by KB Anne
“What’s the loophole?”
“Not what. Who.”
His body stiffens. He immediately realizes who I’m referring to. “But Alaric was never able to turn outside of the full moon either.”
“Do you know that for certain?”
He studies the ground in front of him. “No.”
“And that is why we should join forces,” Breas says, appearing before us as if out of thin air.
My first impulse is to try to punch him, but he’s ready for it and knocks my hand to the side as if it’s nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
“As I told you back in Vernal Falls, you’re so very predictable. It made catching you so simple. I didn’t even need to use my backup plan.”
I lunge at him. I might not be able to shift my fingernails into wolf claws, but they can certainly exact damage.
He rolls his eyes and snaps his fingers. Someone wraps their arms around me from behind, pinning me in place.
I kick. I claw. I fight to break free, but my captive has me in their clutches.
Maddie shouts, “Hey!” but that’s all he says before his body hits the ground. I jerk around and see him bound with rope and gagged.
Breas waves his finger in front of my face. I wish I could bite it off, but he’s just out of biting range.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Gigi, I expected better from you.”
I hiss through clenched teeth. “You kidnapped Alaric and Lizzie. You stinking bastard. I ought to—”
“Ryan, if you would.”
An arm shifts from my waist, and a hand claps to my mouth before I can take advantage of the “freedom.” Then Breas’s words reach my brain.
Ryan . . .
I try a ninja move that always works in the movies. A drop-twirl-kick-punch. Trouble is, it’s not working for me. But I need to break free. I need to see who this Ryan is.
Could it be Ryan? Our Ryan?
But our Ryan is dead. I saw him die. I heard the gunshot. I felt his claws swipe at the back of my legs in a last-ditch effort to kill me. I watched Lizzie’s spirit form come for him, and I watched his spirit leave his body to be with her. It was beautiful. It was magnificent. Could it have been a lie?
I keep spinning, twirling, punching, but nothing is working. If it really is our Ryan holding me, I wouldn’t be able to break free. His freakishly strong hands never dropped a pigskin—they certainly aren’t going to drop me. I have so many questions racing through my brain, but fighting prevents me from asking them. I focus on Breas’s mind, a slimy slick place I really don’t want to be in, but it serves a purpose. I drop a single word. Please.
He shifts his feet. He tosses his shoulders around. He keeps looking at me then looking away. I recognize his movements for what they are. A god struggling with indecision and—what is that? A conscience?
Breas cares about me, albeit in his twisted way. He’s afraid I’ll ruin all his plans.
I file that factoid away for safekeeping. I’ll use it in the future. Maybe not at the first opportunity—that would be too impulsive, too reincarnated Gigi—but maybe when the situation really is life or death. That’s when I’ll take advantage of his feelings for me.
Finally, he crosses his arms and says, “Fine. Ryan, let her talk.”
I turn my head enough to see Ryan’s profile. After weeks sitting side by side at the principal’s office back in Vernal Falls, I’d know his forehead, his nose, and his lips anywhere. I let out a relief sob. Everything is going to be okay.
“How are you alive?”
Ryan doesn’t reply. He doesn’t say or do anything.
I try to get a read on him, but he’s blocked off to me.
“Your little goddess tricks won’t work on him. He’s under my control.”
Breas reasserts his power, pushing all indecision and any mind access away. Now I can only plead with him in the hopes that his feelings for me remain useful.
“I watched him get shot. I watched his spirit leave.”
“Ha!” Breas doubles over laughing.
I fling my fists to hit him, but Ryan keeps me in his stronghold. All I can do is watch Breas with his freaking head bent over as he slaps the tops of his thighs in hysterics.
When he’s had his fun, he stands back up with a wicked grin across his face. “You mean with the silver bullet in the antique silver gun?”
And there it is. The truth in all its spit-in-your-face reality.
“You knew about it.”
“Of course I knew about it. Rose never locked her doors, at least not before you released Clayone—brilliant job by the way. Remember the night I got you drunk on Irish whiskey? Which you thought was a cliché? Really it was just the simplest means to get you to forget your loathing of me.”
My stomach turns over. I remember the night. Well, most of it. Along with the neck full of hickeys the next day.
“Even when you were wasted on whiskey, you still refused to have sex with me, holding on to your hate of me like the most intimate of lovers. Like the lovers we used to be,” he says, his lighthearted mocking turning dark and angry.
I glare at him. I hate him now more than ever.
“I switched the bullets in the gun that night.” He circles around me. “I couldn’t have my . . . little experiment getting killed. I needed allies on this side to assist me.”
“You call bobblehead Kensey an ally?”
He drags a finger across the line of my jaw. “Oh, Gigi, jealousy becomes you.”
At one time the gesture might have brought me to my knees. I might have even blacked out. But not today. Today I want to break every bone in his finger along with the rest of him.
I will not leave room for doubt.
“I. Am. Not. Jealous.”
“Whatever you say, love,” he says. “Kensey served other purposes. She addressed my carnal needs well—a role I asked you to fill, by the way.”
My lip snarls at him on its own. My entire body loathes him completely.
“Her attractiveness also allowed her to venture into places I couldn’t go.” He shakes his head, smiling at me. “Your boyfriend’s old pack really doesn’t like you.”
I will not let him get to me. I will not.
“Tell me something I don’t already know.”
“Very well. Ryan was an unintended gift from Clayone.”
“How do you mean?”
“Do you remember that Sunday evening when you were still recovering from your Friday night exploits?”
“And my Saturday night mistakes.”
He narrows his eyes. “Saturday night you wanted me. I called for you and you came. My, how you came.”
Biles creeps up my throat. I force it down. He will not win. I will break him with my words.
“Must not have been that great since I don’t even remember.”
His jaw feathers with tension.
Good job, Gi. The bitch still rules!
“Regardless, the little camping trip Ryan suggested?”
That was Lizzie’s idea, or at least that’s what Ryan told me . . .
Give him nothing, Gi. Give him nothing.
“Yes,” I reply without any emotion.
“Who do you think gave him that idea?”
Tiny fissures eat at my cool, expressionless facade.
Keep it together, Gi. Keep it together.
“Why?”
He shakes his head. “I’m not divulging all my secrets to you as if we’re lovers. Oh wait, we were. But you’ve learned more than enough for now.”
He snaps his fingers. “Ryan?”
Ryan lifts me up to carry me. I struggle to break out of his grip, but it’s useless. He’s like the freaking Incredible Hulk.
“Where are you taking me?”
Breas waggles his finger at me. “No, no. I will not be voicing that juicy morsel. There are far too many supernatural beings with powerful hearing.”
Speaking of supernatural beings, Maddie hasn’t moved since he fell. Wisps of smoke swirl in the air above his wrists. Wo
lfsbane.
“What are you going to do with him? You can’t just leave him with the wolfsbane rope. He’ll die.”
Breas rubs his face and laughs. “I forgot how entertaining your Earthly form is. Of course I’m going to leave him.”
“But—”
Breas snaps his fingers again. Ryan wraps his arm across my mouth. I should bite him, but it’s Ryan. My friend who always defended my honor. Who stood by my side when I needed him. Who remained my friend even when he became an iconic star on the high school football team.
My friend who I thought was dead and is now a werewolf working for Breas.
Who is magicked to work for Breas.
Nice of you to show up. I thought Breas didn’t possess magic.
He has some. His ability to compel is strong enough at times to affect even you, but his magic is nowhere near as powerful as yours or Scott’s.
Carman?
They are no longer aligned.
Then who is Breas working with?
Not who. What.
Oh gods, what?
Silence.
My gods, sometimes they really freaking pissed me off. Just when you think you’ve met all the nasties in the world, you find one from another one.
4
Ace of Swords
Holding on to her belief that Scott would come around, Caer left him to his ramblings about who could be weaving the thick rope. She suspected it was Balor, but then, although the giant was evil and lethal to anyone he cast his eye upon, she doubted he was capable of intricate, vengeful plans beyond that which he could see. Her memories of him were of a monster, a hideous one-eyed giant pirate, not someone capable of manipulating multiple complicated plots behind the scenes. And with his ability to turn to stone anyone he set his eye upon, he would not need to be a master planner of intricate plots.
In her room she paced back and forth, using the contours of the rug as her center. Scott confused her above anything else.
Killing Balor might pose challenges she may not be completely prepared for, but interacting with Scott beyond fighting was far beyond her comfort zone. When she had first arrived through the window and kissed him, she’d been brave. But she hadn’t taken the time to consider the consequences of kissing him beyond the moment when their lips touched, including how they’d interact with each other following the kiss. She also hadn’t planned on ripping open a portal for Gigi, but Gigi’s overwhelming and singular desire to go home spoke to Caer in a way she couldn’t resist.
Scott had mentioned that Caer and Gigi were alike several times. She suspected that was the real reason she opened the portal for Gigi. She could give Gigi what she wanted. Everything Caer desired was at Gallean’s, aside from killing Balor. But she wasn’t ready to fight him on her own. She needed more training and lessons in battle strategy.
And, as much as she hated relying on anyone, she needed Scott.
She didn’t know what that said about her. After spending most of her life on her own, why did she need a man to help her?
She remembered back to the day Mathair Mhór pulled the Lovers card.
“Your true love has returned to life on another plane. There he serves as a protector. The duality of his life will come to a crossroads. When he stands at the pinnacle of understanding himself, his power, and his true purpose, he will go on a quest.”
Caer had latched on to the idea of a quest, and when she asked Mathair Mhór what sort of quest, the old woman told Caer he would go in search of her and would fight for her.
Caer had lashed out with her sword at the prospect that a man would fight for her. She hated the notion that she couldn’t protect herself. It was the true reason she left the cottage that day in a fit of rage and fell asleep on the fated mountain when Mathair Mhór and Nimblefoot perished in the fire.
What would have happened if she hadn’t run away? Would she have died too, or would she have been taken prisoner? And if they took her prisoner, would Mathair Mhór and Nimblefoot have been allowed to live?
She had never let her mind entertain that thought before, but now it ate away at her, threatening to shift her attention away from her current situation. She shook her body to rid it of the growing regret. Regret didn’t solve problems. Action did.
Mathair Mhór’s words, “He will fight for you . . .” echoed in her mind.
From what she could gather from overheard conversations, Scott was the reincarnated god Oegden, which would explain his speed and strength.
When she was at Lake of the Dragon Mouth, the lake bordering her father’s castle, she figured out she was the reincarnated goddess Caer Ibormeith. According to the legends, Oegden was the goddess’s counterpart. But, in human form, Scott was a mortal man capable of disappointment and failure.
Weak.
Breakable.
Breathtakingly handsome.
She grabbed a book and sat down on the bed. She would not daydream about Scott’s good looks nor their kiss. Neither one would help her cause.
She soon fell into the story of two young women who were tasked with delivering a scroll to an old woman referred to as Mathair Mhór—could it be the same woman who had raised her? She recognized the name of the great warrior of legend, Cu Chulainn, who Mathair Mhór had raised long before Caer arrived, but she didn’t know when. She never thought to ask Mathair Mhór how old she was. Now she would never know. Mathair Mhór’s story was over. Caer added to her growing pile of regret but refused to dwell on it.
She immediately liked the boy who assisted Ris with the injured capall. Acts of kindness, no matter how small, always brought a smile to her lips and warmed her heart.
A knock tore her away from the tale. Caer’s heart pounded rapidly. Could it be Gallean come to kick her out? The wizard had been immensely upset with her at first for ripping open the portal and pushing Gigi through it, but he had quickly forgiven her and had told them that Gigi had completed her training. But maybe now he had changed his mind and was angry that Caer had broken apart the trí cumhacht, or that she was able to conduct magic in his keep when he could not, or for some other reason that as of yet she could not fathom.
Or perhaps it was Scott coming to apologize for his earlier behavior? The possibility made her want to run to the door and throw it open. But too much enthusiasm on her part would demonstrate the power Scott held over her, and she would not bow to any man. Restraint would serve her well.
“You may enter,” she called out.
Scott walked into the room. Her stomach did that backflip thing it tended to do whenever she saw him. She swallowed the saliva forming in her mouth. It also would not do to let on that he made her nervous.
Scott toyed with a glass object on a shelf. “Where did you grow up? You sound so formal.”
“I grew up in a castle with servants. My nursemaid insisted I speak this way.”
He pulled over a chair and made himself comfortable. “A castle? Were you a princess?”
There was no point denying her childhood. Scott knew about Balor, but nothing else. The two lived a lifetime apart. They were strangers.
“I was, but I did not dream of being saved by a faraway prince.”
He laughed. “Of course you didn’t. You’re much too stubborn to ever acknowledge you need help.”
Caer wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or an attack on her character. She decided to leave it alone for the present. However, she planned to discuss that point later.
“So your parents were a king and queen?”
“My mother died in childbirth. I never knew her.”
His eyes grew watery. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
He struck her as overly sensitive. It was an emotion she never truly allowed herself to feel. Denial gave one strength.
She closed the book. “No matter. A person cannot mourn for someone she did not know.”
He leaned toward her. “Sure you can. I didn’t remember my mom because she died when I was two, but I still missed her. I still l
onged for her, but then . . .”
His story intrigued her. He talked with such heartfelt emotion that he lulled her in, and now that he had stopped, a part of her considered punching him in the stomach to keep going.
Far too much time passed, or she was impatient—probably both—but he couldn’t just sit there after drawing her into his own tale.
“But then what?”
He cleared his throat. “But then, I shot my friend.”
She stiffened. “Shot? What is shot?”
He released a sigh. “My best friend, Ryan, was turning into a werewolf. At the beginning of October on the night of the first full moon of the month, he tried to kill Gigi. I took a gun,” she stared blankly at him, “basically it’s a metal rod that can shoot a fireball, but instead of fire or magic it’s made of metal, in this case silver.”
“Why?”
He smothered his face with his hands. “Silver is one of the only ways to kill a werewolf.”
“And a werewolf is a human who can turn into a wolf.”
“Yes.”
“And your friend turned into a werewolf and wanted to kill your sister.”
He pulled in his lips and nodded.
“Why?”
“Because Gigi is the Goddess Brigit reincarnated.”
“But how did your friend become a werewolf? Was he born that way?”
“No, he was bitten by the Original Werewolf, Clayone.”
That name sounded familiar to her.
“Clayone, you say?”
She opened the book on her lap, flipped through a few pages, and handed it to him. “Spelled like this?” She pointed to the name.
“Yes, where did you find this?” he asked as he closed it to look at the cover. “The Druid Sisters of the Gallicenial?”
“From one of the bookshelves.”
He skimmed through a few pages before looking over at her. That sparkle that always made her nervous returned to his eyes. “This story is about Clarissa, Carman, and Clayone.”
“It’s about a young boy named Niall as well,” Gallean said from the open doorway.
“Never heard of him,” Scott said, returning to the story.
The great wizard walked into the room and stood before them. “No, I don’t suppose you have. Niall’s spirit left his body. The assumption is that he died.”
