by Sandy James
Her parents were supposed to be dead. They were supposed to have left her in the care of her mother’s best friend, her “Aunt” Tasha. Tasha had raised her in the human world, like any ordinary child—at least like an ordinary child who really didn’t have anyone who loved her.
The problem was that Megan hadn’t been an ordinary child. She’d been Fire in the making.
Once she was called into Freya’s service, she thought she’d finally figured out why Tasha had been so distant, so indifferent. It was because Megan had been such a precocious and impetuous child, not because Tasha hated being saddled with raising a child who wasn’t her own.
But if Tasha knew what Megan was supposed to become all along, why had she been so cold?
“No, no. Nothing like that,” Tasha replied.
Everything she believed about her childhood was a lie. Wild thoughts started flashing through her head. Questions blazed like shooting stars. “Are my parents still alive?”
“Yes.” Not a note of hesitation in the response.
“Yes? That’s it? Just yes?” Her palms sizzled. “Where in the hell are they?”
Tasha’s haughty grin sent chills shimmering down Megan’s spine, and she suddenly wished she hadn’t asked. The woman was savoring some victory Megan had no idea she’d handed her. “I was forbidden to tell you the truth. But now? Now I can. I’ve waited a long time for this. Your mother is—”
“Nay!” Freya shouted, her angry shriek echoing off the palace walls. “You will hold your tongue!”
Megan caught the quick flash of anger in Tasha’s eyes—a telling expression that showed Tasha might be a high priestess, but she held no love for her goddess. Just as she’d held no love for the child she’d raised.
Tasha bowed to Freya. “I’m sorry, m’lady. I overstepped my bounds.”
“Aye.” Freya’s eyes flashed red. “You far overstepped your bounds. Leave us.” She shooed Tasha away with the back of her hand. “Leave us to talk.”
With another bow, Tasha fled.
“I don’t understand any of this,” Megan said when she was alone with her goddess. “Who are my parents?”
Freya’s resigned sigh sounded so human, it threw Megan for a moment. “Sit, my child.”
“I don’t want to. Tell me, Freya. Please. I have to know. Who are my parents? Who’s my mother?”
Freya came to stand in front of Megan and took her hand. The goddess gave her a reassuring squeeze.
Megan wanted to snatch her hand back and run from the truth that was too hard for Freya to talk about.
Fire. I am Fire.
She could handle the truth.
“Megan, I am your mother.”
She couldn’t handle the truth.
Megan sat down hard on the marble floor. “No. You—you can’t be my mother.”
“Aye. I am.”
She suddenly understood why Johann had run away.
He knew.
He already knew!
Chapter Sixteen
“Send me back!” Megan scrambled to her feet.
“Back” could have been anywhere and she would have been happy. New York City. Los Angeles. A metropolitan nightmare like Cleveland for all she cared. Anywhere so long as it was far away from this disaster she called a life. The daughter of an Ancient?
Fuck my destiny. I want out.
“Back? You mean back to Avalon?” Freya asked, her voice quivering.
As if goddesses could actually have feelings. No wonder Johann had run like a rabbit being chased by a hungry hound. He knew Freya was her mother, which made her a—
“Oh shit, no. I’m a goddess?”
“Nay,” Freya replied. “Your father is not an Ancient.”
“Who’s my father?”
“Ottar. He is human—an enchanted human. He is an immortal. Perhaps I shall tell him of you and bring him to you sometime in the future.”
Megan scowled. “He doesn’t know he has a daughter?”
“Oh, nay, nay. I did not wish to weigh down Ottar’s heart with worry since he could have no hand in raising you.”
Her father didn’t even know she existed. This nightmare just kept getting worse and worse. Megan decided to address her most pressing concern. “So I’m not a goddess?”
“Nay. As my daughter, you have special powers, but you are not a goddess.”
“Special powers? You mean becoming the panther?”
“Aye, shape-shifting.” Freya gave Megan a smile.
Megan didn’t smile back, and the goddess’s grin faded.
“You can become anything you wish to be,” Freya hurriedly added. “Did you not feel the height to which your ability to make fire can climb when you were joined with the Sentinel?”
Megan couldn’t believe a hot flush was spreading across her cheeks. She and Johann had cranked the heat pretty damned high, but she wasn’t about to discuss her sex life with her goddess. “But I’m your daughter? The daughter of an Ancient?”
Wrapping her mind around that notion was going to take some time. A lot of time. This had to be some sick practical joke.
“Aye, but I channeled your powers into making you a formidable Amazon instead of a demigod.”
“I would’ve been a demig?” The insulting term slipped out merely by habit. All the Amazons called demigods “demigs.” Why honor them by using “god”? They were nothing but scheming, underhanded creatures. Megan wasn’t sure which was worse—that she might have been a selfish goddess or a power-hungry demig.
“Well, aye. You are my daughter.”
“Please stop saying that.”
It all made sense now. Johann had somehow figured out Freya was her mother. How long had he known? Before they made love?
No.
He would never have wanted her if he’d known, just as she could never get involved with a god. Ever.
Megan stared at the mirror. Perhaps there was a resemblance she’d never noticed. “How did he figure it out?”
Freya’s reflection frowned. “Do you speak of the Sentinel?”
Megan nodded and reached up to lift a strand of her hair. Concentrating hard, she turned it again to Freya’s white-blond and watched the light color spread over her red locks. The similarity was so startling, she gasped.
She was truly Freya’s offspring.
Johann had figured out that Freya was her mother the moment Megan had turned her hair the same color. When her hair was the same white-blond, the likeness in their features was downright eerie. She recalled his words, the accusations he’d thrown at Freya. He’d been every bit as shocked by the knowledge as Megan had been.
He’d left because he assumed Megan was divine. Had the tables been turned, she would have done the very same thing. “He hates me.”
“I believe he saw how alike we truly are and became a little…concerned.”
When the goddess reached out to smooth Megan’s hair from her shoulder, Megan brushed her hand away. “Don’t.”
Freya frowned before dropping her hand back to her side. “You are my daughter, Megan Feurer.”
“And Johann hates me because of it.”
“Oh, nay. He does not. You are not an Ancient. ’Twas what worried him.”
“How would you know?” Megan whirled around to face the goddess. “You saw him? You didn’t send him back?”
“Nay, he is not gone. He is at Avalon with the other Sentinel.”
Megan needed to see Johann, desperately wanting to tell him she wasn’t a goddess, that she wasn’t some damned demig. “Send me there. Send me to him.”
Freya shook her head, making Megan want to scream in frustration.
“I mean it, Freya. Send me to Johann. Now.”
“You have had a shock,”
Freya said with a scowl. “’Tis the only reason I allow such a disrespectful tone.”
“A shock?” Megan scoffed. “In the last few hours, my entire body was engulfed in flames that should have destroyed me and anyone close to me. I’ve learned that I can shape-shift to anything I want. I’ve lost Johann—maybe forever. And then as the pièce de résistance, I find out you’re my mother. Shock doesn’t come close to describing how I feel.”
A million questions slammed through her brain. The most obvious was Why didn’t you want me? But Megan couldn’t bring herself to ask. She needed to see Johann so badly, her insides hurt.
“You have not lost your Sentinel, my child, but you must be patient. Artair MacKay has much explaining to do before Johann Herrmann will be ready to accept your destiny.”
* * *
Johann wanted to die.
The light pierced his eyes like knives. The sound of his own breathing came so loud, it made his head hurt. His stomach was sour and churning. He should just go ahead and throw up to get it over with, but vomiting would take too much effort because he’d have to move. How the hell had he ended up on the floor?
The knock on the door sounded like a jackhammer.
“Go away.” He groaned and flung his arm over his face.
Artair’s chuckle was the last thing Johann wanted to hear. The hinges squeaked too loudly as the door opened. “’Tis time to rise.”
“Go away—”
Before the second word completely fell from his lips, a strong wave of nausea forced Johann from the bed to the bathroom. Throwing up sapped what little was left of his energy and did nothing to end his misery. He crawled back into the bedroom and collapsed on the floor instead of trying to get into bed.
“Seems you drank a bit too much, lad.”
Johann groaned. “Let me die in peace.”
The irritating Scot had the audacity to chuckle again.
With another extraordinarily loud squeak, the door opened again. Johann opened his eyes to mere slits just to find out who else was coming to torture him.
Rebecca strode into the cabin, carrying a large glass of what looked like tomato juice. His stomach roiled in protest. When she kissed her husband and Artair affectionately patted her backside, jealousy over their closeness knotted Johann’s insides.
“Oh, Johann,” she said, her voice filled with pity, “you really look like shit.”
She handed the glass to Artair and went into the bathroom. When she came out, she carried a damp washcloth. Kneeling, she put the folded cloth against Johann’s forehead.
The coolness worked magic on his aching head, but death still seemed like a better option than dealing with his hangover. “What’s in the glass?”
Rebecca smiled. “Hair of the dog. It’s a Bloody Mary. A mild Bloody Mary.” She took the glass from her husband and set it on the nightstand before reaching in her pocket and pulling out a small bottle of aspirin. She put the bottle next to the glass. “Drink that, take a handful of those and you might be human by suppertime.”
Artair locked eyes with his wife, and just as before, they seemed to speak to each other without words. With a nod, Artair brushed a quick kiss across her mouth and left the cabin.
“Want some help?” she asked as Johann dragged himself from the floor, still holding the washcloth against his face.
He crawled onto the bed, sprawling on his stomach so he didn’t have to look at Rebecca. Not that he disliked her. But he knew that stubborn set of her jaw boded ill. She’d come for more than to offer him a hangover cure.
“We need to talk about Megan.”
The hell we do.
He just groaned.
“Artair told me what happened. And it’s all right. Megan’s not a goddess.”
That got his attention. Rolling over, he propped himself on an elbow and tried not to think about throwing up again. “Freya’s still her mother. That makes her a demig.”
“Artair talked to Freya after they left you. Freya didn’t want Megan to be a demig, so she channeled her powers into being Fire.”
He closed his eyes, wanting to believe her, yet knowing she was only telling him what he wanted to hear. Fragments of the things Freya said were slowly winding their way through his brain, and she’d said something similar when she’d been in the cabin. He’d been too drunk to process it.
“You love her.”
God, the woman was frank.
“You’re afraid to love her because she’s a demig. Trust me. She isn’t.”
“Who told you that? Freya?” Johann snorted a laugh then immediately regretted making any noise at all. Convinced his brain had swollen to twice its normal size and was trying to crack his skull from the inside out, he said in a softer voice, “Freya lies.”
Rebecca nodded and reached for the Bloody Mary. “Well, yeah. Of course she does. It’s what Ancients do best. But not about this.” She put her hand under his elbow. “Here. Sit up. Drink this.”
He figured he’d rather lick the cabin floor than take a swallow of the red mess in that glass.
She wouldn’t be dissuaded, pulling his arm to get him into a sitting position and then pressing the glass into his hand. When he scowled at her, she simply smiled, put a finger under the blasted glass and tilted it up at him. “Drink.”
Johann closed his eyes, took one long gulp and tried not to gag. Not that tomato juice was particularly nasty tasting, but the texture felt like slime sliding over his tongue and down his throat. He swallowed hard in hopes it wouldn’t come right back up.
Rebecca grabbed the bottle, popped it open and spilled four aspirins onto her palm. Arching an eyebrow, she waited for him to put his hand out. He took the offered pills, tilted his head back and swallowed before chugging more of the Bloody Mary to drown them.
“Megan’s not a demig, Johann.”
Wanting to do anything to avoid having this conversation, he forced himself to take another drink.
Crossing her arms, she frowned. “If she was a goddess, I’d know. I was a goddess. Remember?”
How could he forget? Artair had told the story of how she’d been saved from that fate so many times the man sounded like someone’s senile grandpa repeating the same tired tale. Of course the man was three hundred years old. “So?”
“So, I know Megan, probably better than anyone else. Had she been a demig, I would’ve known a long time ago. She’s never acted like a demig. And she wasn’t known to the Ancients calling to me when I was one of them. Trust me, they know every demig. They watch them, scared of being betrayed. No Ancient thinks of Megan as a demig.”
A spark of hope flared in his brain. Freya was a liar, but Rebecca MacKay was an Earth. She didn’t have a dishonest bone in her body. God, how he wanted Megan to still be herself and not a selfish demig who couldn’t love him in return. “You would have known?”
She nodded, her long, blond braid bouncing against her neck. “Artair says Freya channeled any divine powers into making Megan an Amazon, even before she was born.”
He actually forced himself to take another drink, not wanting his hopes to spill from his mouth and let Rebecca know the extent of his feelings for Megan.
“Freya said things got a little—um—serious. That you and Megan had…” She didn’t finish the thought. She didn’t have to.
“Yeah.” He raked his fingers through his hair, unable to look Rebecca in the eye.
“You love her.” Her statement was salt in the wound.
Johann finished the last of the Bloody Mary, slowly feeling his misery ease. At least somewhat. Not nearly enough to say the words aloud again, if only to Rebecca MacKay.
Shit, yeah, he loved Megan.
“She loves you.”
“Sure she does.” Rolling his eyes would have taken too much effort.
“I know Megan. She wouldn’t have slept with you if she didn’t love you.”
“She’s really not a demig?” He waited, hoping for her to tell him what he desperately needed to hear.
Rebecca patted his shoulder. “She’s what she’s always been. Megan’s Fire. She’s loud. She’s brash. She’s passionate. But she’s not a demig.”
He released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “In other words—”
“She’s the woman you fell in love with.”
As if he could ever stop loving her.
Now that his brain seemed to be slowly shrinking to fit inside his skull again, Johann’s memories began to assert themselves. The one pressing to the front was the horrible way he’d treated Megan when he’d realized she was Freya’s daughter.
Damn, he’d been an ass. No wonder Freya had given him donkey ears.
He could blame surprise. He could blame high emotions. He could even blame Freya. Regardless of why he’d blown a gasket, Megan would never forgive him.
“I asked Freya to send me back.”
“Artair told me.”
“Megan thinks I hate her.”
“Tell me what happened.”
Johann told the tale, watching her response, especially wanting to know what she thought about him blurting out those three terrifying words right to Megan’s face. Rebecca’s warm brown eyes revealed nothing. It was one of the reasons she usually walked away from their marathon poker games with most of the pennies.
“Well?” he prodded.
“Hmm.”
“That’s it? Hmm?”
She fixed a frown on her lips. “She’s going to be good and pissed.”
This time, he did roll his eyes. “Duh.”
The ground rumbled, Rebecca’s typical response to being mad.
“Sorry.” Releasing a long, shuddering sigh, he let his gaze find hers. “How do I fix this?”
“That’s why I said, ‘Hmm.’ I’m not really sure. I need to think about it for a while.”
Johann rubbed his knuckles against his aching forehead. His problem had turned out to be a mountain he’d made of an anthill, but his overreaction had caused a larger problem to flare. He might have pushed Megan so far away, she might not want him anymore. He couldn’t face the prospect of losing her. Not now—not after he’d finally realized just how much he needed her, how much he loved her.
