Disentangling herself from him, she took about five paces back so she could take in the huge table before her.
This was no pansy-ass surface with a few brass knuckles here and a gun or pistol there.
No siree, there was hardcore shit. Nothing more, nothing less.
Anything from maces and wind and fire wheels to scimitars and axes. And they weren’t just fine examples of ancient weapons, this went so beyond deeper than that. These were beautiful.
Even though she couldn’t look upon them for more than ten seconds, her perception was that these were precious. Anointed with jewels and crafted from costly metals, forged by the best blacksmiths in the land.
She skimmed across the table that ran as long as a tennis court was wide. There were hundreds of the monsters served on the shining silver platters, but as she scanned her gaze over them all, only one snagged her attention.
And that was pushing it.
She couldn’t say it called to her, but she could look at the damn thing without her eyes watering.
Pointing to the sword, she murmured, “I can look at that for more than fifteen seconds.”
“They are glamored, sweetling. They want the strongest to behold them and carry them. Only the strongest and fiercest are the most deserving. That one has chosen you is a great honor. For the Fae, never mind a human.”
Had one of the weapons really picked her? Or was she making a lot of the fact she could look at one without thinking she was going blind?
“Are you sure it picked me?” she asked doubtfully, stepping closer to the table to look at the sword that had done the selecting.
As she approached, it became easier to behold. Her eyes stopped watering, and the sting that caused it began to dissipate.
“Yes. If you aren’t worthy, you wouldn’t even see the weapons, Thalia.”
She spun around to gape at him. “What the hell are you talking about?” she spat. “The weapons are here on the table.”
“Yes, and to those they don’t deem strong enough, they hide. They’re glamored. I told you.”
She shook her head. “That makes no sense.”
“We’re in Heden,” he told her ruefully. “Very little has to make sense.” He rubbed his chin when she just gaped at him. “In the Royal Family, when we reach a certain age, we are allowed to select a weapon. If the weapon deems us worthy,” he clarified. “Two of my brothers and at least three of my sisters were rejected.”
Her mouth fell open. “You mean to tell me that these weapons thought Royal princes and princesses weren’t worthy, but they think I am?”
“Being Fae, and being Royal, doesn’t mean our shit doesn’t stink and is the color of gold,” he retorted. “If anything, we need to be stronger, faster, better than any other. Claude and Lizbeth are two of the most lily-livered pussies to shame the Court with their presence. Marie, Jensen, and Sama aren’t much better.”
“Lily-livered?” She laughed. “How old are you again?”
He popped her nose with his finger. “Old enough to know better.”
Her eyes twinkled. “You should by now. Be grateful Mikkel didn’t hear.”
“Didn’t hear what?” Mikkel asked, his tone distant.
She peered around her overly large Fae mate whose wings were still out—and were very distracting as a result. “Theo calling his siblings lily-livered.”
On cue, Mikkel snorted. “What is this? The 20s?”
Theo rolled his eyes. “Har-de-har-har.”
She snickered, then, frowning, turned back to Mikkel whose mockery had been distracted. “What’s wrong?”
He shook his head. “I can see the weapons, Theo. Should I be able to?”
Theo shrugged. “If they deem you worthy, I don’t see why not.”
“I’m only human.”
“You’re not ‘only’ anything,” Rafe said drily. “We’re all unique, but Thalia’s links with us have made us more so.”
Mikkel rolled his eyes this time. “Yeah, yeah, Rafe. My feelings are pampered now.”
Rafe just shook his head. “Jerk.”
“Try my best, bud,” Mikkel retorted, but his focus was still on the table. “I mean, I can see them. Can’t you?”
“No. The space is just blank for me,” Rafe admitted.
“You can though, can’t you, Theo?”
“Yes. But that makes sense.”
“Why does it?”
“We’re warriors. That is not Rafe’s role.”
When her other mate winced, Thalia murmured, “There is no shame in that, Rafe.”
“I don’t think there is, but it’s just not nice to hear it out loud.” Rafe shrugged. “Ego. Pride. Call it what you will.”
“I’d prefer you to be a healer rather than a soldier. Where would we be without you? Every army has a medic, don’t they, Mikkel?”
Mikkel, still focused on the tableau before him—honestly, he looked like he was about to have an orgasm at the sight of the table of death-bringing arms—mumbled, “Hell yeah. I have two medics on my team.”
“Yes, but they’re also highly trained.”
“As you will be,” Theo said quietly. “You’ll learn to defend yourself, but you won’t be armed with a weapon. That isn’t your role. We each play our part, and that is Goddess granted. Do not be ashamed of where she thinks we should be in this life.”
“I am not ashamed. Not really. I just…” Rafe blew out a breath. “Never mind.”
Thalia eyed him, and knew he was uncomfortable at her having brought this to everyone’s attention more than anything else.
Kicking herself because making him ill at ease around her other mates was the last thing she wanted, she cleared her throat and changed the subject. “Do they hurt your eyes to look at, Mikkel?”
“Yeah.”
“Is there one that calls to you?”
“There is, but it doesn’t make any sense.”
“Why doesn’t it?” Theo asked gently.
“Because I’ve never fired a bow in my life.”
Thalia snorted. “And you think I regularly carried a sword back home?”
Rafe’s head tilted to the side. “Your weapon is a sword?”
Theo jerked his chin toward the table. “Pick it up, Thalia. Let us know how it feels.”
Carefully leaning over the ancient battle devices, she reached for the sword. “Wow,” she whispered as her arm felt the weight to the weapon.
Theo hummed. “It is a sword, but it’s known as a gladius. It’s one of the first Fae weapons. They were popular with humans back in Ancient Rome.”
Nodding her understanding, she blew out a breath as her fingers went to the grip. A tingle shot down her forearm as her skin connected with the weapon, and she shuddered as that tingle became a wave, which morphed into a tsunami that sank through her whole body.
She sucked down a sharp gasp as her hand immediately grew warm where it connected with the hilt.
“What is it?” Rafe demanded, striding toward her but Theo grabbed him and dragged him away.
“No! It’s important you let her connect with the gladius.”
“It’s hurting her!” Mikkel snapped but he didn’t move forward.
Thalia closed her eyes then as the wave reappeared, slaloming into her limbs and through her body, she shuddered. It wasn’t unpleasant, just invasive. Like a non-pleasurable orgasm.
“What’s it looking for?” she bit off, eyes still closed as the sword intruded and invaded her body.
“It’s deeming if you’re worthy.”
“It feels like how I’d imagine a CT scan feels.” She shivered again, then let out a cry when a buzzing appeared in her ears. The sound had her clapping her free hand over one of them, but the noise was internal not external. She shuddered and released another cry as the buzzing connected with the soft tissue of her brain. The electrical impulses staggered her, made her drop to her knees. The blade connected with the marble floor beneath them, but even though she’d have loved to relinquish he
r grip on it, she couldn’t. The gladius wouldn’t let her. It was like she’d had the damn hilt superglued to her fingers.
Slumping over, she felt the buzzing wave overtake her eyes. She pried them open, needing to know what was happening, and then released a terrified wail as she saw nothing but blackness where she should have seen her mates.
“I can’t see!” she bit off. “What the fuck?”
She sensed the terror that ran around the room, and Theo’s voice was breathless as he whispered, “Be calm, Thalia. The sword knows what it’s doing.”
“It does? Well, that’s a fucking relief,” she snarled, blinking blindly as she turned her head this way and that. “Oh Gods, what if it doesn’t let me see again?” What the fuck kind of sword was this?
Her breaths began to release in pants, and she tried to calm herself down, well aware that to panic would only make things a thousand times worse. But it was easier said than done. She still couldn’t see, and that vibrating wave was still moving through her skull, touching parts it had no business to touch.
Then, she felt it.
The vibration decreased in power as it ran over a certain part of her soft matter.
She released a hard gasp and bit off, “My She-Wolf!”
“What?”
“The fuck?”
“Thalia, are you okay?”
Her mates spoke in tandem and she realized that, for those moments and without knowing it, she’d been deaf.
She ignored them, focused on her She-Wolf for those precious moments as she saw, in her mind’s eye, the creature curled up in a ball, tucked tightly as though she was injured and wanting to shield herself from everything—including another’s attention.
Though she’d often sensed the creature, had seen her pacing back and forth in her mind’s eye—the sensation had been ghostly. More spiritual than tangible. This wasn’t. She was there. The creature was in front of her. Thalia could reach out and stroke her, could run her fingers through the bitch’s fur.
A whimper escaped her when she tried to reach out and failed to stroke the She-Wolf. At her attempt, the She-Wolf’s head popped up and she snarled at her.
Flailing, Thalia fell back—even though that wasn’t physically possible when she was inside her own damn head—and gaped at the beast.
Her snout rippled with agitation, hatred that was aimed at… her?
Blankly, Thalia gaped at the creature. The need to comfort her was imperative, but if the creature wouldn’t let her, what the fuck was she supposed to do?
Glancing over her, trying to ascertain if the She-Wolf was physically well, she saw no reason for the animal to be curled up the way she was unless…
Was she sulking?
As the thought crossed her mind, Thalia felt herself being hauled back from wherever her She-Wolf was holed up. As she resurfaced, feeling like she’d been deep underwater for the past five minutes, she sucked down a sharp breath. When her lungs flooded with life-giving air, she coughed and sputtered like she truly had been drowning.
“Thalia!” Rafe cried, and his frantic tones had her wincing.
“I’m okay, baby,” she whispered, and she was. Her bitch lived—disjointed or not, she was still deep in her psyche, not totally disiungere as Theo had feared. But more than that, she could see, and she realized that she was flat on the cold marble floor, staring up at the ceiling and her mates who were standing over her.
As she peered into their beautiful faces, she wasn’t sure what terrified her more.
That she’d never be able to see again or that she’d never be able to see them again.
Her throat closed at that thought, and she quickly scanned her gaze over them.
Theo was so golden, Mikkel like silver. They were contrasting but so pure with it. Mikkel’s nose had been broken at some point, and she longed to touch the bump. It killed her that the lack of a complete mate bond might be twisting him up on the inside, and she knew she’d do whatever she had to to make sure he was well. His brow was creased; her irreverent and caustic mate was worried. For her.
It never failed to stun her that such a jerk could have such deep feelings for her, because she was under no illusions. He was a jerk, but he was her asshole.
Rafe was so dark, like rich velvet, his coloring invited her to touch him. To stroke the silk of his hair, the olive-tinged bronze of his skin. Everything about him invited her caress, and his hands were outstretched for her. His need to connect with her evident and imperative.
Theo, on the other hand, was as angel-like as she could imagine. In his agitation, his wings had spread and the feathers were ruffling with his nerves. It astounded her that she could make a creature as magnificent as this one nervous.
But that was how much she meant to him.
Swallowing, she looked into the deep glassy green eyes that were wide with terror on her behalf, and murmured, “It’s okay. I’m fine.”
His nostrils flared as he nodded, but it was the hands that grabbed for hers that made her own eyes widen. Rafe let out a yelp when he tried to take the sword from her fingers, and she shot upright, demanding, “Are you okay?”
His hair looked a little singed, of all things. She gaped at it, and blew out her own relieved breath when he murmured, “Yeah. Just got an electric shock.”
Mikkel snorted. “Understatement. Your hair’s smoking.”
He winced. “Seriously? Caelus. Don’t touch the sword,” he advised drily. “But I’m well. How are you doing, honey?” he continued though, dismissing what had to have been a nasty shock.
“I’m fine, I promise.” She stared down at the gladius and her eyes widened as she got her first good look at the weapon that had just pulled some crazy shit on her ass.
It was two edged with a tapered point; good for cutting and stabbing, she assumed, feeling slightly nauseated at the prospecting of having to do the cutting and the stabbing. The grip was solid and there was a knobbed hilt where there were ridges for her fingers—they were small, too small. For a woman. But the blade was long, very long, and most definitely for a man. Had the grip adjusted for her?
As nuts as it might have been for an ancient weapon to adjust to her size, more than anything, it was just fucking cool.
In fact, speaking of cool, before her eyes, she saw something happening on the blade. “Is that what I think it is?” she whispered in a low, soft voice as, like a laser was blasting into the steel, the word ‘Lyndhoven’ appeared on the blade.
“I think it likes you,” Mikkel joked, sounding slightly winded at the magic that had just taken place before them.
Because, no matter what her Fae mate insisted, that had to be magic, didn’t it?
Theo’s voice was as breathy as a baritone could get, “That’s an understatement. I’ve never seen that happen before. The weapons don’t make themselves individual for anyone.”
Thalia’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”
He shook his head. “No. And that’s been in the hands of some of the greatest Fae known to mankind.”
His phrasing had her frowning. “What do you mean? The Fae infiltrated mankind?”
“Of course we did,” he said drily. “We’re egotistical maniacs who believe humans are lesser creatures that can’t look after themselves.”
Mikkel blinked. “Ouch. On the behalf of my dumbass people, I take offense.”
Theo snorted. “You can take whatever you want, doesn’t change the past. That once belonged to Alexander the Great, Thalia. And I’m telling you now, his name wasn’t etched onto the blade even though he did add the rubies and ivory onto the capulus.”
She stared at the hilt, then rubbed her fingers over the rubies that were shaped into eyes. The ivory was carved into a—you had to love the Fates—wolf’s head, and the eyes were like blood as they glared out at the world. “This is the capulus?”
“Yes.” He squatted down at her side. “I wonder why you have an affinity with this one.”
“Why?” she asked, unsure as to why the weapo
n really mattered at all. Surely, they were just fortunate that she’d been paired with something. Period.
“Because this kind of sword is for stabbing. That’s up close and personal. Those aren’t the kinds of wars humans can fight on Fae territory.”
“What do you mean?” Rafe asked, his tone urgent with his concern. She reached for his hand and squeezed his fingers, trying to reassure him that she’d be okay.
Rafe was her worrywart, and considering he’d be the one who’d be patching her up for the next thousand years, she couldn’t blame him. Not when his talents had him seeing the wound up close and personal—before and after it was inflicted.
“I mean, we fly and fight,” Theo explained, his tone grave. “We usually battle in the air. There are circumstances where we don’t, but Thalia won’t be able to engage in such encounters, will she? Look, mom, no wings. That kind of sword was perfect for gut wounds. A single stab to the abdomen and you’ve downed your man.”
“You sound like you know.”
“I do,” he said with a shrug. “I hate to say it, but when you’re as old as us, human wars are great entertainment. We often take part. And in this instance, with one of our own heading the human’s armies, it was even more fun.”
“That’s fucking sick,” Mikkel complained.
Theo shrugged. “That’s life. You’ll see. Every year that passes, it’s difficult to stay amused. Boredom is one of our biggest issues.”
“Wait a minute,” Thalia broke in, because she knew what he was talking about. Even though Lykens didn’t live as long as the Fae, some of the older Lykens turned a bit… well, sick, in their advanced years.
It was hard to remain connected to the humane part of your soul when you were bored by the world around you; having seen it and bought the T-shirt several times already.
“You expect me to fight?”
Theo blinked. “Yes.”
“You’re not just arming me so I’m protected?”
“No.”
She gritted her teeth in irritation at his one word answers. “Dammit to hell, Theo. Give me more than yes, no, or maybe.”
“I can’t see the future, Thalia,” he told her, his tone grave. “I only know that I want your defenses as high as they can be.”
Triad (The TriAlpha Chronicles Book 3) Page 11
