Pride Before A Fall (Book 21 in the Godhunter Series)

by Amy Sumida

  No, the other faeries didn't have a problem with letting us cut in line. In fact, they shouted encouragement to us, cheering for such fearsome additions to their cause. Wouldn't they be shocked when they emerged in Tara and found werewolves instead of the fire faeries? We rumbled through the tracing point as I shot a smug smile at Arach. He chuckled and shook his head; nope, we weren't going to tell them.

  We all emerged on an Irish plain together; the Norse Hunt led by Odin and our sons, the Pride led by Kirill, and the Wild Hunt of Faerie led by Arach and I. The meadow stretched out in a brilliant green before us, and although I couldn't see the ocean, I could hear it roaring onto the rocks nearby. The tang of salt laced the air, and I knew it would soon be mixed with the scent of blood.

  The beasts inside me roared in delight.

  As soon as our armies united, I handed Brevyn over to Arach and jumped off my horse. Arach rode a safe distance away with our sons, to a slightly elevated location where he could view the battle. I shifted into a lioness, and Azrael took leadership of the Host–a completely different type of host than he was accustomed to. Then we converged on the beacon before us: a white, stone tower where our lion princess was being held prisoner by an evil god.

  This fairy tale was about to get real.

  I roared, and my Pride answered in me kind. Odin's warriors shouted and banged their swords onto their transparent shields making eerily echoing clangs. And then, all around us, came the bloodcurdling sound that had terrified humans for centuries, and which hadn't been heard in the Human Realm for much, much longer than that. The Wild Hunt of Faerie was roaming Earth again.

  Deadly and beautiful leanan-sidhe, wart-ridden goblins great and small, phookas in canine and equine form, flaming fire-sidhe, and, of course, my Hidden-Ones–the monsters who humans had feared since they'd first learned to be afraid. These were the creatures who had created terror; who had made us afraid of the dark. These were the beings who haunted our very DNA, their presence echoing down through our bloodlines. When you heard that noise in the night and your flesh crawled, it was your genetic memories of the Hidden-Ones that prompted your terror. They were the original bumps in the night, and they ran beside me. My family, my people, my beloved ones. They were here for my daughter, these precious nightmares of mine, and there was no hiding them now. For the first time ever, the Wild Hunt of Faerie rode in bright daylight.

  Arawn came rushing out of a slim door in the base of the tower, his eyes wide in shock. Around him flowed his hounds; the cŵn annwn. They started viciously barking and howling as soon as they spotted us, but I noticed how their flanks trembled and the whites of their eyes showed. Arawn hardened his stare and pointed in our direction as he shouted a command. The hounds leapt forward, snarling and snapping as their eyes filled with glowing power.

  Saliva flew from their open jaws as the hounds pounded across the earth. Magic flashed with every strike of their feet, every claw that dug into the soil. Their muscles seemed to bulge as they ran and strength rippled off their shockingly-white fur. The red tips of their ears appeared to bleed out into the air, leaving a trail of crimson smoke in their wake.

  Arawn himself looked just as magnificent; his white hair flowing around him, its red tips like splashes of blood flying off a sword's edge. Magic raced down his arms in blue flames and into the sword he unsheathed from his belt. His eyes were lit with a matching fire, and they glared out of his grim face in deadly determination. The air around him condensed and rolled with mist, sparking out a warning. The snowy mist rolled forward and within it shapes condensed and shifted, voices calling out in haunting battle cries. I shivered as I realized that Arawn had both physical and phantom troops.

  The fog rolled over us like crashing waves, and it lifted my fur like an angry cat's. I could feel the threat within the mist, scent it on the wet air. But even as I paused, I heard the Wild Hunt of Faerie shriek in delight. They had their own sparking fog, and fearsome creatures of flesh and blood lurked within it. The howls of the phookas, the war cries of the goblins, and the triumphant calls of the leanan-sidhe bolstered me. Then the Hidden-Ones added their chilling war roars to the symphony, and my heart lifted. I roared back to them, and my Intare responded.

  Soon, the mist was full of the chaos of fighting, and my claws were full of the flesh of my enemies. I may not have been able to see them, but I could smell them; the rancid breath of an open grave. Friend and foe had never been so easy to separate as they were in the blinding white of Arawn's mist.

  Odin shouted, and his Vikings responded. The clang of swords against shields added their drumbeat to our savage song. Things came at me in the clouds, things with sharp fingernails and teeth, but I forged on, slashing out at every enemy that dared to engage me. Kirill was beside me, eyes bright in the misty light, and his massive forepaws struck out with enough force to break bones and sever spines. But the spectral force opposing us was a bit of a problem. I couldn't seem to do them any damage, despite the fact that they smelled like rot and had no trouble slicing me. I was faced with a quandary; how exactly do you kill a ghost?

  With another ghost, of course.

  I drug my claws through yet another ghostly apparition and growled in frustration as I passed right through it. But then one of Odin's Vikings came to my aid. A warrior nearly as big as Trevor came riding up on his floating, poltergeist pony and swung his see-through sword at the zombie-ghost before me. As the two entities met, light flashed, and the rotting wraith disintegrated.

  The Viking angled his horse around, glancing down at me with burning eyes full of satisfaction, and gave me a vicious smile. I roared my gratitude back, and he smacked his sword hilt to his chest in salute. With a swift pull on the reins, he set his horse into the mist ahead of me, clearing me a path. How gallant. Who knew that Vikings could be chivalrous?

  I ran after him with another roar.

  Time seems different in war. What feels like hours is actually minutes. So, I was a little surprised when the mist finally cleared, and I saw the sun overhead, just as it had been when we'd begun the battle. As impressive as Arawn's Hunt was, it was only one fighting unit, and we had upped his ante by another Hunt and a Pride of werelions. Arawn's ghostly minions were banished, and the cŵn annwn went whimpering off into the Irish hills, their red-tipped ears laid back over the heads in fear and failure.

  Arawn stood just outside of his tower, staring at us in shock. His sword hand lowered, the tip of his weapon laid on the earth in hopelessness. Then his eyes strayed to Arach, and I thought for a moment that he might call out to his namesake for mercy. But Arach stared hard at Arawn, making it very clear that he was not a merciful man–not when you messed with his family.

  Arawn turned swiftly and ran into the tower.

  I put on a burst of speed, knowing exactly where Arawn was headed; to my daughter. Kirill roared beside me, and as we reached the door of the tower, we both shifted to human. The change happened smoothly, given an extra boost by my extreme fear, and from one step to another, I went from paws to feet. I raced up the narrow, stone steps naked, not caring one whit for my nudity, or the wobbly bits that were currently wobbling like crazy. There was only one thing on my mind in that moment: getting to Lesya.

  I burst into a cold, stone chamber, devoid of any furnishings except for a simple, wicker crib that had held my daughter. But Arawn had reached her first, and he had already scooped Lesya up into his arms. Kirill and I froze just inside of the doorway, arms out to our sides, preparing for whatever Arawn intended to do. Lesya was screaming, her little face red with anger and terror. Her fists clenched and batted at the air before her. She looked so tiny despite her ferocity, especially within Arawn's massive arms.

  “Give me my daughter, and you are free to go,” I said to Arawn. “Hurt her in the smallest way, and I will kill you slowly, in the most agonizing manner possible.”

  Kirill growled. Behind him, our lions pressed in. All of them were in their human forms; an army of naked, but lethal, men. And they wa
nted Arawn dead.

  He saw their expressions and laughed grimly. “They will never let me pass, Godhunter.”

  “I command them,” I said, my eyes steady on Arawn's face. If I looked at Lesya, I'd lose control. “They will allow you to pass, if I desire it.”

  “I did it for love,” Arawn whispered, his face shifting into heartbroken lines. “I can deny her nothing.”

  “I understand,” Kirill said, “but it does not change zis. Hand Lesya over now, do honorable zing, and you vill live to mourn Morrigan.”

  “She's dead?” Arawn's hands clenched around Lesya.

  “If she isn't, she will be soon,” I declared. “The Froekn are at Tara.”

  “She'll live”–Arawn smirked–“my Morrigan is more powerful than any wolf.”

  “Even a pack of werewolves who are using Morrigan's own magic against her?” I shot back as Lesya continued to scream. I knew that she could hear her father and me, and our proximity was frustrating her. “The Froekn fight under the protection of Morrigan's own shadow magic.”

  “Impossible.” Arawn's eyes narrowed. “Morrigan's magic would never turn against her.”

  “My son has a talent for borrowing.” I gave Arawn a malicious grin. “He took Morrigan's magic and is using it to hide our actions. How do you think we were able to find you?”

  “No!” Arawn clasped Lesya to his chest. “No, it's not possible!”

  Suddenly, Lesya started squirming violently. Her screams turned into shrieks, and then into a screeching cry... the cry of a lion cub. Her skin turned tawny and sprouted fur as her limbs stretched. Hands and feet shifted into paws, a tail extended to lash out at the air, and her sweet face widened until a little lioness with the black spots of a cub rolled in Arawn's grasp. Lesya turned on Arawn viciously, clawing at his chest as she latched onto his neck. Arawn shouted and lurched back, tearing my wild daughter away from him.

  It was all the distraction we needed. Kirill and I pounced, both of us shifting into lions as we went. Within moments, my lion family was tearing Arawn to pieces, and the rest of the Pride watched us with great satisfaction. When Arawn's head was finally pulled free and tossed away from his corpse, I shifted back to human and reached for my daughter.

  Lesya was a growling bundle of fluffed-up fur, but as soon as I touched her, she settled and turned her eyes to me. Blue eyes, as sapphire in color as the deepest, clearest sea. Lesya made a little huffing sound of happiness and shifted back into a baby. I felt Kirill shifting beside me, and we took our daughter into our arms together.

  Kirill and I stared down at Lesya, seeing her fully for the first time. Her eyes were the exact same shade as Kirill's, not a shade off as the crow-baby's had been. They were so much more beautiful than the imitation–everything about her was; from her silky hair like ebony fur to her rosebud mouth. I was suddenly shocked at how I could have ever thought that the changeling was my daughter. The copy paled in comparison to the original.

  Lesya set her cerulean stare on her father, then shifted it back to me. One of her hands caught the sparkling strands of my strip of starlight hair, and she clasped it tightly. Then her scent hit me hard; warm fur and flowers, like burying my face into Nick's neck while I sat in a summer garden. Kirill and I folded over Lesya together, holding our daughter between us, and something clicked into place. The cord binding us glowed as brightly as my star; a shimmering light that strengthened into what it was meant to be. The darkness that had been hiding Lesya was burned away completely in that light, and we became a family at last. Kirill laid his head over mine, and we stayed that way, all of us silent and deeply satisfied as we reconnected. It was how the others found us.

  I felt them slip past the Intare and enter the room; Azrael, Odin with our sons, and Arach with our sons. But they let me and Kirill have a little while longer to rejoice in our victory. Then Brevyn broke the silence.

  “Lay-lay!”

  Lesya flinched and frowned, and I laughed at her furious expression. Now, there was the little girl I'd expected. My fighter. Our lion princess. When Arach brought the boys over, Lesya stared at them grimly, with deep consideration. I saw her little nose twitching, trying to identify them, then her face settled into relaxed lines. Lesya had scented her family and knew they represented safety for her. Brevyn and Rian both beamed at their sister, stroking their little hands over her soft hair.

  “This is Lesya!” Rian declared. “She smells like fur and flowers.”

  “Lesya is a kitty,” Brevyn confirmed. “My sissy is a kitty!”

  “Our sister is a lioness,” Rian corrected his brother with the impatience of a superior sibling.

  “Kitty!” Brevyn cried again, and Lesya gurgled happily. She was fine with the kitty label.

  “She is truly beautiful,” Arach whispered. “More so than that changeling. How could we have ever been deceived by that illusion?”

  “I was wondering that myself,” I said and then laughed. “Nick wasn't fooled; he hissed at her and ran off. Just like Hunter did.”

  “Damn cats,” Arach said affectionately as he cast a look over at the fire cat-sidhe who had joined the hunt, “sometimes they're smarter than the rest of us.”

  “Sometimes?” Roarke huffed.

  “You're just sassy because Anna isn't here,” I chided him.

  Anna had stayed home with Hunter so that Roarke could join the Wild Hunt with the rest of his subjects. Roarke was a Cat King, which sometimes went to his head a bit, but Anna always brought him down to reality. Thank Faerie for that woman.

  “Our daughter is indeed magnificent.” Azrael, back in his normal angel form, smiled down on Lesya, and she looked up at him with wide eyes. “But let's not forget that our wolf is fighting without us. Shouldn't we go and assist him, now that Lesya is safe?”

  I looked up at Arach, and he grinned back wickedly.

  “I think the Wild Hunt would love another ride,” the Dragon King declared. “And I would love to lead it.”

  Chapter Forty

  Kirill decided to take the children with him to Pride Palace. Arach had sat out one battle for him, so Kirill was content to sit out a fight for Arach. Plus, he had Lesya, and his main concern was her well being. Kirill couldn't stop smiling. Nor could he stop nuzzling our daughter. He kept murmuring about how she smelled so good. I knew exactly what he meant. That crow-baby had borrowed Lesya's scent, but it had been a watered-down version that faded eventually. This was the real McCoy, and it was incomparable. But Lesya's scent was now mixed with Kirill's since the first thing he did, after verifying that this really was Lesya, was rub his face all over hers and claim her in the way of cats. I am lion, zis is my daughter, hear me roar.

  Lions have scent glands in their chins, cheeks, lips, and whiskers and so, in human form, my Intare scent-marked by rubbing their cheeks on each other. It was how I'd first bonded with them, and how Kirill was bonding with our daughter. And she nuzzled him back, marking him as he marked her so that she would know her father, even with her eyes closed. It was one of the sweetest things I'd ever seen. I may have cried just a little.

  “Are you going to be too distracted by your daughter to look after my sons?” Arach narrowed his eyes on Kirill.

  “Nyet,” Kirill assured him. “Your children are important to me too, Dragon.”

  Arach nodded and started to hand our boys over, but it became apparent that holding a baby and two toddlers was not easily done. Vidar and Vali stepped forward, each of them taking one of their brothers from Arach.

  “We will go with Kirill and help guard our family while the Intare is away,” Vali spoke for the both of them, as he often did.

  “Thank you, boys. I'll be able to fight with more focus, knowing that all of you are safe.” I turned and hugged my lion husband goodbye, then kissed my children. “Take care of our family,” I said to Kirill.

  “No one vill hurt ze babies,” he vowed and then sent my grown sons a smirk. “Not big babies or little ones.

  They all traced to Pride Palac
e, the men laughing together, but just as they were fading into the Aether, Vidar, my Silent One, called out to me.

  “My Vengeance goes with you, Mother!”

  I smiled at him proudly.

  “Ah, I finally see it,” Arach noted.

  “What's that?”

  “The resemblance,” he said. “Vidar is definitely your son.”

  “Very funny,” I said dryly.

  “Well, the children are secured.” Arach gave me an evil grin. “Now, I can join in the fun.”

  “And you act like I'm the bloodthirsty one.” I rolled my eyes.

  “Oh, no,” Arach protested. “I know that I'm far more violent than you, A Thaisce. But you've shown great promise, and I have high hopes for you.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I huffed. “Come on, Dragon. Let's go catch us a bad birdy. I'm sure she'll taste like chicken.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  We all traced to Tara, rolling out of their tracing room like the mouth of Hell had opened up right into their shiny, silver castle. Odin took the lead, with his wraith warriors shrieking out their battle cries in an echoing warning of the horror to come. I went next, in lioness form again because my cat still hadn't been appeased over the theft of our daughter. She needed to see Morrigan dead, and I didn't blame her. My Intare roared out behind me, their massive claws gouging runnels into the floor in their haste; they weren't satisfied yet either. And last came Arach, smashing the crystal walls to shards as he exited the tracing room; his dragon body simply bullying its way in and clearing a path for our Wild Hunt.

  There was already a war waging in Tara's halls, but when we emerged, the fighting paused, and the gods turned to stare at us in shock. It had already been made clear that I wouldn't be fighting on behalf of the Tuatha dé Danann. The evidence of that stood before me: Trevor, Fenrir, and as many froekn as could fit within the halls were circling Morrigan. The Fomorians thought we had arrived to help them, seeing as the High King and four of the armies of Faerie were currently doing that very thing. But they were so very wrong; we were there for one goddess alone.