Kane looked down at his shredded leine and the blood seeping through it from the slice in his chest. Lifting a brow he eyed The Bryan, pushing the burn of the wound from his mind. “And so dost the fae.”
Looking down, Moros saw that he too was cut in almost the same manner.
“Aye,” he said. “But there be a difference between ye and me, Gael.”
Purposely, Moros spoke Kane’s dialect, a mocking pretense in his words.
“And what might that be?” Kane lifted his blade taking an offensive stance as he began circling around The Bryan.
“This,” Moros said and skimmed his fingertips along the bleeding slit. His skin was instantly renewed. “Now I no longer bleed, though you still do.”
Incensed, Kane lunged and thrust his sword, but was met by nothing but air. He spun around, his blade swinging, and then spun back. Where be the bastard?
Moros had disappeared.
“He is up there!” A female faerie pointed to the palace dome.
All in the palace great hall tipped their heads upward. Moros was perched on the acanthus carving high above the floor. A female faerie reached through an open bay and offered Moros a glittering, blue rose. He took it from her, held it to his nose sniffing it, and then tossed it to the crowd below. Several female fae and a few males, at that, scampered to retrieve it whilst at the same time shrieking their delight.
“Ye do no’ fight fair.” Kane shook his sword at The Bryan from where he stood on the floor below.
“I never fight fair, Gael,” Moros called down. “What would be the fun in that?”
“Forbid The Bryan to use his magic!” Fallon glared at Armond.
But before Armond could issue his order, Moros was gone.
Suddenly, Kane stiffened and arched. His face wrenched as pain scorched the flesh of his back. Reacting in the manner that any well-trained warrior would, Kane spun and slashed his sword at the same time, taking the faerie unaware. The tip of the blade caught the flesh on Moros’ shoulder and ripped it thus.
Blood dripped, but then there was none, not even a single sign that Moros had been wounded.
It worried Kane tremendously that the fae was permitted to heal himself.
Lunging at The Bryan, Kane swung his sword and their blades collided, a reverberating clank pealing the air as metal struck metal.
Mortal met immortal, their hatred for each other ablaze and furious. They parried and thrust and parried again, circling round each other, drawing back and then their blades battled once more.
A slash to Kane’s thigh and another wound bled. Four in all he received. Few in number, considering the twelve that Kane inflicted, though none could now be seen on the faerie, as all were mended without haste. Even the broken bone to The Bryan’s upper arm, caused by the flat of Kane’s sword, was gone as well.
Despite his own injuries that could not heal, Kane refused to fall. Drawing on strength from within, Kane continued the clash with every bit of his might.
Over and over they swung their blades, moving to and fro across the hall. And Kane growled his frustration each time he was about to disarm Moros, only to see him disappear and then reappear elsewhere. Even more so, when he knocked the hilt from the faerie’s grasp, Kane deemed himself triumphant, but saw that it was not to be, for The Bryan reclaimed it, calling it back and snatching it from the air before it hit the ground.
Kane roared his ire at The Bryan’s use of magic to accomplish the task, sure he was a better swordsman and able to defeat the faerie if it were not so. Yet much to his dismay the king failed to stop it, despite the queen and Fallon shrieking their disapproval.
“Ye can no’ defeat me mortal,” Moros said.
They faced each other, blades raised, and Kane glared at him, his breathing harsh and heavy. Where Moros continued to heal the mass of wounds he sustained, Kane was unable.
Well at least the faerie heaved his weary breath too.
It was a small victory.
At least Kane had that much to be proud of, for there would be no more.
With the loss of blood and no reprieve from combat, Kane had grown immensely weary. Reluctantly, Kane was forced to accept that he was unable to go on any longer.
Still grasping the sword, he fell to his knees.
Fallon darted forward, but Gwyndolen halted her, grabbing her by the upper arm. “It’s not over yet. Your warrior still clings to his blade.”
“He barely clings to life, Mother!” Fallon broke free, but before moving further, she was restrained by two fae her mother summoned. Though she struggled against them, they were too strong, and they held her firmly. Fallon relented. Escape from them was impossible. All she was able to do was look on in horror.
“Get up, coward.” Moros stood over Kane.
And before Moros knew what speared him, Kane’s blade was embedded into the fae’s groin.
At the sight of such a horrendous blow, the faerie who witnessed groaned in accord. Many shuddered and grimaced at the sight. Some covered their crotches with both hands, as if the pain was their own.
“You son of a bitch!” Gritting his teeth as he healed the incredibly painful wound, Moros pressed the tip of his sword to the underside of Kane’s chin. “I should kill you for that.”
Lowering his sword, Moros allowed Kane to struggle to his feet. The least he could do was offer the Gael his dignity as he finished him off. Besides, the act would deem him compassionate, gaining the favor of the female faeries who watched, thus making his bed a rutting place this night, and he would insist Fallon join them.
Kane swayed as he faced the fae. Though he showed little emotion in his expression, defeat riddled his heart. His head throbbed from a blow he received and his stomach felt queasy. Kane could feel the loss of the battle. It was an imminent thing.
He could not win.
“I am but a mere human,” he said, despair setting in.
Fight fire with fire, warrior.
Kane searched the crowd, finding Fallon amongst and he looked upon her sorrowfully. “If I can no’ live with the woman I love, then I have no’ wish ta live at all.”
Kane dropped his sword.
The faeries all shouted their disbelief.
“Nay!” Fallon screamed as she struggled against the fae who held her.
Save him! A voice inside of her head that was not her own commanded Fallon. It was an ancient who spoke.
But Fallon needed no one to bid her to save Kane. Fighting with every bit of her might, Fallon broke free from the fae who held her. She ran toward him.
Closing his eyes, Kane spread his arms out from his sides, an open invitation for The Bryan to take his life.
I am with you warrior. The goddess entered his mind.
Silently he waited for the blade to pierce his heart, soothed by the ancient one’s presence. Kane would accept whatever fate had in store for him.
“Your wish is my command.” Moros shrugged nonchalantly, disregarding the human life in front of him. He grinned victoriously—evilly.
Hurry! The ancient one told Fallon.
“Nay, nay!” Fallon threw her body at Kane as The Bryan drove the weapon forward.
The blade pierced Fallon’s flesh and then impaled her heart from back to front. It continued onward through her body and straight into Kane’s chest, the sound of tearing flesh permeating the palace great hall. And they both released a painful cry.
Moros yanked the bloody blade back and held onto it.
The faerie assembly froze. Armond’s eyes widened and Gwyndolen screamed in outrage, her aura turning a mix of red and black.
Kane wrapped his arms around Fallon and gurgled a breath. “What have ye done, woman?”
He tumbled backwards, holding Fallon tightly and bringing her down and atop of him.
Fallon’s blood oozed and mixed with Kane’s.
“Tá mo chroí istigh ionat,” Fallon gasped. My heart is within ye, always. Her head dropped to Kane’s chest.
“Literally.” Moros f
rowned.
“Tha gaol agam ort-fhèin, Fallon.” I love ye, Fallon, Kane said. “Into eternity.”
Fallon tipped her head up to Kane’s face, their eyes met and locked, as life began draining from each of them.
“All will be well,” Fallon whispered. “As ye sacrificed yer life fer me sake, I now sacrifice me life for yers.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Well isn’t that a bitch,” Moros said. “I was so anticipating the druid naked and in my bed this evening. I guess it’s not going to happen now.”
He understood the agony of dying, having done it in the mortal state many times before. And just for a moment he felt guilt, but pushed it aside, his sentiment turning cold—uncaring.
It was simply the way of the human existence and nothing more. The mortals all died eventually. Some sooner than others. It was what made them, well, mortal.
“You’ve killed them!” Gwyndolen screamed. She rushed forward, dropping to her knees besides the bodies of her daughter, Fallon, and the warrior, Kane.
Moros shrugged a shoulder. “It was an accident.”
Gwyndolen shook in outrage ready to lash out, but then she gasped at the mist that began swirling in the center of the great hall around her and the fallen bodies. Immediately she rose to her feet, backing away quickly and cowering in a corner.
A figure materialized and was immediately shouting, “Have you all gone mad!”
Faerie shrieks chimed throughout the hall and most of them scattered. A few dropped to the floor, bowing at the Greek Olympian who had just appeared before their faerie eyes. Some shook with such great fear they could do neither, whilst others stood paralyzed—unmoving.
“Taking vulnerable human lives, mortal creatures, and exploiting them for your own immortal amusements, for your own entertainment!” Demeter spun, her robe spinning in the air as she did so. “I’m appalled! No, I’m beyond appalled! I’m flabbergasted that you all let this go on!”
Her eyes fell to Fallon and Kane briefly before circling her gaze around the great hall, glaring one by one at the fae who remained. “You all disgust me!”
“Hello, Demeter.” Moros dropped his sword to the floor and it hit with a resounding clank. He then strolled to an overstuffed chair and plopped into it, crossing his ankle over the opposite knee.
“And of course you had nothing to do with this, Moros.” Demeter swung around to face him.
“I didn’t start a thing.”
“No, but apparently you’ve finished it.”
“I was merely doing the queen fae’s bidding.”
With an immense frown on her face, Gwyndolen shrank further into the corner she was hiding in as Demeter shifted and then glared at her.
“Ashamed of yourself, Gwyn? Why do you hide? I’m sure the sentiment will pass quickly, and you’ll be back to doing whatever it is you do soon, thinking on it no more.”
Gwyndolen swallowed hard and closed her eyes. It was more than shame that befell her. It was grief—tremendous, horrible, unbearable grief. Her daughter was dead, and it was completely her fault.
“What’s the matter, dear?” Demeter said. “You look rather pale for a faerie.”
“This was a grave error, goddess.” Regaining her composure, the fae queen stepped forward to defend herself. “My only desire was to bring my daughter home to me.”
“Grave.” Demeter snorted, though humor was far from what she felt. Kneeling down beside Fallon and Kane, she eyed their bodies from top to bottom and then back up again “Well, I guess you have her.”
She picked up Fallon’s hand from where it rested on Kane’s chest, and then releasing her grasp on it, Fallon’s arm thumped to the ground, splashing in the blood that pooled around them. “She’s not in very good condition, is she?”
Her attention turned to Kane, and Demeter stroked his hair. “Such a pointless waste of beautiful human flesh.”
Demeter looked up, her expression saddened as her gaze again swept the room. “Did none of you here consider that these lives had a right to be spared?”
A single tear fell from the corner of her eye.
Unlike the fae, the Greek immortals were prone to immense emotions that tended to linger overlong. And this occurrence affected Demeter so deeply it would likely stay with her for a very, very lengthy amount of time.
Forgiveness would be a difficult thing to find.
Standing, Demeter faced the king. She inhaled a deep breath before speaking. “I’m none too pleased with you at the moment either, Armond. How could you let this go on?”
“I….” Armond held out upturned palms and stiffened his shoulders, but then they slumped. “I have no answer for you, goddess. Everything just got out of hand. I merely thought….”
Fire raced through Demeter and her fury burst through once more. “You merely thought to feed your pleasures!”
Her voice then rose to a booming, ear shattering pitch that was so loud, the faeries cowered and the entire palace shook. “You merely thought that the druid woman would keep Moros from the fae queen and out of your hair!”
Pausing, Demeter’s eyes froze on the fae king and she went still.
“Yes,” she finally said, her persona demonstrating her goddess power. “I was not far from your thoughts, any of your thoughts.”
She began to pace the floor, shaking her head, but then stopped again. Pointing an angry finger at the king, Demeter bellowed, “You, Armond, are nothing but a mere fool!”
Moros snickered behind Demeter’s back. She heard him and spun around. “And I’m far from finished with you, Aori.”
“Careful, Demeter, there’s steam coming from your ears and nose.” Moros answered. His brows twitched, but otherwise his face was expressionless. “I would hate to see you explode.”
He would love to see her explode.
“What is done can’t be undone,” he added.
“For them,” Demeter snarled as her eyes fell to Kane and Fallon. “But not for you.”
“What are you saying?” Moros shot to his feet.
“I’m saying your reprieve is over.”
“Now wait just one minute, Demeter….” Moros stopped speaking.
He and Demeter just stared at each other.
Finally he furled his brows at her silence. “What?”
“I’m waiting one minute to see what nonsense you’re about to speak.”
“The fae queen has promised to seek audience with you on my behalf.”
“I am well aware of the bargain you made with Gwyndolen, Moros.” Demeter shot him a stern look. “I’m also aware of the deceitful ruse you rendered on the druid and the warrior. As I told you I always stand with a watchful eye, particularly when it comes to you.”
Demeter knelt down by Kane and Fallon once more. Dipping her fingers in the pool of blood, she lifted it to her nose and inhaled.
“A son of the whitethorn,” she murmured as her eyes drifted shut.
The scent was unbelievably incredible. It was ecstasy in its utmost glory.
Moros cleared his throat as he looked at Gwyndolen. “Well?”
Gwyndolen shook her head. Aori was truly insane if he thought she would beseech Demeter on his behalf after all that had just happened.
“A promise is a promise, my queen,” Armond interceded. “You must make your bid.”
Looking between Armond and Demeter, Gwyndolen hesitantly stepped forward.
“Very well, Gwyndolen.” Standing, Demeter lifted her chin, emanating her pristine presence and her supremacy over the faerie. “You may have your audience. Go ahead now and speak.”
“Yes, well, goddess.” Gwyndolen approached and awkwardly bent to one knee, bowing her head in reverence. Humbleness was an enormously difficult thing for a faerie, but Demeter would chastise her if she didn’t show respect. As much as Gwyndolen, and all fae for that matter, hated to admit it, the Greek Olympians were much, much more powerful than the faerie creatures were. “I … you….”
“Spit it out, Gwyndolen!
” Demeter’s voice rose. “I haven’t got all century to wait.”
Gwyndolen took a deep breath and then blew it out harshly. The desire to do this bidding completely escaped her. In fact, it demoralized her.
“The favor you owe me….” Gwyndolen began. Her gaze fell to her dead daughter’s body and she lowered her head in despair, guilt, shame. “I ask that you offer Moros—”
“No,” Demeter interrupted before the queen could complete her request.
Gwyndolen tipped her head in confusion. “But, the favor you owe me.”
“I know what it is you seek,” Demeter returned. “But the answer is no.”
Gwyndolen rose to her feet and nodded. She was gladdened the asking was denied.
“And why is the request denied?” Moros snarled as he stomped toward Demeter.
“There will be no secession of your punishment, Moros. Especially after what I’ve witnessed here this day.”
“But the favor you owe Gwyndolen.” Moros looked at Demeter with an irate gaze. “You dishonor yourself, goddess.”
“I do owe her a favor, but this request is one I won’t grant.”
“For what reason? I did nothing wrong this time. I only did the fae queen’s bidding, and there was nothing wrong in what she asked.”
Demeter blew out a breath. “Will you never learn?”
Moros crossed one arm over the other. “And what lesson am I to learn this time?”
“He who plots to hurt others often hurts himself.”
“Who did I hurt?”
Demeter dropped her head. Moros was surely daft in the brain—poor descendent traits or something of that nature. It had to be for him to be unable to see the error of his ways. “You disrespected a sacred tree.”
Her eyes dropped to Kane and drew her brows together. “To destroy a whitethorn is to incur great peril on oneself.”
“It’s a damn tree!” Moros objected.
“But the warrior was not.” Again Demeter bent and dipped her fingers into the blended blood of Fallon and Kane. Holding her fingertips together she stretched her arm out toward Moros. “You have destroyed the son of a sacred tree and his mate. The spirits weep.”
“Oh for the love of….” Moros threw his head back. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
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