Blood of Stars and Gods (Stars and Souls Book 2)

by Melissa Petreshock

  When I look in the dresser mirror, I catch her reflection over my shoulder, the sight of the tears in her eyes and drive my fist into the glass, unable to bear the combined pain we hold. “I am a dragon, Cait. What do expect of me? Without honor, I have nothing.”

  “You’d have me.”

  I shake my head, gripping the dresser top. “Telling you that I love you cannot set this right, Cait. I may love you beyond all reason, but as your dragon, I still cannot lie to you. This is not something I can fix. You have crossed a line we cannot erase.”

  Dante breaks his silence in the face of our situation, be it what he wants or not. “Caitriona, I do believe I would be quite overstepping a boundary to assume my bond with you should supersede the previous decision you made to choose Theo. Only due to the nature of dragon blood did a reasonably persistent fear give rise to the notion regarding the potential harm a proper divine marriage bond to the North Star might inflict upon your ability to complete that very transformation.” Not once does he take a breath throughout this diatribe against his own desires, rushing the words as if he may change his mind should he not speak them fast enough.

  “Yet you expect me to dishonor a truly sanctified marriage by all rights, sealed, bonded, and condoned by the Goddess?” I slam my hands on the dresser, furious, though unsure with whom or where to direct it, and I turn to face them both. “Dante, do you fear I may abandon Cait if she does not return to me? She is my ward. Even if I desired to do so, it would be nearly impossible, and I have no desire to go anywhere other than wherever she goes.”

  Dante walks to the window and stares into the night, toward the stars. “I am a god, yet I am lost. I do not understand the expectations of me. This is checkmate, a point where no decision shines light upon the path where I belong, an answer leading to the winning move, for in this, I cannot win.” Turning back to us, unshed tears glisten in his eyes. “Disavow my marriage, and I lose everything I could dream of wanting. Honor it, and I destroy my dearest friend, as dear as if you were my own brother.”

  “Do what is right, divine, and godly, just as you should. I will not toss aside three millennia spent counting you among my brothers, Dante.”

  “And what about me?” Cait looks up to both of us. “If I’m supposed to be of the divine, then aren’t I supposed to do the same?” Cait’s eyes linger on me, her breath unsteady before she meets his eyes again. “But, Dante—”

  “I do not claim to understand my own destiny any more than yours, Caitriona, the matters of why my mother chose this path for us—the three of us—but know my love shall endure throughout time, unwavering, unfailing. The stars of the universe bear incomparable quantity to the feelings I hold for you within my heart.”

  And again, I am reminded my friend is not a warrior, not a fighter. Dante is a lover of books and knowledge, well-versed in the art of language and romanticism, despite never once falling in love before meeting Cait. All my attempts to romance her, to bring back her memories, remind her why she loved me could not touch his natural elegance in expressing whatever he feels.

  Cait clenches her eyes closed, a lone tear escaping to stream down her cheek, and Dante is at her side in a heartbeat, capturing it on his thumb with a saddened sigh. “Please know I never requested of my mother I be favored in this, Caitriona. In no way did I wish to see you swayed by outside influences, choosing me under duress or the falsehood of blood-induced memories. I have only ever desired your love given of your own volition.”

  Struggling to meet his eyes, she forces a smile on her face, voice breaking as she speaks. “I know, and you have it, Dante. You always did.” Cait glances to me, lingering for one long moment. “Hearts are funny wayward things. I fought against it and refused to let it happen because of what I felt for Theo already, but it was there.” She swallows hard, watching his unsteady breaths, fearful of the words she will say, a truth I have feared as well. “It just wasn’t the same.”

  A certain relief unclenches my heart to know she has not secretly held a greater love for my friend than she admitted, but it changes nothing now.

  The fear she regrets this decision written in my dear friend’s every feature, and I do not envy his position, though my own feels ill-suited and unsettling. “I will release you from our union should you so desire because I know why you made this decision, Caitriona. However, I will not release myself.” His eyes never leave hers, and Cait takes in a breath, holding still as stone. “From the moment I laid eyes on you, I felt quite taken by you. It mattered none to me if you were a goddess, fully human, or anything in between. I’ve never fallen in love before, never entertained the notion of marriage, yet even were you human, I would have married you, loved you each second of your short life, held you in my arms as you took your last breath, and mourned your loss every moment for the remainder of my existence.”

  Falling silent, he brushes the back of his fingers along her cheek, and as deeply as I love Cait, it is impossible not to recognize the beauty in Dante’s heart, in what he feels for her, the depth of his own love for her. “I will not force you into a marriage you do not wholly desire, Caitriona, but I cannot in good conscious disavow a bond of the purest love and intent on my part. If you do not wish to live out eternity married to me, I do not expect you to live a lie and can find it in my heart to understand. My own personal choice is as enduring as I am.” Removing the silver triquerta ring from his right hand, Dante slips it onto his left ring finger. “From this day forward, heart and soul, I remain everlasting and true to you, Caitriona, forswearing all others.”

  The tears stream down her face without reservation, taking a deep breath and blinking rapidly, I hold back the risk of any of mine, not wanting to make this more difficult on her. “You aren’t forcing me to do anything. … And stop making it sound like marrying you is some eternal torture. Considering you’re a demigod, you underrate yourself something awful, Dante,” teases Cait as lightheartedly as possible, earning a small smile from him. “I know what decision I made—”

  “It was not a decision made under less than the best of circumstances.” Dante avoids her response, though I daresay it is equally out of respect for me standing here as it is out of fear.

  “How am I supposed to believe it’s okay to just walk away from this?” Cait’s voice rises louder as the tension coils within her. “How am I supposed to lead the dragons anywhere if I can’t even do the right thing?”

  And I cannot resist the need to go to her, touching her shoulder, soothing her in some small way. “Cait, I may be just a dragon, not a deity, and do not understand the reasons the Goddess does the things she does, but I do know you are young and cannot be expected to have all the answers. None of us do.”

  She scowls at me, tears staining her face, but she leans into my touch, though I believe she does it unconsciously, and I want to kiss away her pain, honor overriding love to stop such actions. Dante turns his head away from the way she reacts to my nearness.

  “If none of us have all the answers, then where does that leave us?” Mere days ago, I asked her such a similar question, believing our circumstances were so complicated.

  If only matters were so simple now.

  “Ero will arrive soon. He is the only one whose say bears weight in such matters. Dante has stated his position. As a dragon, I will not ask you to disavow a sanctified marriage, but know my feelings for you have not changed, Cait. You must make your own decision, and I advise you seek Ero’s greater wisdom for the answers we do not hold.”

  *Cait*

  There’s a knock at the door, and I blink back tears and the many things I want to say, the new questions I now have. The three of us share a frustrated sigh before Theo opens the door for the intruders on our conversation, inviting them in as if nothing’s happened.

  “Dearest,” the first man exclaims, gathering me into a bewildered hug, Cedric and Theo standing behind him as if this isn’t unusual in the least. Evan, at least has the decency to look somewhat apologetic. “Oh, Caitriona,
” he declares at last, taking me by the shoulders and holding me at arm’s length as he inspects me from head to toe.

  A bit amused by this stranger’s antics, I take the opportunity to assess him as well. He’s not quite clean-shaven, what Uncle Thomas used to call five o’clock shadow on his masculine yet fine features. White linen tunic and pants, well-worn leather sandals and the black rune tattoo at his neck are reminiscent of the Fae Oracle I once met at a cultural integration summit held on campus, but he wears more beaded bracelets and necklaces in both wooden and marbled designs than any of the Oracles, seers, prophets, or religious leaders I saw there.

  From the markings on them, I’d venture a guess they mean more too.

  I’m not sure he looks any older than Dante, but it’s been years since I bothered grasping at those imaginary numbers. In this world where physical appearance means nothing in terms of age, he could pass for Dante’s father, if I didn’t know for a fact Dante’s paternal half is definitely human and long dead.

  A couple inches taller, similar build, the dark hair, and blue eyes, even the way he says my name, everything about this man screams of some familial relation to the only deity I personally know.

  Oh, holy hopping hell-bunnies.

  A warm smile spreads across his face. “Dearest Caitriona, I am Ero and so very pleased to finally meet you in person.”

  “Should I be pleased to meet you, Ero?” The collective gasp in the room is the single sound breaking the silence. Ero smiles politely and gives no response. “I don’t say this to be rude, but Dante has a strained relationship with his mother. We all know that. And now some god comes waltzing in here looking too closely related for me to ignore it. So, tell me, Ero. Should I be pleased to meet you, or concerned about Dante? Why are you here?”

  Possibly not my best introduction to the sole source of advice Theo recommends.

  His fingers slip from my shoulders to my hands, grasping them in a firm yet gentle manner, and from the corner of my eye, Dante’s encouraging nod relaxes my urge to knee this deity in the groin.

  “I find no offense in your concern, Caitriona. You should know I come on behalf of Dante’s mother Dana and because this is my time to descend from the High Realm.” His expression falls solemn, his thumbs stroking the backs of my hands. “I hold many responsibilities, many titles; Patron God of the Fae, God of Fertility, God of Compassion, and God of Reincarnation among them. I oversee the safety of the dragons’ souls from the Earthen Realm through the veil of death and into the fires of Avalon where they regain their strength and return.”

  Before I can ask, he leans forward and softly kisses my cheek, whispering, “Yes. Oliver is there now. Do not worry. You will see him again … soon.”

  I cough away any temptation of tears as he stands straight again. “Then why are you here? Sounds like your job’s all done.”

  “God of Compassion, remember?” he false-whispers. “I do not serve as merely the overseer of their reincarnation but as a moral support for their brothers, I suppose you could say. And the impact in this situation is quite unparalleled—the First Brother of the First House, with so many dragons in your service to feel the weight of his loss. As I understand it, you have quite a significant personal attachment to Oliver yourself. I thought we could talk, dearest.”

  His soft voice, the gentle touch of his hand, it makes my head spin, the words drowned out by memories of sitting in bereavement counseling at Hayden Holdings, reliving the loss of Uncle Thomas in weekly sessions they swore would lessen the pain.

  It didn’t. Nothing did.

  Until Oliver filled a fraction of those empty shoes left behind in my life and the gaping chasm hollowed out in my chest.

  “No. I just … no.”

  And I run, escape, flee from the room, not looking back, refusing to listen as Theo and Dante call after me. I don’t want any of them.

  I want Oliver back.

  *Claaron*

  She runs to me, tears and anger, heaving and breaking, grabbing my arm, clenched teeth, jaw tight, the curses caught in her throat shining in her eyes. “We’re going for a walk.”

  Never have I been less inclined toward a witty remark in all my existence.

  I pull her against me, heading at a brisk pace for the door, and this once as never before, Cait feels as tiny huddled under my arm as she truly is. If she wouldn’t likely clobber me, I’d sweep her into my arms and carry her away, protect her from heartache, but death is inescapable.

  So is love.

  And they both leave scars. They break us. They give us strength.

  “We’re walking. Are we going to talk as well?”

  She doesn’t reply.

  Trees sway along the forest’s edge, wind whistling through their leaf-bare branches, sending shivers right up Cait. I slip out from my favorite tweed coat, demanding her arms into it with a single smirk and tuck her back against my side, safe, warm, and where she belongs—with one of us, with her family.

  “Must I guess what this is about?” I pause, hoping that isn’t the case, fearing it may be; finding silence proves fear victorious over hope for now. “If I have to guess, and you seem quite intent on making it so, I’d blame Theo for being a stupid dragon, because, in my limited experience with you, that is generally the cause of your anger.”

  “It’s not Theo. … Not just Theo,” Tears no longer flowing, she peeks up at me. “What do you know about Ero?”

  Sighing, I shake my head. “Only you could pick an argument with the God of Compassion, Cait.”

  That earns a ‘go to hell’ grin, and she lifts one hand covered by the sleeve of my ill-fitting coat, aiming to dry her tear-stained face, but I brush a hand across each of her cheeks first and sweep the hair from Cait’s face. “Have you any idea how expensive a designer coat such as this costs? And it’s dry clean only.”

  I smirk.

  She laughs.

  Claaron Graywyne, gentleman to damsels in distress since well before calendars were invented.

  But I’m Cait’s Snowflake. I’m her Snarky Dragon. I’m not her gentleman, and she’s never been a damsel in distress, not mine or anyone else’s.

  “Being broken does not equate to being weak.” I whisper the words into her hair, kissing the top of her head, reassuring Cait what took so long to convince myself.

  “What?”

  I smile and don’t repeat it. “Why did you run to me? Why not Jai or Liam? You could have gone to Clifford. Why aren’t you in Theo’s arms? He seemed perfectly capable of catching you right after … when everything went wrong.”

  “Jai? Liam? Clifford? Really, Claaron? As much as I love Jai, I’m in no mood for cryptic right now. Liam would gladly storm in and break someone’s neck for upsetting me, but just crying on his shoulder or a teary-eyed conversation? I think he’d find a sudden security breach calling his name, or I’d find out if dragons can break out into a nervous, cold sweat.”

  She buries her face in my shirt, laughing softly, taking a deep breath, shoulders relaxing in my hold. “And Clifford,” Cait sighs. “I wish my problems were computer code, easily debugged and set right.”

  “Don’t we all. However, that doesn’t explain why you’re in my coat and under my arm rather than in Theo’s.” I’m not giving up on her. She came to me. She turned to me. She will get what she came for.

  Cait stops, and I face her, waiting.

  “I made my decision.” She meets my eyes with a strength only Cait ever has as a human and a pain I’ve known too well. “I thought I could fix everything, and I chose Dante to do it. I wanted to protect all of you, and instead …” Her voice gives way to tears escaping, and my thumbs capture them before they fall away. “Instead, it’s all a mess. I remember everything. Dante says he’ll release me from the bond. Of course, Theo refuses to step off his honor pedestal. And I …With Oliver … I don’t know, Claaron. I saw Theo hurting just as bad as I am and couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t let it happen again, not him, not to me, not to any of you.”
>
  “He hurt because he just lost his brother,” I tell her. “Being broken does not equate to being weak. That’s what I said before. … We are all broken in some way, broken hearts, broken souls, broken spirits. Theo’s as broken as the rest of us, though he may not see himself that way.” I cock my head, offering a much-needed smirk then let it fade away. “You feel the broken shards of it all deep in your heart.” Kissing her forehead, I exhale warmth over her freezing skin. “And I wear my brokenness like a badge of honor,” I say, running a finger across the jagged scar under my eye.

  “Your mark of death,” Cait breathes in a mournful question.

  “I do not believe death is escapable, Cait, but neither is love. Both leave scars on us, break us in pieces and build greater strength within us.” Tugging at the lapels of my coat, I pull it tighter around her. “I’ve bound myself by honor and loyalty to you, Cait, and you know that means I love you, but I had a female ward before, long ago. I loved her as well, even married her as a means to protect her.”

  She asks the question I expected, the one I waited for because she should know. “What happened to her?”

  “As I said, death is inescapable. We may be eternal, or in your case, become so,” I say, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “But those around us are not. She was my female ward, and; therefore, I loved her, yet I was not in love with her, not as Theo is in love with you. I did not truly understand what it meant to be in love with someone until I met you, until I saw Theo with you, or even Dante for that matter, though after some two hundred years, I loved Rainelm beyond reason, loved her to the brink of madness.”

  “But she couldn’t escape death,” Cait finishes when I stop.

  She returns the favor and wipes the tears from my eyes this time.

  “No. She could not live forever. And I did not want to without her. … Dragons will not say aloud how I died; never tell the story of my death, because it is not one of a warrior in battle or the valiant hero. It is not a story they understand.”