by Jan Delima
Another thought crossed her mind. If Dylan had punished Enid . . . “Have you spoken with Siân?”
“Siân has been banished from my territory.” His harsh statement didn’t welcome further inquiries.
She nodded, feeling . . . Good lord, how did she feel about Dylan’s punishments toward those who had wronged her? Relieved? Surprised? Protected?
Her throat tightened with another emotion she refused to consider. “Good night, Dylan.”
He gave a brief nod of acknowledgment. “Good night. Try to get some sleep. Tomorrow will be . . . an eventful day.”
She felt an insane urge to laugh. “More eventful than today? How is that possible?” She held up her hand. “No, don’t answer that. I’m not sure I can handle any more enlightenment tonight.”
“Luc plans to be here in the morning,” he continued, searching her face with worried dark eyes. “Afterward, I would like to take Joshua around my land. Show him more of the village. I want some time alone with our son.”
Specifically without her present. It was not said, but she understood his intention. A tight knot formed in her stomach and she shook off the protective reaction. Dylan had every right to request time alone with their son.
“He would like that,” she whispered, wondering if he understood how difficult it was for her to make that concession.
The weight of his gaze lingered until she closed the bedroom door. She stripped out of her sweatpants, leaving on her tank top and underwear. Out of habit, she checked the location of her weapons before slipping into bed. The stairs creaked as Dylan walked upstairs, pausing by the room above hers. He was checking on Joshua. A few minutes later his footsteps returned back downstairs, stopping briefly to pause by her door before moving toward the living room.
She let out a breath, unaware she’d been holding it. It took some time for her mind to relax with Dylan just around the corner. Exhaustion eventually pushed her to sleep. Oddly enough, it was not Dylan that crept into her dreams, but a serpent instead, one with red eyes and the horns of a ram.
Thirteen
HIS HOUSE WAS TOO DAMN QUIET.
He missed them.
He missed Sophie with her soft brown eyes, Joshua with his curious mind, and Francine with her fiery wit, a woman who had taught her daughter strength and conviction, and how to love a child with a selfless heart.
Taliesin sneered at his perfectly made bed. Sophie would have fluffed his pillows and turned the right corner of his covers down. A cold glass of water would have been sitting on his nightstand. His dinner would have been cooked fresh, not frozen in plastic containers he had to heat himself.
What was the point of that? It wasn’t the same unless she made it for him, unless she was in his kitchen, filling his house with warmth and laughter. And family.
Now he was alone.
Again.
He slumped down on his bed. What day was it? Tuesday? He ran his hands over his face. Fuck . . . they had only been gone one day? It wasn’t even Thursday yet? Thursday was pizza and movie night, a tradition in the Thibodeau women’s household, and Sophie made the best damn pizza.
Taliesin had bought the new Jackie Chan movie, an impulse even though he’d known they wouldn’t be here to watch it with him. Joshua loved Jackie Chan.
He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, flipped it open, dialed his message box and listened to her voice one last time. He heard her fear, the questions, and the mistrust; it ate at him like roundworms in his gut.
She was with Dylan now, as it should be—as it was meant to be.
I must not interfere any more than I have. I must not interfere. It was a chant in his mind, repeated again and again. He squeezed his cell phone so tightly it snapped in half. If I do, if I warn them, if I help them any more than I have—the consequences will be severe.
Taliesin threw the broken pieces of his phone against the wall. Knowing the future sucked.
Fourteen
THE SERPENT WEAVED A HEAVY PATH UP HER BODY. ITS weight surprised her, as heavy as a man, rubbing between her legs and under her shirt, and then a smooth slide across her belly. The texture of its skin reminded her of a knotted rope made of silk, its temperature indistinct, as if it matched hers.
Sophie arched into the sensation, shivering with a mixture of pleasure and revulsion.
The snake hissed, pleased with both emotions. “I see why Sin chose you.”
“I haven’t sinned in a very long time,” she said, wondering why she was debating her virtues with a dream.
“Such a shame, that.” Its voice was a compelling whisper in her thoughts, strong and very old, as if it spoke in a meld of ancient accents.
“What do you want?” The cloying scent of apple blossoms and pollen hovered around the edges of her muddled awareness.
“Only to offer a gift. Will you accept my gift, Sophie Marie Thibodeau, wife of Dylan ap Merin?”
Even a serpent in her dream branded her as Dylan’s wife. That couldn’t be a good sign. “That depends on the gift.”
“Knowledge.” Its head rested on her chest, heavy with horns that circled its head. “My gift has always been knowledge.”
“And just what is the price for this knowledge? The destruction of paradise, perhaps?”
“Do you like walking in the dark when wolves watch from the woods?”
Oh, the serpent was good; it knew how to elicit fear, knew what offer might tempt her most. But then, it was her subconscious weaving this dream. Wasn’t it?
“What knowledge do you offer?” The words fell from her mind, unbidden by her lack of consciousness. Were dreams realities in a different realm?
The serpent slid down between her breasts, snuggled, comfortable—pleased. “You will know danger from security. You will see lies in truth. And you will learn how to defend those you love most. Do you want to protect your son, Sophie Marie Thibodeau, wife of Dylan ap Merin?”
“Yes, of course,” she thought.
“Good.” The serpent reared back with a hiss and sank its fangs into her skin.
* * *
SOPHIE SHOT AWAKE, BLINKED AT THE SUNLIGHT FILTERING through the window, and relaxed back into her pillow as reality overcame the nightmare. Unfortunately, a dull ache in her chest disallowed complete serenity. She yanked up her tank top. Two red dots swelled on the underside of her left breast.
Spider bites, she reassured herself, not the dream.
She said a brief prayer just to be safe.
Other events of the night began to filter through her panic over a dream. She swung her legs over the bed and peeked around the door. The couch was empty and the house was quiet. As promised, Dylan had left before sunrise.
Shaking off the last remnants of sleep, Sophie rummaged through her suitcase for her sweatpants, sports bra and jogging shoes, followed by her concealed holster shirt. She resembled one of Enid’s gray sausage links after donning all her layers. She tucked her Glock in the side pocket of the customized shirt, and grabbed two extra magazines, along with two knives. She forced herself to run five miles every day, a routine she hated but never neglected. If another escape became necessary, she would be prepared.
After pulling on her sweatshirt, she checked on Joshua, not surprised to find him still sleeping. As she sat on the edge of his bed he groaned and tried to pull the covers over his head.
“I’m going for a run,” she whispered. “Do you want to come with me?”
“Not today.” He turned onto his back and cracked open one eye, and then lifted an arm over his face to block the light streaming in through the window. “What time is it? Did you make the cinnamon rolls?”
“It’s around six in the morning and the rolls are still rising. I’ll cook them when I get back.” She felt a twinge of concern about leaving him alone, even for a short time. “Will you be okay alone for an hour or so?”
“Mom, come on . . . if anything happens I can defend myself. Not that anything will.”
“Your father has people watching
our cabin,” she warned him.
“I know,” he said. “I heard them talking in the woods last night. I caught parts of their conversation. They’re . . . protecting us.”
Protecting or spying? Both, probably. But she knew in her heart Dylan would never allow his son to be harmed. Just as she knew he would do everything in his power to keep him from leaving. And for the first time she felt secure in that knowledge, appreciating Dylan’s protection, especially when it came to Joshua. “You have your weapons nearby?”
He sighed. “Of course.”
“Okay.” Satisfied, she patted his leg and stood. “I’ll just be running a circle around the cabin. If you need me, all you have to do is holler.”
“Mom . . . Go.” He rolled in a cocoon of blankets, covering his head and already falling back asleep.
“Don’t forget your uncle will be here at eight,” she reminded him as she headed to the door. “That’s only two hours away.”
He grunted.
Sophie checked on her mother before going back downstairs, closing the door softly after finding her still asleep. She pulled her hair into a rough ponytail and brushed her teeth. Under her sweatshirt rested her gun, tucked tightly against her side. She secured the knives and extra magazines to each calf, her own special jogging weights.
According to Dylan, a gun wouldn’t kill one of his wolves, but she was betting it would slow one down. Or piss it off. Hopefully she would never find out. Regardless, she wasn’t leaving the house unarmed. She even debated wearing the serpent but opted against it; yesterday’s events combined with the dream had left her feeling edgy. Accepting gifts from talking serpents had that effect on her, even a serpent of dreams.
The outside air was crisp. She stretched on the porch, keeping her ears open for signs of the guards’ whereabouts. Somewhere close, she was sure. Patches of snow lingered beyond the trees but the road was dry and clear, perfect for a morning run.
A sad feeling settled in her chest as she took off down the gravel-covered road, starting at a steady jog. She missed her dog . . . Well, Matthew’s dog. Tucker had always run with her in the mornings. She had felt safer with the Great Dane by her side.
Matthew, or Taliesin, or whatever his real name was, hadn’t returned her call, nor had she tried to call him back. What was the point? She had left a message and he knew her number. And frankly, she was tired of being lied to.
Birds sang in the forest, the sound a delicate accompaniment to the steady rhythm of her strides, nature’s orchestra soothing her tattered nerves. She increased her speed; her side started to ache and her calves protested but she fought through the pain, focusing on her breathing and her surroundings.
* * *
DYLAN WATCHED ELEN TAKE A SIP FROM HER MUG AND then set it down on her kitchen table. The scent of coffee drifted through the room, mingling with dried herbs tied with string that hung from the kitchen rafters.
Elen sat across from him, still in her sleeping garments, covered by a soft pink robe. The sun filtered in through her front window, making her hair shine golden white around her shoulders.
A massive wolf stood by her chair, his eyes filled with human resentment. Even confined to all fours, Cormack towered above Elen.
She stroked her hand down the wolf’s neck and whispered something into his ear, low enough to mask the content of her words from Dylan but not the tone, a tone of warmth, of tenderness.
Cormack retreated, although with obvious reluctance.
Dylan waited until the steps of the beast had left the house and retreated to the woods. “You’ve become close with Cormack?”
Her eyebrows rose, mocking. “You can lose that fatherly tone. Cormack and I are friends. He keeps me company when others are . . . uncomfortable around me.”
“Who’s uncomfortable around you?” Dylan sat up in his chair. “Not our people from the village?”
“Don’t be angry with them,” she said. “They still call on me when they’re hurt.” She waved her hand around her cottage. “Can you blame them for being wary of me? They know I’m different.” Her voice turned melancholy. “Do you remember the witch who lived in the hills when we were children?”
“Maelorwen.” Dylan supplied the name.
“Yes.” A brief smile touched her lips, suggesting her memories of the witch were not unpleasant ones. “Maelorwen taught me a great deal about plants and their uses. I always wondered why she befriended me. I was such a nuisance, constantly underfoot asking questions, but now I understand how she must have felt; she was lonely.”
“Are you lonely, Elen?”
She gave a delicate shrug with one shoulder. “Like Maelorwen, I’ve become a healer . . . and yet the people I help are too wary to come to me unless in need.”
Troubled by the comparison, Dylan glanced around his sister’s kitchen. It had been a while since he had visited Elen in her private quarters. Although a short distance from the clinic, her cottage remained secluded, and like her front yard and private garden out back, plants grew around the windows and over the walls, a greenhouse effect in early April that gave Dylan due cause to worry. “Your gift is growing stronger.”
She looked down at her hands. “I know.”
Elen might not have the ability to call the wolf, but she wasn’t powerless. Quite the opposite, in fact. Like Dylan and Luc, she could call on nature and any living thing in her immediate surroundings. But unlike her brothers, or any others of their kind, she could give that gift away. In her own way, she had the ability to give life. And when the power ran strong it showed in her surroundings, because she always gave it back to the earth.
Dylan crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, pondering the consequences of his next suggestion, but having enough faith in his sister’s innate goodness to make it. “Perhaps it’s time you explore your gift beyond plants.”
“I cannot.” She kept her eyes downcast but the conviction in her voice refused argument, and yet there was deep longing that filtered through the fear. “I’m afraid once I open that door . . . I’ll never be able to close it.”
“You may be able to use your gift to help others . . . You may be able to use it to help others like Cormack.”
“Not without taking an equal life. And I’m not willing to do that.” She shook her head with vehemence. “I will never do that.”
Dylan gave her a low nod, respecting her choice. “I’m always here for you.”
“I know,” she whispered.
“Your apartments are still available . . . if you want to move back in with your brothers.”
“Oh no,” she said with a tad more force than necessary. “I may be lonely at times . . . but I still value my independence, such as it is.” She stood quickly, her chair almost toppling over in her haste, and walked toward the sink and away from her brother’s good intentions. “I’m assuming you didn’t come here to discuss my problems,” she continued, effectively changing the subject. “Luc informed me he’s called everyone back home from the cities. I’ll make a point to stop in and see Beatrice when she arrives. She’ll probably stay with her mother. And Joseph . . .”
Dylan nodded absently. Luc had indeed called everyone back home, and some had begun to arrive, but his mind was on another matter entirely. “Sophie has possession of the Serpent of Cernunnos.”
Her mug fell from her hands and hit the tiled countertop, shattering on impact. She ignored the broken porcelain and turned to stare at her brother. “Are you sure?” At Dylan’s raised brow, she asked, “How?”
“It was a gift from the man who’s been helping her hide from me since California. She calls him Matthew but he fits the description of Taliesin.”
“But Sin hasn’t involved himself in our affairs for many years. Not since we’ve come to this country.” Her perplexed expression quickly became one of concern. “Unless it involves the Guardians.”
“I didn’t realize you knew him that well.” He frowned at her casual use of Taliesin’s nickname. Only a select few called
him Sin.
“I know Sin well enough.” She gave him a sad smile as she gathered the broken pieces of her mug and placed them in a trash bin under the sink. “He helped me when I was young.”
“When?”
“During the time when you left with Luc. Sin protected me from the Guardians . . . and our mother.”
As always, when he thought of her alone, left to the Guardians’ manipulations, guilt stirred in his gut. “Why have you never told me this?”
“Because I know it upsets you to speak of that time.” She walked back to the table and placed a hand on his arm. “But, as I’ve told you before, I believe there’s a reason for everything.” She let her hand drop. “I know the purpose of Sin’s weapon.”
He shrugged at the obvious. “To kill our kind.”
“Not just our kind. Not us. Not descendants. Not even Drwgddyddwg.” Blue eyes met his and held. “I believe Sin’s weapon was forged to kill Guardians.” Her voice became hushed, as if speaking of things better left untold. “I’ve seen him use it.”
“On a Guardian?”
“On an Original Guardian,” she added. “On a Gwarchodwyr Unfed.”
Apprehension tightened his spine. “Whose death do you speak of?”
“Madron’s,” she said without remorse.
Dylan closed his eyes briefly, running his hands over his face. He had heard of the execution, Madron’s head found separated from his body in a bedchamber occupied by children. It happened before Dylan had traveled across an ocean to new lands, before he had gone back for Elen.
Whispered rumors had traveled far amongst their kind, even to the camps of the outcasts, Taliesin being the only viable choice as executioner; his hatred toward the Guardians well known, even then, especially toward the men who had raised him—the Gwarchodwyr Unfed.
However, to Dylan’s knowledge, no witness had come forth to validate the suspicions. Until now. “You were there? You saw it happen?”
