by Sandy James
“But you would’ve let him?” When Freya didn’t answer, Megan realized there was more they weren’t telling her.
She looked to Rebecca. Surely her sister wouldn’t have conspired to take away her powers. Rebecca loved her, even if Johann and Freya didn’t.
“Megan,” Rebecca said in a too calm voice that sounded like she was talking a suicidal jumper off a bridge, “I told the goddesses Johann could help you.”
“You thought I was that out of control?” Not much of a question considering the angry sparks flying from her fingers and hair.
At least the subject seemed to bother the Guardian, because Rebecca’s eyes were filled with pity that Megan didn’t care to see. Not from someone who wanted to hurt her. “You just made some mistakes,” Rebecca said. “Johann wouldn’t have—”
Megan didn’t let her finish. “All of you knew?”
Their collective silence was her answer.
What frightened her most was that they might all be right—she probably was out of control.
She directed most of the anger at the closest person—the most obvious target. Narrowing her eyes at Freya, she said, “You call yourself my mother? Some mother you were. You leave me with Aunt Tasha, who treats me like shit my whole life then disappears. You let Jin take me hostage and let his damn shaman take away my powers. You let Sparks try to burn me to death. And you let girls—innocent girls like Ashley Douglass—die without giving a flying fuck about any of it.”
Freya crossed her arms over her breasts.
“Well?” Megan shouted, not sure what she was really asking. Her head throbbed, and her heart was breaking. She finally chose a tack, spitting out the question weighing heaviest on her mind. “Why would you let Tasha be so awful to me? I was just a kid—a little kid—and you left me with her.”
“Tasha has led a hard life, Megan,” Freya replied, her voice subdued. “She came to me…damaged. Had she not cried out to Freyjr, she would have died at seven and ten, the same age as this Ashley Douglass, whose vengeance you have chosen to champion. As it was, my brother saved her. She and her brother only survived because of my twin. When she swore allegiance to me, I took her in and gave her a home. She became the most loyal of priestesses, and I knew because of her own trials, she would make you strong, just as she was made strong. She begged me to raise you, promising to make you a formidable Amazon.”
Megan’s insides were twisting into knots she wasn’t sure would ever ease. “She made me tough by making me hack out my own way in life. She never hugged me, never told me I was any good at anything. I was nothing but a damned nuisance to her. I might as well have grown up on the streets. Did you know she abandoned me—that she left me as soon as I graduated from high school?”
Freya hung her head. “Nay, I did not. But—”
“No. No but.” Megan let her temper—fueled by all the dark emotions now engulfing her—take control. “You’re just another selfish, self-absorbed Ancient who couldn’t be bothered to see how her own damn daughter was doing. I didn’t matter to you then, and I obviously don’t matter to you now. You might’ve given birth to me, but you sure as hell haven’t earned the name ‘Mother.’ I don’t have a mother. I never had a mother.”
Johann put his hand on her shoulder. She’d been so angry at Freya, she hadn’t noticed he’d come up behind her. Whirling around, she put her palm out and threw a small ball of fire at him. Although it was a defensive reflex, it spoke volumes to her anguish. Shit, she could almost feel a transformation coming on, and judging from the way her anger and hurt coursed through her, she had no idea what she’d become this time. A very large, very mean, fire-breathing dragon seemed an excellent choice.
She had to get the hell out of there.
The flames caught his shirt on fire, but Johann hadn’t taken a step back. He calmly patted it out with his palms then lifted his face to arch an eyebrow at her. “Are you even going to listen to my side of all this?”
Megan shook her head, his cool control only causing her to become angrier. He’d wanted to send her away. Well, if they wanted her to go, she’d accommodate them. She had a job to do.
“I’m leaving,” she announced. “I’m going back to my cabin, getting some rest, then I’m going back to Chicago—even if I have to hitchhike to get there. None of you gives a damn about bringing Maksim Popov down, but I do. I promised Ashley’s mother. I swore to Nita Douglass I’d find the man who killed her daughter. I did! And now I’m going to find a way to kill him. I’ll do it all by myself if I have to.” Marching out of the room, she ignored the voices calling her back. Rebecca. Artair. Freya. Even Johann.
She needed to be alone.
* * *
“I’m going after her.” Johann was already moving to do so when Artair put a restraining hand on his shoulder.
“Best let the lass cool down some.” He looked at the burn hole in Johann’s shirt. “Her temper is a bit hot right now.”
Rebecca stared at his chest. “Why aren’t you burned?”
Johann glanced at Freya. She gave him a curt nod. “Freya gave me some magicks so my skin is fireproof.”
Both Rebecca and Artair clearly accepted the explanation because there were no more questions, only brief chuckles.
“Megan needs me, Artair.”
God, he sounded pathetic. Truth was he needed her. Probably a hell of a lot more than she needed him, judging from how ready he was to chase after her like a puppy following its owner. He would tell her the truth—that he would have only let the goddesses take her powers away as a very last resort. If he was being totally honest with himself, he had to admit that he wouldn’t have been able to send her back to the world unless he went with her.
Freya had called them soul mates, and she’d been right.
Now he needed to convince Megan.
“Perhaps,” Artair replied. “But I think her mother is who she needs to see more.” Artair glanced to Freya. “I think perhaps, m’lady, ’tis time for you to tell the lass all.”
Johann’s radar immediately went up. “You’ve been keeping an awful lot of secrets, Freya.” He couldn’t keep the snide tone out of his voice.
A few sparks shot from Freya’s head. “Insolent!”
“Nay,” Artair replied. “The lad’s in love. He simply wants what’s best for Megan.”
Rebecca came to stand at her husband’s side and nodded.
Freya narrowed her blue eyes at Johann. “Love or nay, the boy is still insolent.”
Fighting the urge to launch a sarcastic reply and sick and tired of being called a lad or a boy, Johann took a steadying breath. Then he thumped his chest with his fist. He’d humble himself to cater to Freya’s ego as well as acknowledge she was a patron goddess. “I’m sorry, m’lady. I spoke in haste.”
She raised her chin to a haughty angle. “Aye. You did. And what should I tell her, MacKay? What does my daughter need to know?”
“That you fought hard to allow her to keep her powers, although it angered the other goddesses,” Artair replied. His wife nodded again. “That you chose to leave her with your priestess because you didn’t wish for her to be treated as an Ancient or a demig—to lose her humanity.”
In the past days, Johann had seen more real feelings in Freya than he’d ever thought possible. Right now, he was convinced Freya was going to cry. That would definitely be a first—one of the patron goddesses crying. And they weren’t crocodile tears. Perhaps she really did care for Megan after all, and not just because Megan was her Fire.
“Tasha vowed to make her strong,” Freya said. “I believed she knew how to make my daughter all she was meant to me. Perhaps I was wrong…”
Another first. An Ancient admitting an error. Good things came in threes, so Johann waited for the last revelation.
Freya provided it. “I will beg my daughter’s
forgiveness. I did not know of what she suffered. I blinded myself to watching her as a child because I did not wish to see her grow from baby to woman and not be her mother true, to not nurse her at my own breast and raise her at my side. My heart would have pined for her had I watched.”
Rebecca stepped over to Freya and put her hand on the goddess’s arm. “I understand, m’lady. You love Megan.”
“Aye, I do. I truly do. But look what I let her suffer.”
“That wasn’t your fault,” Rebecca replied. “You gave her to a trusted priestess who promised to raise her right—to give her the tools she needed to be Fire.”
Freya nodded, clearly warming to Rebecca’s explanation for why so many bad things had happened. “Megan is strong, is she not?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Aye. My daughter is strong. Natasha did her job. She also sent me the prophet, the seer, so I could know Megan’s destiny before she was created. A shame she could not stay with Anastasia as she wished. Although she was her servant, the duchess treated her as a sister.”
“What are you talking about?” Johann asked. “Who’s Anastasia?”
“Natasha was Anastasia’s personal maid. They were very close. But then Natasha fell in love with a man who’d apprenticed himself to an evil man. The evil man feared his apprentice and had him murdered while she was thrown out of the palace, condemned to a life on the streets.” A cool smile crossed her face. “Ah, but Natasha avenged her lover, planting rumors and secrets to bring the evil man down. He was murdered as well—several times, if memory serves.”
“She served a royal named Anastasia?” Johann asked.
All the things Freya had said about Tasha’s history aligned with lessons he’d learned long ago in school and what he’d learned when searching for Maksim Popov. But he had to be wrong. It was too far-fetched, although in the time he’d been Sentinel, he was finding out far-fetched meant the norm where the world of the Ancients was concerned. No, it was simply coincidence or else the woman would be well over a hundred years old. “You don’t mean… Look, Anastasia’s story sounds like that girl from the Russian revolution—like the Grand Duchess Anastasia.”
“Oh, aye. ’Tis one in the same,” Freya replied. “You have heard of her?”
Chapter Nineteen
“How did a woman who served the Grand Duchess Anastasia end up with a Norse goddess?” Johann kept turning the puzzle pieces around, but they simply refused to fit.
“As they shot her family, she called to my twin—to Freyjr. Natasha dabbled in the Seior, the black magicks. ’Twas taught to her by her lover. She knew Freyjr would never deny her cries for help if she pledged herself to him.”
“Johann’s right,” Rebecca said. “She’d have to be…damn, something like a century old.”
“Oh, aye,” Freya replied. “But she does not appear so. ’Tis the Seior. And, of course, Freyjr. He has a special affection for Natasha. He granted her immortality and youth so long as she has his benevolence. After Megan was grown, Natasha returned to his realm, choosing to live amongst Freyjr and his elves at Alfheim. She only recently asked to return to Folkvang. ’Twould seem she is now at odds with my brother. Her immortality might be coming to an end.”
Rebecca’s gave her head a disgusted shake. “I suppose Freyjr wanted the same thing from Natasha he did from Sparks when he helped her.”
“’Tis what he always wants. Freyjr has strong appetites—especially for pretty women who need his help.”
“Freyjr,” Johann grumbled to Artair as he cast a troubled frown.
Artair threw him back the same type of look. “Aye. Freyjr.”
“Why do both of you sound so concerned?” Freya asked.
“M’lady,” Artair replied, anger tinting his voice, “your brother has his moments of…mischief. More than his share.”
Freya chuckled. “Aye, he does. We are twins to the core. Yet mischief is not always bad. Freyjr simply enjoys his amusements.”
Johann wanted to vehemently disagree. Freyjr didn’t simply commit mischief—he hurt people. His black magicks caused quite a bit of misery just in the time Johann had been Sentinel. Freyjr had been the one who seduced Sparks and brainwashed her with the Seior when Sparks was desperate to find the missing Helen. And Helen had used Seior to gather powers from Spark’s death to make herself a goddess. Johann couldn’t imagine how much lingering anger Artair had locked inside him for Freya’s twin.
For the moment, Johann was filled with so much curiosity, his brain might overflow. “Tell me the whole story this time. Tell me what Tash—I mean Natasha had to do with Megan.”
Smoothing her hand over the fur trim around her other wrist, Freya told her tale. “I met her at Freyjr’s home when I visited an elf who was able to contact ghosts. You see, I was sorely in need of sending a message to—”
Johann groaned, hoping to subtly steer Freya back on track. The Ancients loved to tell stories but had an annoying habit going off on tangents—long, drawn-out, often pointless tangents.
A pout crossed Freya’s lips. “I digress, do I not?”
Both Sentinels nodded.
With a sigh, Freya continued. “Natasha told me of a seer, a gifted prophet who had claimed to have a vision of the future. Natasha brought the woman to me. The seer told me I would bear a warrior who would save the world.” The goddess thumped her chest with clear pride. “My daughter, my Megan, is that warrior.”
“That’s why you were at Beltane,” Artair added.
“Well, aye. Have we not discussed this, Sentinel?”
“Just enlightening Rebecca.”
Freya blinked, those ice-blue eyes full of surprise. “She wishes to know the story of Megan’s conception?”
Artair nodded. “’Twill help us know how to help the lass.”
“Very well,” Freya replied. “Natasha insisted I fulfill that destiny by attending Beltane and trysting with Ottar there. She was right. I could feel Megan’s life begin within me the moment Ottar seeded my womb. Such strength. Such power.” The goddess breathed a long sigh as if savoring the memory. “The seer told me true.”
“Rhiannon will have a fit that you snuck into her favorite festival,” Rebecca said.
Freya’s smile showed her agreement as well as how much she probably enjoyed getting something over on Rhiannon. “Aye, she will. But ’tis a fertility festival, is it not? Once Megan was firmly planted in my womb, Natasha served me as high priestess, constantly begging to raise my daughter. The honor seemed due her. She told me she would make Megan the powerful warrior she was meant to be.” The smile vanished. “But my Megan was not happy.”
Johann refused to feel sorry for Freya. All he could think of was how hurt Megan had been, and he wanted to wrap this up so he could go to her. Perhaps he could soothe her, hopefully finding a way to regain her trust. “You could have kept her.”
Freya vehemently shook her head. “Nay, nay. Being the child of an Ancient only brings misery, even death. Look how many demigods feel alienated from their parents. How many have tried to grab power they should not wield? How many have been killed because their parents feared them? Nay. I did not wish that for my Megan. She needed her humanity and could not have learned about the human world growing up in Folkvang.”
“M’lady, you should go talk to Megan. Tell her all you’ve told us,” Rebecca insisted. “Despite all she’s been through, she’s got a big heart. She might be angry, but if she knows why you gave her to Tasha, she’ll forgive you.”
Johann wasn’t at all surprised when Freya disappeared without another word. Perhaps Megan would look to Freya as a mother. One day. He couldn’t imagine Megan’s turmoil over discovering she was the daughter of an Ancient, but he vowed to stand by her side and help her through however he could.
If she’d let him.
Although Megan was first in his thoughts, he
also worried about the confrontation between Freya and Rhiannon. “Did Rhiannon really mean it when she said she’s no longer Freya’s ally?”
“Aye,” Artair replied. “She’s not one to idly threaten. Should Freya find herself in trouble, Rhiannon won’t come to her aid.”
“You’re right,” Rebecca said. “That means if Freya needs help, she’ll turn to—”
“Freyjr,” Artair said, completing his wife’s sentence. “And he’ll do naught but stir up more trouble.”
* * *
At Rebecca’s urging Johann had stayed and played with Bonnie and Darian while their parents left to train. Rebecca said he needed to give Megan and Freya some time alone, but it wasn’t long before he became so restless he couldn’t wait any longer. Enough time had passed that Freya had probably said everything she needed to say, and Megan would need him, whether she would admit it or not.
Beagan and Dolan came into the nursery as Johann was putting Darian in the playpen.
“Hi, guys,” he said. “I’d ask if you were able to get what I asked for, but knowing both of you, I have no doubt it’s waiting for me.”
“Yes, master. All is as you requested,” Dolan replied.
“I told you two you don’t have to call me master.”
Of course Johann had told them that so many times, it was time to give up that particular battle. Rebecca had warned him the changelings would never call him by his given name. Formality was simply too much a part of their nature. With the exception of the children, who were constantly showered with their affection, Beagan and Dolan were reserved around people.
They were closer to Rebecca than any of the other adults, but even her friendly attention seemed to bother them. Johann had seen Rebecca kiss Dolan on the head once and the poor changeling got so flustered, he’d immediately shape-shifted back into a rabbit.
Crossing the Avalon compound, he wasn’t surprised to find Artair and Rebecca banging swords in the sandpit, exactly as he and Megan had done almost every time they were in Avalon at the same time. He wondered if Artair got as turned on sparring with Earth as Johann did with Fire. There was nothing sexier than Megan, muscles sleek with sweat, eyes full of emotion, parrying his every thrust. The woman was exquisite. Sensual and beautiful and, thankfully, his.
