The man who shared the golden side of his son’s eyes, along with his sheer masculine presence, shifted his gaze to Jenna. “A foolish move so you can be with her, just as I suspected.”
Her eyes widened. Had she been a topic of discussion? Was Anduron’s refusal to have sex with someone else motivated by more than a desire to fight injustice?
“As Herne says, a foolish move,” said the older man. “All for a rebellious human who has thrown our realm into chaos.”
“Indeed, Rathmar,” Herne said, keeping his gaze on Anduron. “Congratulations on a rash decision that has tossed away two thousand years of sacred tradition.”
“There is more to it than that, and you know it,” Anduron said.
The group moved toward them through the massive room, and Anduron retreated, pushing Jenna behind him. “Stay away from her.”
“She must receive the mind wipe,” the older man said.
Jenna sucked in a breath. “Mind wipe? You never said anything about a mind wipe.”
“Because I had not intended on subjecting you to it.”
“But now it is necessary,” Herne said. “The decision of the counsel was unanimous on that.”
The two bald women floated forward, their eyes glowing brighter than any in the room, which was saying something. Theirs were blue and ice cold, with equally blue lips that murmured indecipherable words as they came closer, their gazes fastened on her.
“You cannot,” Anduron said. “Leave her be.”
“Why?” Herne asked, drawing himself up. “Her memories are the last in need of adjusting to erase your ridiculous farce.”
“Anduron,” Jenna whispered, clutching his arm as the women approached, smiles curving up their darkened lips. “Don’t let them.”
He tucked her more fully behind him. “You know why, Father.”
“You care for her,” Herne said, a mocking tone in the words.
“No.” Anduron turned to her, again lengthening the cord of the veil pendant. “I’ve fallen in love with her.”
Her stomach almost dropped at the declaration. “I love you too. I think that officially makes us both crazy.”
He held out the cord. “I am not sure it has been quite long enough to risk this.”
“I don’t care. Do it.”
Still, even as he tried to wrap the pendant around them, she could see that it was too late. The mage-seers took hold of Jenna, their icy hands clamping on her arms and tugging her from Anduron’s embrace.
“Jenna!” he cried out. He lunged for her, but Herne’s staff came up, and a blast of energy came out, like a white, glowing stream, and held him in place.
“I won’t forget,” Jenna said, tears blurring her eyes as she gazed at Anduron. “I don’t care what they try to wipe away.” Her desperate glance fell on Herne. “Please, don’t make them do this. I won’t ever tell anyone about your kind.”
The seers paused, looking to the god.
“You have dragged my son too far into the mire of your human madness,” Herne said. He nodded to the seers. “Proceed.”
“No!” Anduron exclaimed.
The anguished cry was drowned out by a sound like thunder. The room shook, and the mage-seers let go of Jenna, rising off the floor to steady themselves. Jenna was thrown off balance by the quake, and Anduron caught her.
A massive figure emerged from a cloud that formed in the center of the room, a man large enough to dwarf even Herne. Despite the elevated ceiling, his head nearly reached it, staring down at them all with a dour expression.
“By the gods,” Rathmar said, falling to his knees. “It cannot be.”
“Mabon,” Herne said, his eyes wide, startled. He, too, sank down, gazing up at the being everyone in the room was gawking at with open mouths.
Anduron released Jenna, who stood gaping in shock with her hair on end, and bowed as well. He got on his knees and pressed his forehead to the floor. “All hail the true god of thanksgiving,” he said.
The mage-seers were clutching one another, shivering together in a back corner. Jenna sank down to her knees next to Anduron and reached for his hand. His was damp and shaking when he grabbed hers.
Mabon’s eyes glowed much like the others, only brighter and in a dark orange. Horns grew from the sides of his head, not outstretched into antlers like Herne’s, but curved downward into points that jutted out below his thick, square jawline. His chest was bare except for a diagonal sash of vines. They were adorned with multicolored fall leaves and appeared to grow directly from his flesh. His legs beneath a long kilt were muscular and sturdy, as solid and wide as young tree trunks.
“We thought you were long gone,” Rathmar said. “How is it you have returned?”
“I called out to him,” said another voice. This man wandered into the room rather than popping in out of thin air, and then he got down on one knee and bowed. “My mate and I beseeched him to hear of my brother’s plight.”
He glanced at Anduron, and Jenna blinked. So this was his twin, Feillor. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said they didn’t look much alike. Feillor lacked his twin’s pointed ears, for one thing. Both his eyes were golden, and the angles of his face were less exotic. And he had antlers apparently inherited from their father. They seemed to have little in common physically, but their gazes met with a steely determination that showed their bond. They were of one mind here.
“You should not have involved the gods of old,” Herne said, though he kept his head down. “This is none of their affair.”
“His was not the only voice from this realm who has cried out my name,” Mabon said. His voice rumbled through the room. “For many here have shouted beyond the heavens, claiming the sabbat of Mabon has been thrown into ruin.”
“We have interceded to correct that, oh Great One,” Rathmar said. “You need not concern yourself.”
“My son has been removed as sabbat keeper to ensure he is no longer in a position to flout tradition,” Herne said. “It was foolish of him to intervene in the destructive tendencies of a lesser species.”
“I long believed the same,” Mabon said. “Both in regards to humans and the immortals of the lower realms. That is why many gods of old removed themselves to the outer reaches.”
“We have long served the greater gods,” Rathmar said.
“You serve your petty interests with far more vigor,” Mabon replied. “Enough to drive us far from your grating voices.” He paused, glancing at Anduron. “But this one has reminded me of my former calling. As one who was taken from his mother and held captive, Anduron has shared many of my own experiences. His cause is just and most befitting of a sacred holiday bearing my name.” He paused and looked at everyone in turn. “From here and henceforth, the sabbat of Mabon will not only be a celebration of a single gesture of freedom. It will be a time to rejoice in the many prisoners set free in the course of the year, and a time to reflect on those who still suffer in chains.”
“As you wish,” Rathmar said. “I will see to it that your will is done.”
Mabon’s laugh shook the walls. “I will see to it myself. For far too long have we left the realms to their own devices. That has proven to be a mistake.”
“What are you saying?” Herne asked.
“I am not the only one who has been prevailed upon,” Mabon replied. “I have called out for other gods of old to return.”
“To what purpose?” Herne asked. “Humans are hell bent on destruction. Are we to get in their way and be dragged down with them?”
“A toddler is not left alone to run in front of a stampede,” Mabon answered. “Children unable to avoid harm on their own must be nurtured until they can.” He turned to Anduron. “Complete your ritual, god of Mabon. After that, I shall once again be called the sabbat keeper, as it was in the beginning. But I will require you to continue your efforts in freeing the unjustly captured—on a larger scale.”
Anduron bowed his head. “It would be my greatest honor.”
Jenna squeezed his ha
nd.
“Then ring the bells of Avinar,” Mabon said. “Let it be known throughout the realms that the gods of old return. It is the year of the Thousand Seasons, is it not?”
“It is,” Herne said.
“A time for new beginnings,” Mabon said, spreading his massive, muscled arms. “A new era has begun, where the gods will once again be known on earth and in the lower realms. Let all rejoice.”
The large god vanished with a rumble, and those remaining in Anduron’s bedroom suite glanced at each other. Herne’s features were carved by a deep scowl. It seemed to Jenna that he was far less than happy about this turn of events. And what would Mabon’s decree mean for humans?
Anduron turned to her, his fingers taking hold of her face. “You are the sabbat partner,” he said. “Do you still consent to the union?”
She nodded. “I do.” She leaned closer to whisper, hoping the other gods didn’t have superior enough hearing to eavesdrop. “But could you take me back now? Gran...”
He nodded. “Of course.”
Anduron turned to his twin. “Thank you,” he said. “Your loyalty as a brother is unmatched. It has always been a difficult challenge to repay you.”
Feillor glanced at Jenna and smiled. “Be happy. That is all the repayment I require.”
No one else spoke while Anduron looped the pendant over her neck and phased back to her guest house.
***
While some of this year’s preparations for the Mabon ritual had gone well astray, the location chosen and carefully arranged for the carnal union couldn’t have been more perfect. The other sabbat joinings, Feillor’s harvest ritual included, took place in the earth realm. Anduron’s was the only one to take place in the immortal world. Farmers had worked the fields from early light to mid-afternoon, gathering the last of the fall harvest. All that remained were two massive pumpkins, the best and largest of the crop, and thick beds of vines that had been sanctified by acolytes. In the midst of the large expanse, an altar had been prepared upon which he would lay Jenna’s ripe, willing body. His cock was already hard, pulsing in anticipation. A brown and green sabbat cloth of smooth velvet had been draped over the vines between the two pumpkins, the fabric secured by long, crystal pegs. A large pentacle had been embroidered in gold on the cloth, shimmering in the waning sunlight. Silver manacles lay on each side, attached to chains that circled around the wide rounds of pumpkin flesh.
His sabbat robes flapped in the breeze as he approached the altar. The god of Mabon, his title for this one last occasion, wore only a golden suede loin cloth beneath the open garment, which was fashioned of exquisite silk from an upper realm and trimmed with deep reds and a dusky orange that reminded him of Mabon’s eyes.
With all that had transpired, he had been reluctant to call upon his twin—as well as the sabbat’s namesake—yet again. But it had been necessary in order to help escort Jenna safely through the veil. She had suffered a moderate electrolyte imbalance upon her last return, one that magic and medicine had fortunately been able to correct. Another transport so soon after, however, would require greater shielding than his body could offer. While Mabon could technically not touch a human without his power causing harm, Feillor agreed to act as a buffer, holding onto Jenna and sandwiching himself between her and the god who used his ability to move them into the immortal realm. Anduron had not been able to accompany her, for his presence had been required in the sabbat chamber for prayer, meditation, and the declaration of the ritual.
Upon his return to the Counsel of Sabbats to commence the sabbat, he had fully expected an uproar, possibly another summons. But the mood was quite subdued. He had never seen Counselor Rathmar with so little to say while he stood in the Mabon chamber, observing Anduron’s sabbat invocation. Herne hadn’t attended at all. Long had it been since his father settled into the role of being looked up to and respected by the other gods. Now, with the old ones returning, he would no doubt struggle to find his proper place as a lesser god.
Anduron was still pondering Rathmar’s stoic posture when Mabon materialized. Before him, his back pressed to the god’s belly, stood Feillor, his arms wrapped protectively around Jenna. No jealousy flashed at the sight of his brother holding her so close, for he knew his twin was fully and deeply bewitched by the woman who now carried his child. Mabon gave Anduron a nod of acknowledgment and disappeared without a word. Feillor released Jenna, who looked up at Anduron and flashed a smile that squeezed his chest tight.
“Thank you,” Anduron said to his brother. “Again I find myself in your debt.”
“Yes, thank you so much for everything,” Jenna added.
Feillor nodded and wandered up to his brother, correctly stopping at the edge of the altar cloth rather than treading on it.
Anduron shook his hand, and Feillor pulled him into a hug, lowering his voice. “You know that by the time you have finished this, you will be a goner for her, right?” he said near Anduron’s ear.
Anduron grunted, flashing him a knowing look. “I fear that portal has already been crossed.”
His brother turned and raised a hand to her while she stood where she had been, watching them. “Farewell, Jenna. Remember not to let my brother drag you back and forth across realms quite so often next time.”
She grinned. “I will.”
With a slap on Anduron’s back, Feillor turned and headed away. Now she and Anduron were facing each other, silent, and he took a good look at her. She had dressed for the occasion after having asked him earlier for suggestions, and he was pleased with the result. Her makeup was light and emphasized her bright, inquisitive eyes and flushed cheeks. Her hair hung free, blowing in the faint breeze surrounding them. No shapeless night shirt or tunic with puppies on it hid her body this time. Her yellow dress slid easily over every curve, flowing to the ground, showing bare feet with nails painted pink to match her fingers and lips. The gauzy fabric outlined her perfection as the sun shone through it, and he could see she wore no bra or panties. The bodice was sleeveless, with a deeply scooped neckline and large buttons that would make quick work of exposing her firm, creamy mounds.
“You are so incredibly beautiful,” he said.
“So are you,” she replied, her gaze sliding over him suggestively.
He held out his hand and she came to him, letting him lead her to the middle of the altar cloth. “I’m nervous,” she said breathlessly when she stood right in the center of the embroidered pentacle. “I know I shouldn’t be.”
“I am as well.”
Her brows lifted. “Really? But haven’t you done this loads of times?”
“Not with you.”
He captured her lips lightly with his, her moist, tender mouth lighting a fire inside him. His cock jumped back to life, straining and pressing against the loin cloth he desperately wanted to be free of. But first things first.
“You have consented to a union with the god of Mabon,” he said. “Is that still your desire?”
Her eyes flashed. “Very much so.”
She let Anduron tug her down, laying her on her back. When he picked up the first manacle, however, her eyes went wide.
“What is that for?” she asked.
“Do not be afraid.” He smoothed a finger along the metal cuff. “The carnal ritual involves symbolism for freeing one who is captive. You will be bound for the first part.” He bent over her, holding her gaze while he breathed against her lips. “Then I will release you,” he whispered, and she shuddered.
The meaning darkened her eyes to a rich smolder, and she nodded.
“Ta-haiyahana ro goyo,” he said, clamping the first manacle around one of her wrists. “Yo shai a Mabon fadesta hana ro goyo.”
He secured the other while he finished the traditional declaration.
“What are you saying?” she asked.
“This one is in chains. The god of Mabon sees the chains.”
She tugged on them experimentally, but with large pumpkins holding the bonds in place, she could not l
ift them very far.
“But I want to be able to touch you,” she said while he rose up, gazing down at her while he knelt between her thighs.
He smiled at her. “You will.”
Anduron feathered her face with kisses, light, teasing nips along her nose, down her jawline, and down her neck. She gasped, the chains rattling, while he worked his way down to the tops of her breasts, so exquisite, heaving while he laid down a trail with his lips that tormented them both. His cock pounded, the blood in his veins on fire, as he worked the buttons to lay open the bodice and show him her perfect breasts. Her knees drew up, parting her open wider for him while he gazed at the wonder beneath him. Her nipples were stiff and waiting, and he flicked them with his tongue. She arched and cried out, and with a growl, he bit down on one of those hard buds. His hand went between them, freeing himself by yanking off the loin cloth with one firm tug. His erection jumped out, pulsing, eager for an end to the celibacy he had nearly given up the last time he’d pleasured her.
His mouth worked its way down, and he gripped her breasts in his palms while he licked her flat belly, dipping his tongue into her navel before heading lower.
“No, please,” she said, breathless and so sensual. “This time, I want to taste you.”
He groaned at the hard jerk his dick gave at her offer, and he rose up to straddle her chest, holding his cock over her lips. She flicked out her tongue, running it along the underside and over the tip, and he sucked in a breath. She kissed the tip before plunging those plump lips right over it, and she lifted her head to get more of him into her mouth. He bent over her face and granted her access, pushing his hips down, indulging the feel of her hot, wet tongue while she slurped and sucked him in a manner he had never known. No one had ever offered him this during a ritual, and while he was hardly about to deny her, he was so desperate and had waited so long that he dared not thrust his shaft through those luscious lips much longer. When he felt the first beads of precum spill from his cockhead, he pulled out and replaced his pulsing erection with his mouth, tasting himself while he kissed her deep. He felt her hips grinding behind him, seeking something to stimulate her.
Anduron: God of Mabon (Sons of Herne, #7) Page 10
