Must Love Lycans

by Michele Bardsley

  “Aufanie fell in love with Tark,” said Brigid. Her expression was tinted with surprise. She hadn’t known the true lycanthrope history, either. It appears no one had. “But he wasn’t immortal.”

  “Not then,” agreed Morrigu. “He was just a werewolf. Long-lived, to be sure, but what was eight hundred years to a goddess? She couldn’t bear the thought of living without him, especially after she realized she was pregnant.”

  “Nein,” said Damian. “Stop.”

  We all looked at him. He’d gone pale, and this time, I couldn’t stop myself from getting up and going to him. I wrapped my arms around his waist and gave him all the support I could. He put his arm around me and held me tight, but his tortured gaze was on Morrigu.

  “You don’t want to hear the truth?” asked Morrigu coyly. “Or you don’t want her to hear it?”

  “Mother,” admonished Brigid. “What are you trying to do?”

  “I’m answering the girl’s question,” she snapped.

  “In the most roundabout way possible,” I said, irritated with the woman’s dramatics. “And you’re trying to hurt him.”

  “He caused his own pain. His choices have naught to do with me,” said Morrigu. The gleam in her eyes was not reassuring. “I offered to give Tark immortality, but the price was a hundred years banishment for them both—to be taken whenever I chose, without question.”

  “You banished them.” Damian’s fury was building, the impetus, of course, his own grief, guilt, and years of resentment, all because Morrigu was fulfilling her purpose of chaos.

  “World War II. Hadn’t had a good battle in a while, right?” I asked softly. “Afraid the lycans might interfere?”

  “Not in the way you believe,” offered Morrigu coolly. “Perhaps there were other bargains to fulfill—other prices that needed payin’.”

  “Back to riddles, are we?” I asked.

  Morrigu shrugged. “Aufanie got what she wanted—an immortal husband. And then she bore him triplet sons.” Her knowing gaze latched on to Damian, and I heard Brigid’s breath go out in a soft rush.

  I stared up at him, my heart in my throat. Sweet mamma jamma. “You’re the son of a goddess?”

  Chapter 11

  Damian met my gaze, and I saw within those strange green eyes the silent plea for understanding. “Yes,” he admitted. “My brothers and I are the true sons of Aufanie and Tark. But we didn’t know. They lived as the alphas of the governing pack. We were raised as royal heirs, not knowing that our mother was the same goddess we worshiped.”

  “She never told you?” asked Brigid, horror in her words.

  “A century ago she told us the truth,” he said bitterly. He glanced at Morrigu. “One truth, it appears. Then she and my father disappeared. Our world was crumbling. More and more lycans were diagnosed with sterility, and nearly half of those who did conceive buried their children a year later. Many left the safety of Schwarzwald. It took forty years of bridging the gap between us and our cousins, but we managed to build a new village, and a new pack with Roma.”

  I had so many questions buzzing around in my mind that it felt like a hive. I couldn’t grab on to just one inquiry, but that might have had something to do with the fact I was in shock. I’d been sleeping with a guy who was, for all intents and purposes, an actual god. Well, a half god. I could read no other immortal’s emotions but Damian’s. What did that mean?

  Morrigu had known the truth. Why would she keep such knowledge to herself for so long? Had it been part of the bargain with Aufanie? Or had she just been waiting for the right moment, such as this one, to offer it up so that she could gain something for herself?

  I looked at Brigid. “Why didn’t you know? Why didn’t anyone else know?”

  “No one can know everything. Not even the gods,” she said. “Zeus would not have told the tale, not when he’d have to admit being imprisoned by his own worshipers.” Her gaze flicked to her mother’s stoic expression. “My mother is very good at ferretin’ out secrets.”

  “That I am.” Her gaze zeroed in on me. “And to be sure, there is a price to be paid for everything.”

  I’d heard the same spiel from Jarred, although he’d said everyone had a price. I knew both sentiments to be true, but I think Morrigu was trying to warn me about upcoming events. Either that, or scare me. And let me just say: mission accomplished.

  Morrigu gestured to the papers scattered on the coffee table. “There’s your answer, girl.”

  We all looked down at the table. Brigid was the first to understand. “It’s an equation. A formula.”

  Comprehension dawned as I fit all the pieces together. The dream. The symbols. The blood. I glanced at Morrigu. “I need your blood to make it all work, don’t I?”

  “And the chalice.”

  I studied her. Her expression offered no clues about her emotions or her intentions. Only her dark eyes hinted at what she hoped I would do. But I’d been raised by a master manipulator, and I’d learned a thing or two.

  “Do you have the chalice?” I asked.

  Her lips thinned. “No.”

  “But you know where it is,” I conjectured. “And we’ll have to retrieve it in order to perform whatever ritual will complete my lycan transition.”

  “If I decide to help you,” said Morrigu, raising her chin and looking down her nose at me. “What use are you to me, or to the world, if you are dead? The risk may be too great.” She sniffed. “Destiny is as malleable as clay.”

  I wasn’t interested in playing games. Or being reminded that I was dying. I was sick of portents and dreams and the whims of immortals. I raised an eyebrow. “Is it that you’re incapable of speaking plainly . . . or do you just like fucking with everyone because you can?”

  Brigid sucked in a shocked breath, and even Damian looked at me in alarm. Morrigu’s gaze narrowed. “You dare speak to me in such a manner?”

  “Do you know it’s the twenty-first century?” I responded. “Maybe you should consider updating your language database.” I eyed her. “And your style. It’s hard to look like a badass when you’re stuck in medieval fashions.” I sent an apologetic glance to Brigid. I was trying to rile her mother, not insult her.

  Morrigu’s eyes flashed, with what emotion I couldn’t begin to discern. Fury. Sadness. Boredom. Who knew?

  Then she laughed.

  It wasn’t even an evil I-will-smite-you laugh, either. It was more in the oh-you-funny-girl category. She leaned the staff toward me. “You are a fool, Kelsey Morningstone, but you have balls.” She looked at me smugly. “How’s that for updated language?”

  “Meh,” I said. “You’ll learn.”

  Morrigu looked shocked for a moment, and then she slowly smiled. “You have much to learn as well. Perhaps we can come to an agreement. However, for your rudeness, the price is higher now.”

  “Forget it.”

  A speculative gleam entered her eyes. I pulled free of Damian and crossed the room to stand in front her. She understood I was putting us on equal ground, and while she didn’t like it, she seemed almost to respect the action. Of course, this was guesswork based on the quicksilver expressions I saw cross her face.

  “You cannot save yourself without my blood.”

  “Aufanie will gladly make the offering,” said Damian.

  Morrigu laughed. “It’s my bargain, boy. And my chalice. No other god’s essence will work the needed magic. And I will not give it to you unless you agree to my terms.”

  “No. I won’t let you dangle your ‘higher price’ like a guillotine over our necks,” I said. “We get you the chalice. You make the formula with your blood and let me drink it from your fancy cup. We’ll do the exchange on the Winter Solstice in Aufanie’s temple.”

  Morrigu stepped into my personal space and stared daggers at me. “I do not accept.”

  “Fine.” I shrugged and turned away. Damian stood rock-still, his face ice white. The fear slivered in his gaze staggered me. What the hell? Had no one ever stood up to Morrigu?


  “You’re not afraid of me,” she said in wonderment.

  “I’m terrified of you,” I corrected. “But I won’t let fear guide my actions. Not ever again.” I whirled back around and put my hands on my hips. “Admit you sent me the dream.”

  Her mouth dropped open. She quickly closed it, and huffed. “You are too clever for your own good.”

  “No, I’m too clever for your own good. For some reason you need us, and you’re trying to play it the other way.” It was my turn to smirk, but I kept it quick and light. No need to push the woman to the point she decided to aim that staff at my head. “Do we have a deal?”

  She said nothing for a long moment. Tension threatened to suffocate the whole room. Finally, she nodded. “So long as Damian agrees to the terms, then we do.”

  “I agree,” he said.

  “Very well. The bargain is made.” Morrigu stepped back, and a gray mist started billowing from the floor around her. Her gaze went to Damian. “Your mother took the chalice and hid it from me. Good luck finding it.” As she started to fade, she turned toward me, offering one final smirk. “See you on the Solstice . . . if you live.”

  Then she disappeared.

  For a long while no one spoke. Then Brigid heaved herself off the couch. She rounded the coffee table and enveloped me in her arms. She hugged me tightly, and then let me go. “I think my mother likes you.”

  “How can you tell?” I asked.

  “You’re alive.” Brigid turned to Damian. “You’re going to Germany, then.”

  “It seems so. My mother wished for us to be in the temple on Winter Solstice, too. It appears our fates will be determined there.”

  “What about Patsy? And Broken Heart?”

  “One trial at a time, Frau,” he said.

  She inclined her head as both acknowledgment and good-bye. Then the air went electric, gold sparkles lit the air, and she was gone in the blink of an eye.

  “Can werewolves do that at all?” I asked. “Because that’s a cool superpower.”

  “The loup de sang can,” he said, “but only because they are part vampire.”

  I stepped away, too agitated to either stand still or sit down. I wandered into the kitchen, and opened the fridge. Damian followed me, watching as I pulled out a can of Sprite. “Want one?” I asked.

  “No, thank you.”

  I stared at the can, and realized I didn’t really want it, either. So I returned it to the case and shut the door.

  “I should’ve told you,” he said.

  “You mean about being a god?” I asked.

  “Demigod,” he said. “Tark was mortal when we were conceived.”

  “So you’re not immortal?”

  He looked away, swallowing hard, and then returned his gaze to mine. “My mother’s blood will allow me to live forever,” he said carefully, “but I can be killed. Not easily, that’s true. A pure-blood immortal cannot die.”

  “Your sudden concern about babies happened after our little visit to Dr. Michaels. You didn’t really believe Dante, did you? You thought he did something else to me, and I wasn’t at risk to have children. Then the doc tells me I’m going lycan, and you realize what that means.”

  “Kelsey.”

  “Don’t! Your DNA and Jarred’s are inside me, without my permission. If either of you were regular paranormals, then the lycan DNA would triumph. I’d be okay. Well, if turning into a werewolf can be considered okay—not to mention whatever the hell Jarred is.”

  “Nobody knows,” he said. “We thought him a friend.”

  “Yeah? Me, too.” I threw my hands up in the air, and started pacing. “The only way I’ll survive is if this formula and ritual of Morrigu’s works. And that doesn’t even include the dream hint that my changeling DNA was donated by someone other than the woman who raised me. If that’s true, it means I was paranormal this whole time. I mean, other than the whole empath thing.” I paused. “Or maybe that’s why I’m an empath.” I rubbed my face. My brain felt like a tornado had blown through it and wrecked all my thoughts.

  Damian grasped my arm, but I pulled out of his grip. “I don’t want to be coddled. I’m angry with you. I need some space.”

  “All right,” he said.

  His sorrow and regret whispered to me, so I put up my shields. Not that it did much good. It seemed Damian’s feelings were armor-piercing rounds.

  His cell phone rang. I think we were both relieved by the interruption. He took the cell from his front jeans pocket and looked at the display. “It’s Darrius.”

  “News about Jarred,” I said. “You should take it.”

  I returned to the living room and picked up the copy of Werewolves Are Real!, which I had already skimmed through several times. Damian told me that the author lived in town part-time, and she and her husband had spent a lifetime researching and studying the paranormal. Then their daughter, Libby, got turned into a half dragon. She lived in Broken Heart, too, along with her vampire husband and their family.

  This town was beyond weird.

  “They have Dante,” said Damian as he entered the living room. “He’s in one of our holding cells. He’s requested to see you.”

  “I don’t want to see him,” I said. “You should go. But don’t hurt him.”

  He grimaced. “I promised not to leave you, Kelsey.”

  “Well, if I want you to leave, that’s not breaking your promise,” I said. “Just go. I’ll stay here and read and try to get my equilibrium back.”

  “Can you forgive me?” he asked. He sounded so pitiful, my heart twisted.

  I stood up and crossed the distance between us. “It’s a lot to think about, Damian. You’re not just a lycan, you’re almost immortal. What does that mean for me? For us?” I looked into his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “No one knew,” he said. “My parents asked us to keep it secret.”

  “But I’m not just anyone, am I?” I shook my head, sadness a weight inside my chest. “You were waiting to see if I survived.”

  His expression confirmed my supposition, as did the regret that arrowed through my pitiful psychic shield. For some reason, a random piece of our last conversation with Dr. Michaels popped into my mind.

  “Your blood saved some vampires—the ones who can turn into wolves.”

  “Not the loup de sang,” he clarified. “But, yes. A few years ago, a disease called the Taint was killing vampires. It was incurable. When Lorcan got it, my brothers and I offered our blood to do the transfusions.”

  “Because demigod blood would trump the disease.”

  “It also gave him, and a couple of others, the ability to shape-shift into our forms. And when Lorcan shared his blood with his wife, Eva, she gained the same ability.”

  “And they were already immortal, right? So you didn’t have to worry they might discover your secret.” I sighed. “You’ve lied to everyone.”

  He didn’t deny it.

  “It makes everything else you’ve done worse,” I said. “You understand that, don’t you? You gave up on the pack, fired yourself as the leader, and found somewhere to hide. Your mother is the goddess who embraced a cursed people—and you abandoned them.”

  “They found a new queen.” The words dropped like acid, but he couldn’t hide from me. He’d carried that guilt, too. Probably the only time in his life he’d failed to honor his duties, which was why he tried so hard now to fulfill them. It was impossible to change the past, but no one could heal from old wounds unless they acknowledged their mistakes, and yes, felt every ounce of that pain. It sounded weird, but bearing responsibility for your actions actually lifted the emotional weight. I owned that I’d messed up with Robert. What I did to him allowed him to take innocent lives. I could never change that. But I could learn from it. I could keep vigilant over my gift and remember that it was not my place to fix people. People had to fix themselves.

  Damian was still imprisoned by his past, trapped in the pain of wounds that would never heal. He would
n’t let them. And until he faced that pain, and made peace with his past, he would always be ruled by the emotions he tried so hard to bury.

  “They needed a new leader, didn’t they?” I asked, keeping my voice gentle. “Did you ever consider your decision to leave Germany and let the pack scatter is why Patsy was made queen? If the lycans had their true leader, she wouldn’t have been necessary.”

  He stared at me, his expression stony. “You weren’t there. After we buried our dead, we found out that several lycans had been captured, including Danielle. We got there too late to save her, to save any of them.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “What happened to you and to your village was terrible. But you can’t let it rule your life—not like this. If you want that tragedy to be motivation for your decisions, then let it be for the good.”

  “You think I forced the creation of the prophecy.”

  “Isn’t that what Astria hinted at when she was trying to explain the nature of prophecies? Damian, I’ve met Patsy once and even I can see how overwhelmed she is. She’s one person with all these powers and responsibilities, not to mention trying to be a wife and mother. It’s too much for her.”

  “So the Vederes see a new prophecy in which she is no longer queen of lycans or vampires? Only of the loup de sang?” He shook his head. “She has the seven powers of the Ancients.”

  Something niggled at me. “Aren’t there eight?” I asked. That was me, mistress of the inconsequential.

  “She could not absorb the eighth power,” he said distractedly. “My parents will be free of Morrigu’s bargain on the Winter Solstice. It is not coincidence that a new prophecy has appeared.”

  “Because you’re ready. Because it’s time. And you know it.”

  “If the prophecy is true, then you are my mate.” He put a hand on my stomach, and I sucked in a breath. “Hope renewed.”

  “Let’s just see if I can get through the next week and a half, okay?” I kissed his cheek and then backed away. “Go see Jarred. Maybe if we find out what’s in the serum, it’ll help.”