Broken Heart 08 Must Love Lycans (26 page)

“Midnight came, and everyone gathered in the town square and drew lots. Zeus, who was drunk and oversexed, believed he was playin’ a game. He lost the draw. He was taken to the makings of a bonfire and tied up as the sacrifice. Not only did they plan to kill him, in his own honor”—and here, Morrigu snickered—“but they wanted to cook and eat him, too.” She paused, as though considering the perks of humans eating humans (or gods disguised as humans). If she said, “What’s the big deal? Humans taste like chicken,” I would hurl—on her and her fancy robe. But she shrugged and continued the story. “Everyone started dancin’ around and howlin’. Zeus was so furious that he took his god form and started throwin’ around those fancy lightning bolts of his. Then he cursed the whole town. Turned everyone into lycanthropes. Not even his Romani friends escaped his wrath, but they received a lesser punishment, only turning into wolves on full-moon nights.”

“Donnerkeil,”
said Brigid. “Thunderbolt.”

Morrigu nodded. “Tark was the one who turned the symbol sideways and gave it a new meaning.”

I saw Brigid looked at Damian, her expression seven kinds of worry. “Did you know any of this?” she asked.

He shook his head. His hands were fisted at his sides. He kept his emotions buried, but I could feel the whispers of his shock. He’d never heard this story before. Everything he’d known about his origins was a lie. I opened up my ability and reached out to him, wrapping him in empathy. He visibly relaxed, and sent me a grateful look.

“If Zeus is the reason lycans exist, then why is Aufanie our goddess?” asked Damian hoarsely.

“Once Zeus spent his ire, he forgot about the creatures. They roamed everywhere, hunting whatever, or whoever, they could find. Over the years, humans killed many of them. Then Tark was born. He became the first alpha. He banded the full-bloods together, led them all to Schwarzwald. To Aufanie’s territory.”

“What about the Roma?” I asked.
What?
I didn’t like stories with loose ends.

“They had smaller populations, and like their human ancestors, they preferred travelin’ to settling down. They became mercenaries, hired by villages to hunt and kill vampires, and other creatures who menaced humans.”

“Aufanie fell in love with Tark,” said Brigid. Her expression was tinted with surprise. She hadn’t known the true lycanthrope history, either. It appears no one had. “But he wasn’t immortal.”

“Not then,” agreed Morrigu. “He was just a werewolf. Long-lived, to be sure, but what was eight hundred years to a goddess? She couldn’t bear the thought of living without him, especially after she realized she was pregnant.”

“Nein,”
said Damian. “Stop.”

We all looked at him. He’d gone pale, and this time, I couldn’t stop myself from getting up and going to him. I wrapped my arms around his waist and gave him all the support I could. He put his arm around me and held me tight, but his tortured gaze was on Morrigu.

“You don’t want to hear the truth?” asked Morrigu coyly. “Or you don’t want her to hear it?”

“Mother,” admonished Brigid. “What are you trying to do?”

“I’m answering the girl’s question,” she snapped.

“In the most roundabout way possible,” I said, irritated with the woman’s dramatics. “And you’re trying to hurt him.”

“He caused his own pain. His choices have naught to do with me,” said Morrigu. The gleam in her eyes was not reassuring. “I offered to give Tark immortality, but the price was a hundred years banishment for them both—to be taken whenever I chose, without question.”

“You banished them.” Damian’s fury was building, the impetus, of course, his own grief, guilt, and years of resentment, all because Morrigu was fulfilling her purpose of chaos.

“World War II. Hadn’t had a good battle in a while, right?” I asked softly. “Afraid the lycans might interfere?”

“Not in the way you believe,” offered Morrigu coolly. “Perhaps there were other bargains to fulfill—other prices that needed payin’.”

“Back to riddles, are we?” I asked.

Morrigu shrugged. “Aufanie got what she wanted—an immortal husband. And then she bore him triplet sons.” Her knowing gaze latched on to Damian, and I heard Brigid’s breath go out in a soft rush.

I stared up at him, my heart in my throat.
Sweet mamma jamma.
“You’re the son of a goddess?”

Chapter 11

D
amian met my gaze, and I saw within those strange green eyes the silent plea for understanding. “Yes,” he admitted. “My brothers and I are the true sons of Aufanie and Tark. But we didn’t know. They lived as the alphas of the governing pack. We were raised as royal heirs, not knowing that our mother was the same goddess we worshiped.”

“She never told you?” asked Brigid, horror in her words.

“A century ago she told us the truth,” he said bitterly. He glanced at Morrigu. “One truth, it appears. Then she and my father disappeared. Our world was crumbling. More and more lycans were diagnosed with sterility, and nearly half of those who did conceive buried their children a year later. Many left the safety of Schwarzwald. It took forty years of bridging the gap between us and our cousins, but we managed to build a new village, and a new pack with Roma.”

I had so many questions buzzing around in my mind that it felt like a hive. I couldn’t grab on to just one inquiry, but that might have had something to do with the fact I was in shock. I’d been sleeping with a guy who was, for all intents and purposes, an actual god. Well, a half god. I could read no other immortal’s emotions but Damian’s. What did that mean?

Morrigu had known the truth. Why would she keep such knowledge to herself for so long? Had it been part of the bargain with Aufanie? Or had she just been waiting for the right moment, such as this one, to offer it up so that she could gain something for herself?

I looked at Brigid. “Why didn’t you know? Why didn’t anyone else know?”

“No one can know everything. Not even the gods,” she said. “Zeus would not have told the tale, not when he’d have to admit being imprisoned by his own worshipers.” Her gaze flicked to her mother’s stoic expression. “My mother is very good at ferretin’ out secrets.”

“That I am.” Her gaze zeroed in on me. “And to be sure, there is a price to be paid for everything.”

I’d heard the same spiel from Jarred, although he’d said everyone had a price. I knew both sentiments to be true, but I think Morrigu was trying to warn me about upcoming events. Either that, or scare me. And let me just say: mission accomplished.

Morrigu gestured to the papers scattered on the coffee table. “There’s your answer, girl.”

We all looked down at the table. Brigid was the first to understand. “It’s an equation. A formula.”

Comprehension dawned as I fit all the pieces together. The dream. The symbols.
The blood.
I glanced at Morrigu. “I need your blood to make it all work, don’t I?”

“And the chalice.”

I studied her. Her expression offered no clues about her emotions or her intentions. Only her dark eyes hinted at what she hoped I would do. But I’d been raised by a master manipulator, and I’d learned a thing or two.

“Do you have the chalice?” I asked.

Her lips thinned. “No.”

“But you know where it is,” I conjectured. “And we’ll have to retrieve it in order to perform whatever ritual will complete my lycan transition.”

“If I decide to help you,” said Morrigu, raising her chin and looking down her nose at me. “What use are you to me, or to the world, if you are dead? The risk may be too great.” She sniffed. “Destiny is as malleable as clay.”

I wasn’t interested in playing games. Or being reminded that I was dying. I was sick of portents and dreams and the whims of immortals. I raised an eyebrow. “Is it that you’re incapable of speaking plainly … or do you just like fucking with everyone because you can?”

Brigid sucked in a shocked breath, and even Damian looked at me in alarm. Morrigu’s gaze narrowed. “You dare speak to me in such a manner?”

“Do you know it’s the twenty-first century?” I responded. “Maybe you should consider updating your language database.” I eyed her. “And your style. It’s hard to look like a badass when you’re stuck in medieval fashions.” I sent an apologetic glance to Brigid. I was trying to rile her mother, not insult her.

Morrigu’s eyes flashed, with what emotion I couldn’t begin to discern. Fury. Sadness. Boredom. Who knew?

Then she laughed.

It wasn’t even an evil I-will-smite-you laugh, either. It was more in the oh-you-funny-girl category. She leaned the staff toward me. “You are a fool, Kelsey Morningstone, but you have balls.” She looked at me smugly. “How’s that for updated language?”

“Meh,” I said. “You’ll learn.”

Morrigu looked shocked for a moment, and then she slowly smiled. “You have much to learn as well. Perhaps we can come to an agreement. However, for your rudeness, the price is higher now.”

“Forget it.”

A speculative gleam entered her eyes. I pulled free of Damian and crossed the room to stand in front her. She understood I was putting us on equal ground, and while she didn’t like it, she seemed
almost
to respect the action. Of course, this was guesswork based on the quicksilver expressions I saw cross her face.

“You cannot save yourself without my blood.”

“Aufanie will gladly make the offering,” said Damian.

Morrigu laughed. “It’s my bargain, boy. And my chalice. No other god’s essence will work the needed magic. And I will not give it to you unless you agree to my terms.”

“No. I won’t let you dangle your ‘higher price’ like a guillotine over our necks,” I said. “We get you the chalice. You make the formula with your blood and let me drink it from your fancy cup. We’ll do the exchange on the Winter Solstice in Aufanie’s temple.”

Morrigu stepped into my personal space and stared daggers at me. “I do not accept.”

“Fine.” I shrugged and turned away. Damian stood rock-still, his face ice white. The fear slivered in his gaze staggered me. What the hell? Had no one ever stood up to Morrigu?

“You’re not afraid of me,” she said in wonderment.

“I’m terrified of you,” I corrected. “But I won’t let fear guide my actions. Not ever again.” I whirled back around and put my hands on my hips. “Admit you sent me the dream.”

Her mouth dropped open. She quickly closed it, and huffed. “You are too clever for your own good.”

“No, I’m too clever for
your
own good. For some reason you need us, and you’re trying to play it the other way.” It was my turn to smirk, but I kept it quick and light. No need to push the woman to the point she decided to aim that staff at my head. “Do we have a deal?”

She said nothing for a long moment. Tension threatened to suffocate the whole room. Finally, she nodded. “So long as Damian agrees to the terms, then we do.”

“I agree,” he said.

“Very well. The bargain is made.” Morrigu stepped back, and a gray mist started billowing from the floor around her. Her gaze went to Damian. “Your mother took the chalice and hid it from me. Good luck finding it.” As she started to fade, she turned toward me, offering one final smirk. “See you on the Solstice … if you live.”

Then she disappeared.

For a long while no one spoke. Then Brigid heaved herself off the couch. She rounded the coffee table and enveloped me in her arms. She hugged me tightly, and then let me go. “I think my mother likes you.”

“How can you tell?” I asked.

“You’re alive.” Brigid turned to Damian. “You’re going to Germany, then.”

“It seems so. My mother wished for us to be in the temple on Winter Solstice, too. It appears our fates will be determined there.”

“What about Patsy? And Broken Heart?”

“One trial at a time,
Frau
,” he said.

She inclined her head as both acknowledgment and good-bye. Then the air went electric, gold sparkles lit the air, and she was gone in the blink of an eye.

“Can werewolves do that at all?” I asked. “Because that’s a cool superpower.”

“The
loup de sang
can,” he said, “but only because they are part vampire.”

I stepped away, too agitated to either stand still or sit down. I wandered into the kitchen, and opened the fridge. Damian followed me, watching as I pulled out a can of Sprite. “Want one?” I asked.

“No, thank you.”

I stared at the can, and realized I didn’t really want it, either. So I returned it to the case and shut the door.

“I should’ve told you,” he said.

“You mean about being a god?” I asked.

“Demigod,” he said. “Tark was mortal when we were conceived.”

“So you’re not immortal?”

He looked away, swallowing hard, and then returned his gaze to mine. “My mother’s blood will allow me to live forever,” he said carefully, “but I can be killed. Not easily, that’s true. A pure-blood immortal cannot die.”