by Nadine Mutas
Her skin began to glow, the light growing brighter and brighter…and she exploded in a firestorm. Flames surged out in a blinding supernova of ancient power, the force knocking him back. Velez crashed down in the periphery of his vision, several yards away, and didn’t move.
The griffin screeched above, followed by the roar of the dragon.
His entire body hurt, as if his bones had been smashed—and he remembered well how it felt—but Arawn managed to get swaying to his feet.
“Maeve!” he roared.
She didn’t answer. He stumbled forward, his muscles sluggish, and scanned the area, his stomach in knots. Nothing but ashes where the firestorm rolled out.
His blood iced over. No. It wasn’t possible. She couldn’t be—
Lightning struck him, and he jerked, every cell in his body electrocuted. He toppled over, crashed down on the ash-strewn ground. In the periphery of his vision, a shape moved…Velez.
With a groan, Arawn rolled over, out of the way of the next lightning strike. The bolt of unadulterated god power slammed into the spot where he lay just seconds ago, cracking the earth and rattling the sky.
Maeve. He couldn’t focus on anything else, his thoughts consumed by the drive to find her.
Sending out a wave of dark power toward Velez—taking care to keep it leashed so it wouldn’t spread to where Maeve had been standing before—he turned, searched the slope of the mountain for her…or the beast. If it came out of her, where was it? Maeve was supposed to be a dragon. Dragons don’t die in fire.
“Pity.” Velez’s voice carried over the wind, Arawn’s traitorous brother coming to his feet again after his blow took him down. “She had such potential.”
In the sky above them, the dragon and griffin still battled, the air sharp and biting with the force of their ancient magic. Arawn barely noticed. He had difficulty blocking Velez’s next lightning strike, and some of the electric force hit him, nearly fried his right leg. He half-heartedly threw out a tendril of his own power to break his brother’s spine.
Velez cried out, fell, and coughed. It didn’t last long. While Arawn staggered—every step hurting—over to the field of ashes where Maeve had been, Velez heaved himself up again, his eyes a storm of wrath and lightning.
Arawn reached out…and he felt it. The silence. The emptiness.
A severed link where the bond should be.
She’s dead. Nothing else would cut that connection.
The world clouded over in bloody darkness. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Velez crawl closer.
And Arawn’s powers snapped their leash.
He let go, broke each of the seals that kept his dark, writhing, ravenous magic in check, and released it to hurl toward the being responsible for Maeve’s death. There was no reason anymore for him to restrain his devastating power. Maeve was gone. He could wipe Velez off the face of the earth.
For the first time since his fall, he let his true nature show, born of the clash of beginnings at the dawn of time, its force so potent it could break through the layers of the world itself.
With a roar of primeval fury, he struck out with a blast of dark energy. It shot out to all sides, much like the magical shock wave of the awakening dragon—only a thousand times more destructive. Its impact rocked the still-fuming volcano, cracking the earth, so powerful it would level what was left of the woods surrounding the mountain.
The blow blocked Velez’s strike, made his lightning fizzle out, and Arawn whirled, hit Velez with every last bit of his magic—and smote the other god.
Velez shattered like glass under Arawn’s power—his essence, his form, his very being erased from this world. The earth quaked, the mountain spewing more ash, the air crackling and groaning. The magic of this plane shifted in response to the elimination of a power of Velez’s caliber, the precarious balance of magical energy thrown off kilter for a moment.
Breath heavy, Arawn stared at the spot Velez had occupied. The shifting of magic continued, slithered over his skin, through his bones, the fabric of his soul. Groaning and whining, the layers of the world adjusted to the hole ripped in their midst, trying to knit it closed.
Arawn should help. Should use his power to speed the mending, ensure this world would survive the annihilation of a force as old as Velez.
He couldn’t make himself move. His foe vanquished, his revenge taken, he was left with the unrelenting silence of destruction, and immeasurable grief building in his soul.
He sank to his knees at the place where Maeve died, dug his fingers into the ashes, and hung his head, his soul splintered into a million pieces, each one stinging him with every breath.
Something warm and wet dripped down his face, onto the backs of his hands. Tears. He hadn’t shed any in centuries, maybe even millennia. He couldn’t remember the last time he cried.
It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.
She was gone.
A gust of wind whirled up the ashes, and a second later, the griffin landed at the edge of the field. Wings flared, it bowed, bent down on its front legs and lowered its head. Grieving for its friend.
Overhead, the dragon roared, now free of Velez’s influence. Arawn should snare it. He didn’t. What was the use?
She was gone.
More wind whirled up the ashes, and Arawn blinked—not in surprise; he didn’t feel surprise anymore—as the dragon landed close to the field as well. The mighty beast of old crawled closer, rumbling in its throat. It halted, like the griffin, and bowed its head.
So they were all mourning.
Fitting.
The ashes moved—without a gust of wind. His heart, that useless, dead organ, thumped against his ribs, his power vibrating. More movement in the field, particles floating up in a spiral, swirling in a circle like a building tornado in slow motion. Sparks lit inside the whirling cloud of ash. Flames licked over the smoke.
The tornado built and built, a fire crackling within—and with a burst of sparks and a surge of ancient magic that laid him flat on his back, a beast rose from the ashes.
Feathers of flame, a soul of fire, red-licked orange and talon-tipped feet, the phoenix robbed him of breath with its glory. It flared its wings and let loose a screech that echoed over the wilderness—and both the griffin and the dragon answered in kind.
The firebird stalked forward, its size that of the griffin, and touched its beak to the other beast’s. The griffin rumbled deep in its throat, rustled its feathers. The dragon kept its distance, but spread its wings while bowing its head as if in deference.
Awestruck, Arawn could only stare.
With a flash of fiery feathers, the phoenix turned to him, piercing intelligence in its age-old eyes. Once more flames licked over its form, smoke whispered over its massive body, and it morphed, grew smaller, smaller…until it slumped to the ground in the shape of a tiny, red-haired female.
Arawn’s breath caught, his world grinding to a halt, centering on the hopeless hope burning in his heart.
He was at her side in an instant, gathered her naked body in his arms, felt for her pulse. Slow but steady, the tick that greeted his fingertips was like a beacon to his soul. He crushed her to him, buried his face in her neck.
She stirred with a moan. He still held her tight. Probably too tight. But he couldn’t convince his muscles to ease up, his need to feel her too consuming.
“Arawn.” A choked whisper. “I need to breathe.”
With a sound of half-anguish, half-relief, he gave her enough room to suck in a deep gulp of air. Though the fact he covered her mouth with his in a kiss of desperate joy might have made it harder for her.
She gasped against his lips, laughed into his kiss. “I love you, too,” she rasped.
He cupped her face, drank in the sight of her, tiny pieces of his broken heart mending with every breath she took in his arms.
“I thought I lost you.” His hands shook. “I was ready to raze the world.”
She smiled, her eyes of fire and smoke glistening.
“You’ve got me back.”
Such simple, simple words, and yet they held his salvation. And with his soul mending, he helped the world mend as well. Sending out tendrils of his power, he reinforced the knitting effort of the layers around the hole Velez’s destruction had ripped into the fabric of magic, ensured the damage could be repaired.
Maeve needed a world to live in.
Frowning, she stroked his lips, this woman who held his heart in her delicate hands. “My beast is a phoenix. I thought it was a dragon.”
“It had both of us fooled.”
“Sneaky.” Her expression darkened. “Velez?”
“I smote him.”
She blinked, raised a brow. “How godlike.”
His eyes flicked to the pattern of scars on her body—and the golden shine to them. As if she was lit from within, and the scars the seams through which her light shone.
She followed the direction of his gaze, gasped as she beheld the change in her appearance. “W-what is that?”
“I would say”—he grazed the glowing lines with a finger, delighting in her shiver—“that your phoenix made you into kintsugi.”
Her eyes widened. “That is…”
“…beyond beautiful.”
She swallowed, her smile wobbly but radiant. “Yes.”
“I want another bond,” he said, the horror of losing her having eroded all finesse in his speech.
“Oh.” Her focus turned inward. “It’s gone.”
“Not for long.” He bit into his wrist, nodded at her. “Open your mouth.”
She complied, probably sensing how raw he was, how much he needed this. He placed his bleeding wrist to her lips, and she drank without him asking her. The first suck sent fire down his spine, and the next one sent the rest of his blood flowing south.
“Do you bind yourself to me,” he asked, “in magic and blood?”
Maeve let go of his wrist, her lips stained red, her pupils dilated. “I do.”
His magic lunged for and fused with hers, darkness to flame, power to power.
He took her arm, licked over her wrist—and looked at her with a question in his eyes. Her lips parted on a gasp as she understood. Swallowing, she nodded.
Another loving lick over her wrist…and then he bit. His shapeshifted fangs sliced into her skin, opened her vein. He drank, the flavor of her blood a heady rush. Ancient power, a touch of fire, and a sweetness that was all Maeve.
Her fingers stroked through his hair. “Do you bind yourself to me in magic and blood?”
He licked over the puncture marks, met her eyes of phoenix flames. “I do.”
The bond that snapped taut between them this time ran equally strong in both directions—and glowed like a rope of embers in velvet darkness with their love.
Chapter 39
When Maeve climbed up the steps to the old Victorian, ash from the volcanic eruption still coated the veranda—like it did most other surfaces in the greater Portland area, as well as large parts of north Oregon and south Washington. It would take weeks, if not months to clean up the mess, the devastation horrifyingly similar to the eruption of Mount St. Helens in 1980.
And yet the human population was still blissfully oblivious to the far-reaching consequences of that blast. Arawn had snared the dragon while they were all huddled on the mountain slope of fire and ash, and he made sure to impress upon the beast to stay hidden from human eyes for now. Arawn’s territory offered more than enough room for the dragon to roam without being seen by humans, and, as with the griffin, he’d also cast a glamour on the ancient beast to further conceal it from non-otherworld creatures, should it venture past his borders.
How long that secrecy would last was anyone’s guess. The eventual discovery by humans of the awakening of the Old Ones loomed as a certainty on the horizon—it was only a matter of when, not if.
For the time being, however, Arawn agreed it would cause catastrophic panics and unpredictable defensive maneuvers among human authorities, as well as the general population, should the knowledge of what was going on spread beyond the otherworld communities. And even in the circles of supernatural beings, word of what exactly was happening had yet to pass through the grapevine.
Had Merle heard news about it? Making sure her sister was up-to-date with developments that would shake up the world was one of the reasons Maeve now stood on the doorstep to their shared childhood home the day after the dragon awoke. She could have simply called, sure, or she could have invited Merle to travel to Arawn’s lair as she recently did.
Some revelations, though, were better delivered in person, and with the added gesture of paying a visit instead of asking someone to come to you.
She told Merle in a quick phone call that she was coming, thanks to Lucía, who’d survived the Velez attack with a few broken bones and scratches that healed quickly due to her demon and shifter natures. She made sure Maeve got a new cell this morning.
After ringing the doorbell, Maeve now threw a glance at the silent shadow of unadulterated power at her back.
Arawn inclined his head, his eyes of evergreen depths searing with an intensity that made her knees wobble. “I will wait outside.”
“Thank you.” She grasped his hand before he turned, gave it a quick squeeze.
A ping of white-hot love along the newly forged bond between them, and then he strolled down the steps to loom in the front yard like darkness given form. And, oh, how she adored that form.
The door opened at that moment, and Maeve’s attention flicked back to—the male demon holding the door for her.
She inhaled sharply. “Rhun. Hi. I’m so glad and relieved you’re back.” Merle had told her on the phone, very briefly, that they’d managed to free Rhun from Juneau’s clutches.
“Maeve. I’m glad you’re still in one piece.” He glanced at the dark presence that was a caress against her back…even though Arawn stood about a yard away.
She sighed inwardly, yet she couldn’t fault Rhun—and the others—for thinking just like she once did…for expecting the worst of Arawn, when the reality of him was a surprise she would never have been able to predict in a million years.
Rhun stepped aside and gestured her in, eyeing the Demon Lord as she walked by. Raising a brow, he asked, “Should I get him some water? In a bowl? He’s not in the habit of digging up stuff, is he?” He closed the door, tilted his head with a long-suffering sigh. “Please tell me he’s at least yard-broken. I just redid the landscaping out front—I’m really not in the mood for more replanting.”
A grin threatened to take over her face. “I get how you make Merle laugh all the time.”
He winked at her just as Merle emerged from the downstairs bathroom.
“Sorry,” her sister said, her face a bit pale. “Morning sickness taking its toll…” She stopped short for a second when she saw Maeve, then pulled her into a crushing hug that lasted several heartbeats.
“It’s so good to see you,” Merle whispered when they finally broke apart.
“You too.” Maeve blinked away her tears while following her sister into the living room where they sat on the couch.
Rhun had apparently disappeared somewhere in the house while they were hugging, leaving them to talk in private.
Merle told her about Rhun’s rescue, how she’d bound Juneau in the Shadows—a fitting punishment, if there ever was one—and how the witch community now scrambled to find its footing in the aftermath. And how—because she didn’t have a choice—Merle had used her magic to tip the scales of the fight, incurring the risk of having to pay back to the Powers That Be soon…and thus jeopardizing her baby.
Maeve swallowed hard, her chest pinching tight. Arawn, she reached out mentally along a pathway he always kept open for her. If a witch pledged allegiance to you, and you granted her access to the layers of the world, you’d be in charge of demanding payback, wouldn’t you?
Yes, came the answer without hesitation.
Would you be able to postpone that payback for
a while?
He took a moment to reply this time. That is possible, yes. She was about to turn her attention back to her conversation with Merle when he added, It could be more painful if delayed, but pushing it back by, say, eight to nine months should not be a problem.
She almost smiled at his instant offer, but that would not have been the right reaction to what Merle just said, so she bit it back. She’d have to tell Merle…in a moment. First, there was something else she had to get out in the open. Something that might—or might not—smooth the way to enticing Merle to switch her allegiance.
As it turned out, Merle gave her the perfect opening when she composed herself after revealing the new risk to her pregnancy, and said, with a shaky smile, “Tell me how you’re doing.”
Maeve cleared her throat. Where to start, where to start…? She’d been racking her brain for the best way to break any one of the overwhelming news items to Merle, the most benign of which—her relationship with Arawn—might already be enough to give her sister a heart attack. She had to be smart about phrasing it and—
“I’m in love with Arawn, and we’re bonded. Like mates.”
Or she could simply blurt it out. Awesome.
Merle blinked, her body gone motionless. “Come again?”
Anxiety fired along Maeve’s nerves, made her fidget and shift her weight. “We’re together. In a relationship. He loves me, I love him, and we share a…mating bond. Kind of.”
A hollow sadness filled her chest in anticipation of Merle’s reaction. Oh, Maeve’s unparalleled ability to overthink everything and anything had made sure a merry variety of possible scenarios buzzed in her brain, and she’d already pulled up defensive walls around her heart for the worst one imaginable.
If Merle now accused Arawn of manipulating Maeve into falling in love with him, or worse, compelling her to be with him through the magical custody bond he used to have over her, Maeve wouldn’t even flinch. Much. She braced herself for the impact, reminding herself that however hurtful that kind of reaction might be, it came from a place of love and protectiveness from her sister.
