by Nadine Mutas
A sister who currently stared at her out of sky-blue eyes gone wide, her mouth hanging open. Maeve tried to think of a moment when she’d seen Merle as blankly shocked as she seemed now. Failed. Nope, this was the most gobsmacked Merle had ever been in Maeve’s presence.
Maeve was beginning to think she’d broken something essential in her sister’s mind with her revelation when Merle blinked again, closed her mouth, shook her head as if to clear it and whispered, “You’re happy.”
Maeve’s breath hitched, her eyes prickling hot. “Yes. I am.”
Tears shimmered in Merle’s eyes as she reached out and touched Maeve’s face with a trembling hand. “Is he… He’s…” She frowned, shook her head again. “He’s good for you.”
It wasn’t phrased as a question, but even so, it sounded more like an astonished realization that perfectly mirrored the confusion in Merle’s expression.
“You’re glowing,” Merle added in a whisper.
Maeve raised a hand to her own face, to that scar that was still so prominent—now maybe even more so because of the way it shone as if lit from within. “Oh. Yes. That. Um, I’ll explain it in a bit.”
Merle shook her head again. “No. I mean, yes, I do need you to…explain that. But I meant that—you’re radiant. As in, you’re happy like you haven’t been since…” Her brows drew together. “No, scratch that. I have never seen you this happy.”
Maeve gave in to the smile that wanted to steal across her face, and lowered her eyes. “He really is good to me, you know. I understand it might be hard for you to imagine, because you haven’t seen that side of him. But he’s…the best thing that could have happened to me.”
Merle’s jaw slowly dropped again as she regarded her for a moment. “I may not know that side of him,” she said carefully, “but I know to trust my senses. And everything I see and sense in you tells me you’re thriving. There’s just no way to fake that kind of thing. Which means it’s true.” She blinked, sat back against the couch. “You’re truly happily mated to Arawn.”
“Yes.” She couldn’t resist grinning.
Merle’s forehead wrinkled. “Does he still own you?”
“No.” Maeve stopped short, considered. “Actually, yes, but…not in the same way as before. Or rather, I belong to him like he now belongs to me. We’re bound to each other mutually.”
“Like a true mating bond,” Merle muttered, and Maeve nodded. Merle turned her head and stared at the wall. “My baby sister is mated to the Demon Lord.”
Maeve wanted to say something when Merle flinched and sat up straight. “Wait. Oh, my gods. That makes me… That means he’s my…”
“Brother-by-mating?” Maeve supplied helpfully.
With a high-pitched groan that sounded suspiciously like a wail, Merle covered her face with both hands.
Maeve bit her lip. If this was Merle’s reaction to learning she was now related by mating to the Demon Lord, she didn’t want to imagine her response to that tiny tidbit of extra knowledge that Arawn was actually a god.
“Everything okay in here?” Rhun poked his head into the room. “No one getting skewered, I hope? Are you in need of my manly protection?”
“Rhun!” Merle whined. “You won’t believe this.”
“You threw something and actually hit the mark?”
Merle narrowed her eyes and threw a pillow at him—which missed him by three feet.
“Apparently not,” Rhun said with a smirk.
Merle’s expression turned wicked. Mischief glinted in her eyes, and she gave him a small, gloating smile. “Guess what, honey.”
At that endearment, Rhun stiffened, and his expression grew wary.
“You just got a new brother-by-mating,” Merle said, her tone ominous.
Rhun crossed his arms and frowned. “By mating? But who—” His attention flicked to Maeve, and his face lit up. “For real? You got hitched? To who?”
Merle’s grin was all sorts of evil. “I believe he’s standing outside looking menacing and scaring our neighbors.”
Rhun snorted. “Yeah, right. Like he’d get past Ar—” He broke off, glancing from Merle to Maeve and back again a few times. “No.”
“Yes.” Merle sent him a sweetly acidic smile.
Rhun turned incredulous eyes to Maeve. “Tell me my lovely mate’s pulling my leg.”
Maeve grimaced and shrugged apologetically.
Rhun whipped his head around to stare out the window into the front yard, then whirled back to stare at Maeve, repeated the moves a couple of times until he clutched his chest and sank into the nearest chair.
“Um,” Maeve started, but Rhun held up a hand.
His eyes closed, he pinched the bridge of his nose and whispered, “Shh. I’m processing.”
“This might take a while,” Merle murmured, and patted Maeve’s knee.
Maeve cleared her throat. “Right. Okay.”
“While we’re letting that sink in,” Merle said, “why don’t you do that explaining thing you promised.” She waved at Maeve’s face—at the glowing scar.
“Oh.” Maeve rubbed her nose. “Yeah. So.” How do I even…? Maybe bluntness served best here, too. “I’ve got an ancient phoenix in my core, and when she came out and shapeshifted back into me, she thought it was a nice idea to turn my scars into kintsugi.”
Silence.
Maeve dared a look at Merle. Her sister eyed her with the same expression one might see on the faces of people confronted with adults who still wrote letters to Santa.
“You lost me at phoenix,” Merle said. “I need you to elaborate on that.”
So she did. Told Merle—and a quietly horrified Rhun—all about the ancient beasts, how they’d been forced to sleep, how one had fused its essence with the MacKenna magic and reincarnated in Maeve, how the beasts were now waking up…and how there were, on top of that, a bunch of fallen, misanthropic gods who were also regaining their power, while the protectors of humankind—the Powers That Be—were gradually losing theirs.
And she delivered the cherry on top of the heap of bizarre and overwhelming news when she finished with, “And Arawn is one of the fallen.”
Merle just stared at her. Rhun looked like he might have been shocked out of his body. A minute ticked by. Maeve fidgeted, curling the seam of her cardigan.
“I can’t have alcohol anymore, can I?” Merle finally asked weakly.
Maeve shook her head.
“Damn. I really need a drink right now.”
Maeve glanced at Rhun. “Still processing?”
He shuddered. “Yes.”
Maeve pressed her lips together and nodded.
“If Arawn is one of those who opposed keeping humans safe,” Merle said after another moment, “what is his attitude regarding humans now?”
“While he doesn’t much care about them,” Maeve said quietly, “he promised to keep them from being eaten or overrun within his territory and beyond, as much as he’s able.”
Merle studied her with the kind of discernment Maeve had always admired in her. “For you.”
Maeve swallowed. “For me.”
Taking a deep breath, Merle rubbed her face with both hands.
“There’s more,” Maeve ventured.
Merle groaned behind her hands. “Oh, gods.”
“Yeah. About that.”
Peering at her from between her fingers, Merle raised a brow.
“Since the Powers That Be are getting weaker, witches will lose some of their power, too. Soon you won’t be able to tap into the magic that is worked into the world anymore. That ability is tied to the Powers That Be, and with their authority fading…”
Merle closed her eyes, massaged her temples. “We’re fucked.”
Maeve cleared her throat yet again, shifted on the couch. “Well…not if you switch your allegiance to Arawn.”
Merle let her hands fall into her lap, tilted her head forward and stared at Maeve. “I beg your pardon?”
“You could pledge your allegiance
to him, and he could grant you access to the layers of the world and its magic. He’s a god, and he’s gaining power.”
Merle huffed out a dry laugh. “This really takes the cake. I can’t believe you’re suggesting I—”
“He’d be able to postpone the payback until after your baby is born.”
Growing utterly still, Merle stared at her. “I’ll do it.”
Her eyes slid to Rhun, and Maeve glanced at him as well.
Rhun’s expression was a mask of vicious determination. “Yes,” was all he said.
Arawn, Maeve said mentally, if Merle were to pledge her allegiance to you—
I would not ask her to do my bidding, came his response before she even finished her question. She is your family.
A smile bloomed in her heart. Yours too, now.
A considering silence. And how does she feel about that?
Let’s…give it some time.
His chuckle echoed in her mind.
Focusing back on Merle, she said, “There are no strings attached. You’ll be as free as you are now.”
Merle regarded her silently for a long while. “He really loves you, doesn’t he?”
Maeve just nodded with a smile, her eyes lowered to her hands in her lap.
“I can’t promise I’ll ever grow to like him,” Merle said softly. “But I’ll make an effort to…accept him. For you.”
Maeve swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I appreciate it.”
Rhun cleared his throat.
Maeve looked at him. “Done processing?”
He waved that away. “Sure, sure. I’m just…going through the implications of having a god in our family. I mean, that’s even better than marrying into royalty, right?”
“Rhun.” Merle rubbed her forehead with one hand.
“No, no. Think about it. All that power by proxy. The glory rubbing off on us.”
“Rhun.”
“We’re like…the divine family.”
Merle sent him her patented glare. “You cannot say that sort of BS in front of him.”
Rhun looked offended. “Of course not. Just in front of all our friends.” He shrugged, his smirk making his eyes flash. “And everybody else who needs to have the fear of that particular god put into them.”
Maeve couldn’t help it. She giggled. Merle glanced at her, surprise written in every line of her face, before she joined Maeve in her laughter, her expression so full of love and light in spite of everything looming on the horizon, and in that moment, Maeve knew.
Whatever challenges the future would throw at her, she’d be okay. Because she’d face it all with her family—including Arawn—by her side.
Epilogue
“Do you really think it’ll work?” Maeve bit her lip, and Arawn resisted the urge to suck that lip and lick over it. Later.
“It is worth a try,” he answered and nudged her forward with a hand on her lower back.
She dug in her heels right outside the door to her father’s room at the nursing home. Merle’s voice drifted out, her sister already inside telling Frank MacKenna the latest of what had happened in their lives.
Anxiety zinged along the twofold bond. Maeve’s hand tightened around the cup of tea she’d brought for her father.
You have nothing to lose, Arawn said in her mind, and everything to gain.
Her throat muscles worked as she swallowed. I just…don’t know if I can do this.
There is a good chance it will work.
She was silent, then— That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. Barely more than a whisper in his thoughts.
After a moment of consideration, he replied, No matter the personal outcome for you, do you not think he deserves this chance?
Her breath hitched. Of course. You’re right.
It was the mental nudge she apparently needed, for she opened the door, walked into the room, and crouched next to her father. Frank was sitting in an armchair in front of the panoramic window displaying the nursing home’s backyard rose garden, his expression blank, his eyes unseeing. His ash-gray hair framed a face carved with years of wasted living, his skin pale.
Merle stopped speaking when Maeve entered, and for a second hurt flashed over her features, before she caught herself and sent Maeve a friendly smile, oblivious to her sister’s plan.
“Here,” Maeve said to her father, holding the cup to his lips. “Drink this. It’s Earl Grey, your favorite.”
Frank didn’t move his hands, but he was responsive enough that Maeve could pour the tea into his mouth, making sure he swallowed. She set the cup on the small side table, her hands shaky.
Turning back to her father, she touched his cheek lightly. “I love you, Dad.”
She got up just as he drew in a rattling breath. Maeve froze, glancing at Frank again, and what she must have seen on his face had her inching away, toward the door. While Merle rose from her seat and went to his side to check on him, Maeve quietly snuck out and plastered herself to the wall outside the room.
From his vantage point in the shadows of the hall, Arawn had a good view through the open doorway, watching as Frank’s expression sharpened, his eyes cleared. Maeve’s father raised his head, looked around.
“Dad?” Merle asked, leaning forward and grasping his hands.
Frank’s eyes fell on his oldest living daughter, the one he hadn’t seen in close to seventeen years. The one he never recognized, even in his rare moments of clarity, unaware of the hurt he caused her.
He frowned, opened his mouth. According to what Maeve had told Arawn, this was always the moment he would ask for her instead of Merle—breaking her heart without even meaning to.
“Merle?” It was but a rasp, Frank’s voice rusty from years of neglect.
Merle uttered a sound close to a sob. “Dad? You can… You see me?”
Frank raised a shaky hand to Merle’s face, stroked her cheek. “I see you, pumpkin.”
At that moment, Maeve turned carefully to peek around the doorjamb, her pulse loud enough for Arawn to hear. He reached out with his energy, caressed her with a tendril of his power.
Shivering, she closed her eyes for a second. Is this really happening?
Courtesy of your phoenix magic.
She released a shuddering breath, grabbed the doorjamb tight with one hand.
“You look so much like your mom,” Frank whispered, still touching Merle’s face. “Among the three of you, you’ve always resembled her most. She called you her Mini Me. Mini Me Merle.”
Merle hiccuped, smiling through her tears. “I remember.” Hugging her father, she added in a thick voice, “I’ve missed you, Dad. So much.”
“Me, too, pumpkin.” He squeezed her back, his arms shaking from the effort.
After a long moment of tearful embrace, Merle withdrew, her face creased with worry. “Do you know…that Mom and Moira…”
“I know.” A pained rasp. “I remember.”
A beat of silence.
“Where is she?” Frank asked.
Merle looked toward the open door, met Arawn’s eyes for a second before glancing to the side—to Maeve’s face still peeking around the doorjamb. Maeve startled and jerked back to plaster herself against the wall again, her chest heaving.
Arawn leaned close to her, his mouth at her ear. “He is coming.”
Maeve let out a choked squeak and made as if to skip away, but Arawn caught her with a tug on their bond. Laying his hands on her shoulders, he turned her around to face him.
“You are meeting him. Now. It is time.”
He squeezed her shoulders once, kissed her hard with a hint of teeth, and retreated to a position farther down the hall, leaving her to face her father.
Arawn’s presence was a dark reassurance at her back, even though he stood far enough away to give her some privacy with her dad. Who, at this moment, stepped out of the room, grabbing the doorjamb for purchase, his legs a little shaky. His eyes landed on her—and widened.
Maeve flinched. Of course…her scar. He
r dad probably reacted not only to the fact it was glowing, but to the scar itself. In all the months since her rescue, she only made it out here to the nursing home once, and her dad didn’t have a moment of clarity that day. This was the first time he saw it.
“Merle told me…” He swallowed hard, took a deep breath. “I know he’s dead, but I sure wish he wasn’t. So I could have him tied up tight in a room, alone with me and a knife.”
She barely kept herself from crumpling. “Rhun made him suffer,” was all she could choke out.
“Not enough.” He shook his head. “It would never be enough.”
Tears spilled over as she pressed her lips together. Arawn’s power wrapped around her, a loving stroke of darkness.
“I’m so sorry, Dad.” A broken whisper, her heart splitting open.
His brows drew together. “What for? It wasn’t your fault. That rotten bastard—”
“Not that.” She fought for air. “What I did… Mom—Moira. Y-you. I’m so, so sorry.”
Unable to face him any longer, she turned away, shoulders hunched and chest too tight to breathe. A thousand things to say to him, and not enough air to speak. I wish I could make it okay. I wish I could bring them back. I love you. I understand if you’d rather not see me again.
And she wouldn’t even blame him. When every time he looked at her face, he’d be reminded of how she took everything from him. Even if he loved her still, how could he stand having her around? After what she did?
Arawn waited in the shadows like the dark specter he was, arms crossed over his massive chest, his forest-green eyes glinting.
You must think me pathetic, she whispered in his mind.
I might just spank you for that thought, was his silken reply.
Heat shot up to her face—not least because she found that suggestion inappropriately appealing.
“Maeve.”
Her father’s rough voice made her straighten her spine.
“Look at me.”
Hauling in air with a shudder, she turned, met his eyes…which shimmered with unshed tears.
“I’ve spent the last seventeen years locked in the past, mourning those I have lost.” He stepped closer, steadying himself on the wall with one hand. “I want to spend what time I have left with those who are still here.”
