by Sumida,Amy
I had only been able to see pale arms wrapped around Kirill, but when I pulled him away and kicked out, the person whom those arms belonged to had done a tumble. At the end of their roll, they recovered and swam out to sea. I never even got a glimpse of their face, but I got a good look at their tail. A frilly, pale pink, mermaid tail.
I noted that in the back of my mind as I pulled Kirill's limp body back to shore. I managed to get his head above water, and was able to hold him there in the crook of my arm as I swam backwards, but he wasn't breathing. His eyes were closed and his lips tinted blue. I was shaking from fear and adrenaline, and half carried- half drug him onto shore, dropping him as soon as we left the water.
I immediately began CPR, pushing on his chest and then breathing into his mouth. My heartbeat was in my ears, my arms trembling, and I was crying brokenly, begging whatever deity was listening, to help me. I'd give them anything, a free pass from the Godhunter. Just save my husband.
A gurgle and a jerk, and then Kirill was spewing saltwater out of his mouth, lurching onto his side to retch with back-bending violence. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen in my life. I sobbed, rubbing his back as he vomited up the ocean, and I gave an exultant cry when he took a deep breath.
“Did I die?” was the first thing he asked.
I stared at him in open-mouthed shock.
“I think so,” I finally whispered. “Son of a centaur! We beat death. You're alive!”
He smiled wide and lurched up into my arms. We clung to each other, trembling with relief and happiness. I was crying again, and I didn't know why, but I couldn't stop. Kirill finally pulled back, and eased me onto his lap. He wiped away the saltwater and the salty tears from my face, and kissed me. In that kiss was relief, but also a triumphant joy. I celebrated with him, my chest pressed tight to his so I could feel his strong heart beat. Finally, we eased apart, and I stared at him, calm and so very grateful.
“I'm never going to the beach again,” I vowed.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Kirill and I went home to Kaneohe, and showered in my little bathtub. It was strange to bathe in it after using the massive tub at Pride Palace for so long. But I liked it, it felt more intimate, and it was perfect for our private celebration over Kirill's survival. We would tell the others soon, and share the joyous news, but for now, the happiness was ours alone. This day had truly been for just the two of us. We had comforted each other, preparing for the worst, and then conquered death together. Yes, this moment was ours.
We bathed each other with jubilant and grateful hands, almost worshiping with our happiness. Kirill knelt at one point, and pressed his face to my stomach, rubbing tenderly against me as the water washed the salt away. But then the tenderness vanished as his face dipped lower and his tongue delved deeper.
We celebrated life together in the very element that almost took him from me, but it seemed appropriate. It was empowering and beautiful. A big middle finger in our enemy's face. Kirill had survived. My husband was alive, and we were stronger than ever. Take that, you slimy mermaid! I dug my fingers into his back, and rode Kirill's passion like a horse through our victory parade. It was glorious. Triumphant. Our shouts echoed together off the tile walls, and then we sank into the tub, laughing like idiots.
We finally untangled ourselves, and got out of the tub. We toweled each other off, and Kirill left his hair unbound to dry. I smiled at that, a physical representation of his relief. We kept smiling at one another as we got dressed, and were still smiling when we traced into Pride Palace.
To find utter chaos.
There were froekn everywhere, plus the entire God Squad, my sons by Odin, and all of the Intare. Gods and demi-gods scrambling about like a bunch of YouTube make-up vloggers at a Sephora sale. My eyes went back and forth, following them about as my mouth dropped open.
“There you two are,” Trevor growled as he came out of the elevator.
“Vhat's going on?” Kirill asked, his beautiful smile already gone.
“They have our brother,” it was UnnúlfR of all people, a wolf I rarely saw in my territory. Let's just say we'd gotten off on the wrong foot... all four of them in his case.
But he was Trevor's brother, second born son of Fenrir, and so we had to tolerate each other.
“Which brother?” I was still a little shell shocked.
I should have caught on instantly. Technically, Trevor had a lot of brothers from the first generation of Froekn. But there were only two whom he considered to be litter mates, for lack of a better term. They actually didn't share mothers, but were the closest in age of all Fenrir's children.
“Oh no, not Ty,” my brain finally got with the program. “Who has him?”
“A dead woman,” Fenrir growled as he came into the foyer with his wife, Emma. “The instant she took my children, she started breathing borrowed air... my air.”
“Children? Plural?” I looked to Emma, who seemed to be the calmest one there.
“The Morrigan showed up at Moonshine and abducted several of our wolves,” Emma explained concisely and rationally, bless her heart. “She left this,” she handed me a note.
“You should have helped me when you had a choice,” I read. “Now you have none. Come to Tara and fight the Formorians with us or the first casualties in the war shall be Froekn.”
“She dies,” Kirill said simply.
“I always liked you, Son,” Fenrir patted Kirill on the back. He'd taken to calling all of my husbands “Son”. I suppose it was his way of showing acceptance for our unusual marriage. “You may be a lion, but you have the heart of a wolf.”
“Zank you,” Kirill nodded, even though I knew a part of him was offended by Fenrir's words.
“The heart of a lion is just as good, Dad,” I gently pointed out his mistake.
“Oh, yes of course,” Fenrir's scarred face twisted into a grimace of embarrassment. “I only meant you were like family to me.”
“I know,” Kirill clasped Fenrir's hand. “And you are my family. I vill help you get our wolves back.”
“I appreciate that,” Fenrir said gruffly.
“Blah, blah, blah,” UnnúlfR threw his hands up in frustration. “Less talking, more killing. Take us to this bitch, Vervain.”
“Alright, everyone take a breath,” I held up my hands. “We don't know where Morrigan is holding them or what kind of precautions she's taken. I want them back safely, more than I want her dead.”
“Agreed,” UnnúlfR said grudgingly.
“Little Frami,” Fenrir slid closer to me, and dropped his volume. “Tell me you know how to find her.”
“I do, Dad,” I reassured him. “If she isn't at Tara, Nuada will tell us where she is.”
“I'm afraid he won't,” Odin was standing in the doorway to the dining hall, looking gorgeous and grim in his fighting leathers. He appeared every inch the Viking god; bulging muscles straining his worn leather clothes, thick beard cropped close to his sculpted face, and those shifting peacock eyes shimmering within the darkness. “I've already tried that route, and Nuada has changed his mind. He's given his support to his granddaughter. They're desperate to acquire our aid in this war.”
“Damn him! This probably has something to do with Lugh as well,” I growled, and the men around me tensed, all of them looking to me for an answer.
But it was Hell who supplied it.
“I know how to get into Morrigan's territory,” Azrael declared as he walked down the grand, central staircase.
We all gaped at the angel. His wings were lifted in rays of darkness behind him, his Old Testament battle armor was on, and his face was just beginning to go skeletal. One strong hand was on the banister as he descended, and the other held the shaft of his scythe. The weapon arched over Azrael's head, glinting dangerously, and thumping ominously on every stair. He looked like an answered prayer.
Talk about making an entrance.
“How?” I went over to him. “And what I mean is; how the hell did you find
that out?”
“I asked my father,” he smiled wickedly as he set the end of his scythe to the floor and casually leaned on it. “I recalled seeing Morrigan in Hell when I was a child. She was friends with my dad, drinking buddies.”
“Your father has drinking buddies?” Odin lifted his brow skeptically. “He doesn't seem the type.”
And the truly humorous thing was, Odin was right. The Lord of Hell was more of a morning mimosa kind of guy than midnight margaritas. Or, heaven forbid, brewskies with the boys.
“And his drinking buddy was Morrigan?” I added.
“Dad hung out with a lot of interesting people over the years,” Azrael shrugged. “They gravitated to him. He's very charismatic, and we all know how intelligent he is.”
“True,” Kirill nodded, and then noticed me staring at him. “Vhat? Satan is charismatic, zat's truth.”
“Okay,” I chuckled, and shook my head, then looked to Azrael. “So Luke told you how to get into Morrigan's territory?”
“Yep,” Azrael smiled. “Thanks to the humans, the Morrigan has a weakness in her wards.”
“How's that?” Fenrir growled.
“There's an Irish myth about the Gate to Hell,” Azrael chuckled. “It's the entrance to the Otherworld, AKA Celt Territory. It's believed to be within Oweynagat, the Cave of Cats, in Rathcroghan. It leads directly into Morrigan's portion of the Celtic territory.”
“Wait,” I held up a hand. “You're saying that because the humans believed this so strongly, Morrigan couldn't ward her own territory?”
“Not in that one spot,” Azrael smiled. “It won't seal. She's tried everything. Morrigan confessed it to Dad one night when she was drunk on hellfire.”
Hellfire, also known as hellbrew, was a drink that Satan himself cooked up. It was one of the only alcoholic beverages that could not only get a god drunk, but completely trashed, and very possibly passed out. And yes, I spoke from personal experience.
“Alright, let's go,” Fenrir declared.
“Wait,” I said, and he growled at me. “Arach made me promise to invite him along the next time I went into a battle. I think this counts as a battle.”
“Not really,” Fenrir shrugged. “There won't be much of a fight at all, just Morrigan screaming as she dies slowly.”
“Still, I think he'd be upset if I didn't include him.”
“How fast can he get here?” Fenrir huffed.
“A couple of hours,” I said. “He only has to get to the tracing tree.”
“I'm sorry, Little Frami,” Fenrir shook his head. “But I'm not waiting a couple of hours for your dragon boy to arrive.”
“But he is a dragon,” Trevor noted. “He could come in handy.”
“They'll be expecting us to show up in Tara in a few hours,” Fenrir pointed out. “That means if Morrigan is still at home, she won't be for long. And she'll be taking her prisoners with her. We need to move now, Son.”
“Vervain?” Trevor looked to me.
I chewed at my lip.
“I have cheated death today,” Kirill declared into the pensive silence, giving me a chance to think over my response. All the attention turned to him.
“Yeah, that's another thing I need to talk to Arach about,” I nodded. “We went to the beach, and a mermaid tried to drown Kirill.”
“She did drown me,” Kirill said with more joy than that statement should have held. “And Vervain resuscitated me. I live!” He held his arms out with the last bit, showcasing his joy.
“So we don't have to worry about you dying anymore?” Trevor began to smile.
“Nyet,” Kirill nodded as Trevor launched himself forward. Kirill caught the larger man easily and they hugged, laughing together like reunited friends.
“Yeah. Great. Your brother-husband lives. Yay,” UnnúlfR rolled his eyes, and Fenrir smacked him, sending the werewolf stumbling. UnnúlfR flicked his blonde hair out of his face, and gave his father a petulant look. “We have more important issues to deal with than this.”
“They just learned that Kirill will live, despite that horrid prophecy,” Fenrir growled. “That is important enough for us to spare a moment and rejoice.” He turned to Kirill and gave him a hug. “Welcome back to life, Son.”
“Zank you,” Kirill smiled. Then he turned to me. “Tima? Do ve leave or do ve vait on lizard king?”
“We leave,” I sighed, a horrible ache filling my gut. Arach was going to be pissed. Royally pissed. “Just let me put my leathers on.”
“That's my girl,” Fenrir pounded my back as I turned to the elevator.
“Great, maybe I'll take you back to Faerie with me, and you can explain it to Arach,” I muttered.
“Just don't tell the faerie,” UnnúlfR huffed. “What's the big deal?”
“You're an asshole,” Trevor said to his brother, and I silently agreed.
Not telling Arach was tempting, but if it came out later, he'd be doubly upset... and hurt. I sighed as I hit the button for the top floor. Kirill snuck into the elevator with me, and closed the golden cage. Then he turned and gave me a grim look.
“Dragon king vill not be happy,” he said simply.
Truer words had never been spoken.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Rathcroghan was actually an archaeological site in Ireland. The name means Fort of Cruachan. Cruachan being the capital of the Connachta, the Irish who ruled the area in prehistoric times. The Oweynagat, or Cat Cave as I'd taken to calling it (much better than the Bat Cave, don't you think?), was located within the ruins.
It wasn't much to look at.
“That's it?” I stared at the slab of stone set over a small V, made from two sloping, intersecting hills.
The slab was partially covered by an overhang of scrub brush and thick grass. The opening itself was barely large enough for one of my husbands to pass through, much less Fenrir. Honestly, I wouldn't have given it a second look if I hadn't been told what it was.
“I don't know if you'll fit, Dad,” Trevor gave voice to my concerns.
At least we'd pared down our group to immediate family members, a handful of froekn, and the God Squad, so we didn't have an entire army to squeeze through that hole.
“Now we know why it's called the Cat Cave,” I went forward and leaned down to peer into the opening. “Only cats could get through here. Actually,” I reconsidered as I peered further in. “It's just the entrance that's small. It drops down right here. I see a couple of little puddles, but its otherwise dry. Someone give me a light.”
“You're a moon goddess, aren't you?” UnnúlfR asked with dripping scorn.
“Oh,” I blinked in surprise. “Well yeah, but I've only shone during....” I cleared my throat, and Re picked up the sentence for me.
“During private moments,” he said regally.
“You glow when you fu-”
“Finish that word at your peril,” Trevor growled in his brother's face.
“Sorry,” UnnúlfR mumbled.
“Let me see the cave, Little Frami,” Fenrir crouched beside me and produced a flashlight. He beamed its glow down into the cave, showcasing walls which got progressively more narrow. “Nope, I won't fit through there. Not even if I stripped and greased up.”
“Now there's an image that'll require hellfire to burn from my mind,” Horus drawled.
“It's a magical illusion,” Azrael pushed past us, and shimmied down into the cave. “It's not really that narrow.”
His wings were magically put away (don't ask, I really don't know), but even without their bulk, I couldn't imagine him getting through the tiny gap at the back of the cave. Yet he did. Azrael walked right into that narrow gap, not even hunching his shoulders. He didn't have to, he simply walked through the stone, disappearing completely. A second later, his head popped back through the crevice.
“See? Just a very impressive illusion,” he smiled. “It even feels solid until you force your way through. It's Morrigan's only means of protection. Come on.”
He
disappeared again.
“Loki's big hairy balls!” Fenrir exclaimed, and squeezed his bulk through the cave opening.
And with that eloquent statement, we all followed the Great Wolf of the Norse through Ireland's Gate to Hell.
Just past the illusion, the way lightened, and continued to brighten until we came out of the back end of the cave, and stepped into daylight. Daylight in the God Realm. I would never get used to that, just walking through the realms. It seemed too easy to me. I squinted up at the sky, feeling the ache of another long day creeping into my bones. This was getting to be a habit.
“There,” Azrael pointed.
A dense forest crouched to our left, and to our right was a creepy looking castle against the bright backdrop of rolling green hills. Even amid all the sunshine and emerald grass, the castle looked sinister. It didn't need stormy weather or a bleak landscape to foster its foreboding. It was scary all by itself.
No pennants hung from the castle walls nor did any flags wave from its turrets. There was no color to the construction at all, except for the dismal gray of the water-stained stone. Its traditional arched entrance was barred by an iron gate, looking like a mouth full of teeth from this distance. A flock of crows flew over it in an unending cycle, their caws sounding like screams of warning.
“Damn but that's worse than Luke's house,” Finn said to Azrael. “The Gate to Hell indeed.”
“It's kind of nefarious looking, isn't it?” Azrael cocked his head. “Maybe I should take a picture for my dad. He's always looking for inspiration.”
“I don't give a fuck about nefarious,” Fenrir growled, his shoulders growing wider as fur started to sprout along his arms. “And this ain't Hell. Not yet, at least.”
Oh wow, he was going into his werewolf form, something I rarely saw. A rarity for which I was supremely grateful. Fenrir as a werewolf was one of the scariest things I've ever beheld. And I've walked through Hell. Several Hells actually. And stood amid the caves of the Hidden Ones. Okay, the Hidden Ones were way scarier. But still, Fenrir in werewolf form was frightening.