"Aye, o' course you must go after her. But maybe you could leave after my wedding?" Lachlain was to marry Emma tomorrow. Though the Lykae considered mate-hood eternal - marriage was a bit superfluous - the Valkyrie insisted on some kind of binding ceremony. Or as Annika had choked out, "Something a little more respectable - than a bite."
More important, my lass is excited about it. In less than twenty-four hours, he'd take his sweet Emma as his wife. Those hours couldn't pass soon enough for him.
"I canna." Garreth took a swig. "No' unless you need me. To help you... acclimate." His expression darkened.
Though Garreth had been utterly accepting of Emma's vampiric nature - even the fact that Lachlain himself fed her and relished doing so - he hadn't taken the news of Lachlain's decades-long imprisonment and torture well. And Lachlain had downplayed the worst of it.
"No, I can manage," he said. "Especially now with the vampire threat lessened." His wee Emma had somehow slain Demestriu, and Lachlain himself had killed Ivo the Cruel.
Garreth said, "Lessened but no' gone."
Lothaire still lived. There was something about that vampire, something that tugged at Lachlain's subconscious. A threat even greater than it appeared on the surface... "When you return, we'll strategize what to do about the Enemy of Old."
"Aye," Garreth agreed. "For now, you need to concentrate on your queen. And hup two with the bairns, old man. Tired of being your heir."
Lachlain drank deeply. "Doona hold your breath. You saw how delicate she is - will no' relish the idea of getting a babe on her."
"Delicate?" Garreth raised his brows. "The rest of the Lore, and especially the Lykae, see her as a fierce warrior queen who slew the Horde king. And you still see her as delicate."
Lachlain scowled. "First impressions are lasting. In any case, doona be concerning yourself with this - you've enough on your plate. Do you know what spooked your female in the first place?"
"Oh, aye. She found out she was my mate, though I'd lied about it."
Lachlain rubbed the back of his neck. He'd done just the same with Emma. Mates that were other didn't often find the news welcome. "How'd she find out?"
"I'd made the twins vow no' to tell anyone about her. But when they thought they were about to war with the Valkyrie to retrieve me and cover your incursion, they gave an order that Lousha could no' be hurt. Upon pain of death, she was to be spared. I appreciated the foresight, but the clan quickly figured it out."
"Where do you think she is?"
Garreth said, "I have some leads."
"Nïx?"
"Aye."
Nucking Futs Nïx. Lachlain owed everything to that soothsayer. She was the one who'd coaxed Emma to go to Paris in the first place. If Emma hadn't been there, then Lachlain never would've had the strength to escape the vampires - who'd imprisoned and tortured him for over a century....
Tamping down those memories, Lachlain said, "Before you go, I wanted to pass on some advice. Emma told me that to win your mate, you have to accept Regin. The two are thick as thieves. Always have been. Since they were children."
"So calling Regin a glowing bluidy freak dinna help my cause? On top of the lie? Christ, I've bollixed this up."
"But you said she's no' immune to you. You can win her."
With a firm nod, Garreth said, "Aye, then, I will. I'm off." He hugged Lachlain, clapping him on the back. "It's good to have you back, brother."
When they finally broke apart, Lachlain was choked up, clearing his throat. "Right, then."
Garreth stared down at his beer, muttering, "Got something in my eye." Turning to go, he said, "Take care of our queen."
"You just be careful." The two brothers had always been protective of each other, so Lachlain was uneasy that Garreth had no one to watch his back. "And stay out of trouble." Garreth was a hell of a fighter, but on occasion, he needed a wingman.
Over his shoulder, Garreth said, "Doona worry. Mark my words, I'll have her back in two weeks."
17
One year later, the Northlands
Possibly the mountains of Thrymheim Hold,
but probably not
"Is this a bad time?" Nïx asked cheerily.
"You are fully aware that this is a damned bad time," Lucia said. "Currently I'm suspended from a mountain ledge, four thousand feet in the air." She hung on to a rock cleft with the tips of her fingers - of one hand. The other she'd used to click on her sat-phone earpiece.
Sometimes Lucia wished satellite phones didn't work everywhere on earth.
"You sound awful," Nïx observed. "Have you been taking your Flintstones?"
Lucia's muscles burned. She hadn't slept in days. The games, it seemed, would not end. And Lucia was in a grueling fourth-quarter situation - with a team mate lost. "Nïx, did you call for a reason?"
"Are you any closer to finding Thrymheim?"
Lucia had relinquished her lofty goal of locating a dieumort and killing Cruach - now she'd be satisfied if she could merely keep him jailed for another five hundred years.
She needed Skathi, or more accurately, she needed one of Skathi's arrows, but Lucia couldn't even locate the goddess. "If it's not at the top of this peak, then this range is a bust."
Lucia had been so sure this was Godsbellow Mountain. Now she grew increasingly doubtful. She vaguely remembered an ever-ascending path to the peak. She could find no path. So she was climbing. "Don't suppose you'll finally tell me where the temple is?"
"I thought if a Skathian was pure of heart, she could always find her way back to the goddess."
Pure of heart? Not in the least. Though Lucia and MacRieve had never shared more than those two nights together, she couldn't stop thinking about him, lusting for him. Whenever she touched herself, it was his body she fantasized about. "I'll find my way back, Nïx. One way or another." Push on, Lucia! What choice did she have? She leapt for another handhold.
"Well, actually, that's why I'm calling. Now, I know your to-do list is varied and important. Finding Skathi, preparing for your five-hundred-yearly confrontation with the revolting Cruach, the epitome of pure evil, et cetera."
Speak of the devil - literally. Though the Broken Bloody One was a hideous abomination, he could disguise himself with a face so beautiful... it made me weep.
The modern idea of Satan originated from him.
He was the being she would be forced to confront. And soon. She always knew when.... That night so long ago when she'd been about to depart Thrymheim as a new Skathian, Lucia had asked the goddess, "What do you want me to do?"