huldra. We are connected to nature, we once protected the forests, and our ability to see in the dark, to grow bark and vines, are displayed in these attributes.
Connected dots like those weren’t an exact science, but they were better than getting caught up in things over our heads.
“Okay, so the nagin,” Olivia spoke from the dark-wood kitchen table. She and Celeste sat at the oval table, discussing websites and possible matches. “Are from India mostly. The word is Sanskrit for deity or entity in the form of a very great snake. Think cobra.”
Shawna, who sat across from me at the coffee table, paused and shared a look with me. Goddess, I hoped these women didn’t turn into cobras. Well, if they were on our side against the Hunters, then yes, that’d be fabulous. If they weren’t, then no cobras, please.
“Does it mention what form they take?” Shawna asked while I pictured a cobra slithering into my bed at night and wrapping itself around my neck.
“Yeah. According to this, they can look human, half human and half snake, or full snake,” Olivia answered as though she were reading directly from the website.
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