Triumph

by Serena Akeroyd

  For four years he’d lived here. This fenced in yard held his toys, and there was the carport with the roof that would leak when it rained. Painted a vomit-yellow with a gray clapboard roof, it was certainly not like the palaces Theo and Thalia had been raised in.

  As a matter of fact, looking at the dilapidated state of the place, he was ashamed to show them. Embarrassed over how humble his origins had been.

  It was only now, when he had proof of how poor they’d been when his father had been around, that he could remember how much worse things had grown in his absence.

  Scowling at the ramshackle building, he hunched his shoulders as he shoved his hands into the pockets of the jeans Theo had conjured up for him earlier. He’d been wearing the damn trews that were fashion at Fae Court for too long—his balls felt like they were in restraints, and that was nothing to his dick. Hell truly was a pair of jeans. With a Henley on and Cat boots, he was in what had once been his standard garb. So why the fuck he felt like he could crawl out of his skin, he wasn’t sure.

  This entire day had been one fuck up after another.

  Seeing his dad, his dead dad, again was just another dose of crazy into an already messed up mix.

  Thalia slid her hand over his tensed arm in a gentle caress, and damn it to hell, he breathed a little easier at her proximity. Mikkel didn’t know what kind of pansy ass shit that was. He didn’t have to like it for it to be true though—having her close to him felt good. Real good. He’d long since stopped fighting it, but damn, it always came as a shock at these moments when he realized just how she made him feel.

  “How you doing?”

  Her voice was low, and he knew it was low enough for Theo and Rafe to hear. Of course, they pretended they couldn’t. They could have stood down at the end of the road and heard her—they were supernatural, after all.

  Their senses were a thousand times stronger than a human’s. And that was just the Lyken in the bunch—Thalia—so only God only knew how powerful Theo’s senses were, and Rafe’s too when he finally figured out what being a changeling truly meant.

  Before he could reply—something he was grateful for, because he didn’t want to lie but neither did he want to tell her the truth—the door opened. He stiffened at the sight of his momma looking how he remembered her from when he was a kid. All golden hair down to her butt, usually pleated in a thick braid, sparkling blue eyes that had grown dull with fatigue once his Pa had perished overseas. She wore oversize overalls and a tank top underneath and she was hauling Mikkel’s kid self out.

  He sucked in a sharp breath as his mother—from thirty fucking years ago—dragged him out the door and to the driveway. When she saw them standing there, Donna Marie Josephs scowled at them, then, she bit her lip, peered back at the doorway and asked, “You here for Ragnor?”

  Mikkel, all big blue eyes that were wet from tears, stared at them with no rancor, but he was upset and confused. Weird thing was, he could remember those coveralls his mom had dressed him in when she took him to his playgroup, and he remembered the day his dad had left like it was yesterday. But it was different now. Through the eyes of an adult, he saw signs he didn’t like.

  Donna had a bruise on her arm that made his jaw ache from gritting it, and the way she was looking at him…? It didn’t exactly make him feel warm and cozy. When he thought of her in the here and now, so happy she’d make a pig in shit look downhearted, in contrast to the woman she’d been when he was a boy? It was like night and day.

  But then, she was with Stephen now. A man who was her true soulmate. Just as Mikkel was to Thalia.

  His throat closed in on itself as he stared at her suspicious eyes. That is, until Thalia elbowed him in the side. “Yeah,” he murmured, his words choked. “We’re here for Ragnor.”

  She pursed her lips then nodded. “Said he was waiting on someone. You’d best go on through. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” She said that snottily, and he could tell she didn’t approve.

  Of what, he wasn’t sure, and he wasn’t about to ask.

  As they watched, his mom shuffled a young Mikkel into the back of their broken-down car before, with another suspicious glance at them, getting behind the wheel and driving off.

  “Can I just say something?” Mikkel blinked as, the air finally clearing from all the crap that poured free from the exhaust as his mom drove off, Thalia spoke.

  “Since when do you ask?” Rafe retorted, wryly, but truthfully.

  She just huffed. “You were the cutest kid. OMG,” she squeaked. “You were all blond and blue eyed and stuff. And so little too!”

  “Young humans tend to be small, Thalia,” Theo told her drily.

  Mikkel’s lips twitched. “Let’s hope the sprout in there takes after me if you thought I was cute, huh?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “She’s a girl.”

  “So? I think Mikkel would look real purty with makeup on,” Rafe said, in his best Texan drawl, snickering when Mikkel just flipped him the bird and Thalia howled with laughter. Theo, watching over them like the ancient, decrepit pervert he was, just shook his head.

  “I’d like to see you try,” was all Mikkel said, but he dropped his hand to Thalia’s and squeezed. “You think Ragnor’s waiting on us?”

  “I doubt it. How would that be possible?” Rafe inquired, but he sidled up next to Mikkel, coming to a stop when his arm was pressed against him. It wasn’t weird, it was pack. Mikkel, after all these years, was finally pack, and what a fucked up pack it was too.

  Still, he wasn’t about to complain. Not when he’d been missing this with his siblings since the first one had been born.

  “Very little could surprise me today,” was all Theo said, as he moved to stand beside Thalia. His hand swept into his usual position—on her waist. He tucked her tighter into his side even as Mikkel kept a firm grip on her hand.

  At that moment, with these three people at his side, Mikkel knew he could handle pretty much anything that was waiting for him behind that door.

  And that was fucking handy because he had a feeling his Pa was waiting on them, and that was the weirdest feeling in the world.

  How could his dead father have been waiting on him thirty years ago?

  It made no sense, and yet, the feeling worked its way into his gut. It gnawed away like a mouse nibbled down on a piece of cheese, not stopping until the trap snapped. Mikkel hoped he wasn’t about to get caught up in something they couldn’t handle—but was that possible?

  With their capabilities all wrapped up into one package, they were untouchable, weren’t they?

  When they were a quartet, they were on fire.

  It was when they were separate that they were weak. As had happened this damn morning when they’d left Thalia in their quarters—she was about to get very sick, very quickly, of always having someone with her.

  Still, tough shit. No way was he about to put up with her going missing on him again. His heart couldn’t fucking stand it.

  Said organ began beating like crazy as they stepped toward the hodge-podge home. Their feet crunched on the graveled drive, and at the sound, the door swung open.

  His Pa rested his arm on the top of the door as he peered out at them. “Wondered when you’d be coming in. Wasn’t sure if you’d work up the courage.”

  Mikkel stiffened at the sound of his father’s voice. He hadn’t heard it in thirty-four years and the words weren’t exactly welcoming.

  Licking his lips, he was about to speak when Theo let out a hiss. It wasn’t agitated, it wasn’t even angry. It was annoyed. “Hvad er du?”

  Mikkel’s eyes widened. “Huh?”

  When Ragnor replied, his nostrils flaring as he stood up straight, Rafe whispered, “What language is that?”

  “I’d assume Danish,” he murmured back. Theo let out another long breath, and this time it was agitated. Enough so Mikkel swore, “Fuck, Theo. What the hell’s going on?”

  “He recognizes me,” Ragnor murmured, his grin coming as swiftly as it left.
“Come. It’s time to speak with you of important matters.”

  “He says that like he knew you would come.” Thalia’s tone was no more uneasy than Mikkel’s would have been if he’d made the same statement.

  His heart still pounding, he took a step forward, then stopped when he felt Thalia’s fingers tighten about his hand. The gesture grounded him, once again forced him to realize that he was not alone in this. Would never be alone ever again.

  Rather than feel suffocated by the notion, he embraced it. Wondering if he’d always felt this fucking cold inside and was only now starting to warm up.

  Theo surprised him by stepping into the house first. He did so in a way that presented more of a blockade than anything else. Maybe Ragnor, his father, understood, because he heaved out a long sigh and grumbled, “Why would I harm my own child, Theodore Sidhe?”

  “Your kind are too fickle to be trusted,” Theo retorted.

  “My kind?” Ragnor scoffed. “You’re including Mikkel in that sweeping statement, I presume? Considering he’s my child?”

  Mikkel stiffened at the conversation. While tension flushed through him, Theo either didn’t sense it, or didn’t care, because he ignored Mikkel’s father and said, “He is more than your child. You and I both know how his fate was affected the minute you died.”

  Grunting at yet another conversational segue that made him want to scream, Mikkel snarled, “Can we move into the fucking house, please?”

  “Lead on, Theodore Sidhe,” Ragnor said, his tone gravelly if smug. “My child wants to meet me.”

  Not appreciating the sensation of being a pawn on a chessboard between these two men, Mikkel was about to shove Theo out of the way when Thalia pressed a hand to the Fae’s back. “Theo,” she murmured softly, his name gentle on her lips.

  He stiffened. “What, Fated?”

  “Mikkel will be well.”

  Theo half-turned to stare at them. “If I’d known what your father was, I would never have brought us here, Mikkel.” There was an apology in his eyes. “Forgive me?”

  Confused, Mikkel asked, “What are you talking about? I don’t need to ask you for forgiveness. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “You say that now,” he whispered, the words thick, like his tongue was too big for his mouth. He closed his eyes, his shoulders dropping as he moved out of the way, allowing Mikkel and Thalia, with Rafe at their back, to move into the too-small foyer of the house.

  This too was how he remembered it. Inside, it was like the sixties were still running wild and free. There were huge painted flowers on the walls in sickly shades that made his eyes water they were so neon. Mustards and browns competed for space in the lounge Mikkel wandered into, not needing any prompt from his father who, Mikkel saw, had disappeared.

  Hearing the click of a can being popped open, he knew dear old dad hadn’t gone far, and it gave him a moment to peer around his childhood home.

  He remembered the lurid colors, but with the eyes of an adult, realized the place looked like some kind of drug den. The state of the furniture was ragged, the floors were clean but there was paraphernalia on the table he recognized as that of habitual drug users. Having always been too controlled to appreciate anything more than a cold beer after a long hot summer’s day—well, every kid in college messed around a bit, but he’d gone cold turkey after a bad trip, and he wasn’t talking about waking up one morning and finding himself in Tijuana—his opinion of both his parents shifted at the sight of the bong, as well as the paper wrappers that would enable them to roll their own joints.

  Neither Thalia or Theo’s noses curled at the state of the place, but Rafe took the place in with what Mikkel assumed was surprise. He wasn’t sure why Rafe looked startled, but he did. His gaze drifted over everything, not missing a damn thing, unlike Theo and Thalia whose focuses were aimed in the direction of the kitchen, where Ragnor still was.

  A few moments later, his father, as blond as Mikkel himself, returned to the room. He had a tray in his hand, and it was loaded down with a bowl of pretzels, five cans of beer, one glass—for Thalia, he assumed, not that she’d be drinking beer now she was pregnant—and a dagger that had a small gilt pommel which was carved into the body of a snake.

  All of them stiffened at the sight of the dagger. But Ragnor seemed to avoid it as he passed out cheap beer and poured Thalia’s into the glass—his dad really was rolling out the red carpet here. “Sorry I don’t have anything fancier for the future Queen of the Fae,” he said, and Mikkel was surprised at the lack of a sneer. There was no mockery to the words, actual genuine humility. “We don’t drink much else but this or OJ, and Donna needs to go grocery shopping for some of that.”

  “Dissolute,” Theo mumbled under his breath as he took up a position on the back wall beside the window. He folded his arms across his chest and crossed his feet at the ankles as he watched over the scene before him.

  Unappreciative of the fact Theo was processing the situation like they were in some kind of Netflix drama, Mikkel forced his attention onto his father, and found Ragnor’s focus was fixed firmly on him. His mouth was split wide in a grin that was, if anything, proud. There was a sparkle of it in his blue eyes, and every now and then, his dad would scrub his hand over his military regulation short hair, reminding Mikkel of how alike they were.

  Both with silvery blond hair, tanned skin that even in the depths of winter never got more pale than creamy, and in the summer months would go brown, with their eyebrows turning almost white with silver specks. Their mouths shared the sharply-cut Cupid’s bow, and wider bottom lip. Their noses were the same, their jaws just as stubborn.

  It was, quite frankly, like looking in a mirror.

  How had Mikkel not realized that?

  How hadn’t he realized what an effect this must have had on his mother? Seeing Mikkel was like looking at Ragnor in the flesh. But Stephen was her soulmate, and Ragnor hadn’t been. If anything, he’d been an aberration that had seen her tossed out of her family when she’d fallen pregnant, and had moved into this squalid place as a result.

  Mikkel knew from what little his mother had told him, that she hadn’t really expected Ragnor to stick around until Mikkel was four.

  “What’s going on?” It was Thalia who broke the silence. Maybe because she saw the way Ragnor was looking at him; with more of that unnerving pride and delight.

  “You’re my spitting image. Mother said you’d be. We weren’t sure. We don’t breed well with our own kind, never mind with humans. I wasn’t sure if you’d turn out more like Donna or me.”

  For a second, the words fell flat into the room. Then, as he processed the one word that was destined to make him choke, ‘human,’ he reached for his beer and tossed the contents back.

  “Human? You’re not human?” Rafe asked, sounding as startled as they all were, save for Theo.

  “No. I’m not,” Ragnor grumbled. “Fucking nerve.”

  Rafe winced. “I didn’t mean to offend. It’s just, well, you don’t scent of anything.”

  Ragnor heaved a sigh. “I’m sure you didn’t.” He rubbed his chin, making the stubble on his jaw sparkle as the light caught on the silver tones in his beard. “Three mates, huh? You fucking the men?”

  Mikkel choked again. “Excuse me?”

  Ragnor snorted. “Take that as a no. You should try it. It’s good. Must be phenomenal with the mate bond.”

  Unable to stop it, a coughing fit overtook him. Thalia pounded him on the back a few times until he held up his hands in self-defense—Jesus, his little spitfire packed some punch. “We’re not like that,” he managed to get out, but his voice ached from the coughing and his eyes watered too.

  “No? Well, you’ll live a long life. There’s too much shit in this world to pass up the good stuff.” He rubbed his hands together. “Never thought I’d see the day that one of our kind was tied to the Royal House of Sidhe though,” he stated with a wide grin. This time, the grin wasn’t proud but smug, especially as he cast a look at The
o. “Didn’t know you had a snake in your midst, no?”

  Theo’s eyes narrowed into thin lines. “Mikkel is not like you. Your leaving before his formative years had a chance to begin, saved him from that fate.”

  Ragnor pursed his lips, and his top lip curled in a way that told Mikkel the hit found its target, and Ragnor wasn’t too happy about it.

  What the fuck was going on between these two?

  Before he could ask, Ragnor was rubbing his chin again. He was seated on one of the shoddy armchairs that had more holes in the sides than it had stuffing in the cushions. Leaning over, one of his elbows on his knees propping him up, he looked like Rodin’s the Thinker.

  “Mikkel,” it was Theo who spoke. Theo whose voice was gentle as he caught his attention. “Do you remember how my father spoke of a time when Lykenkind was more interesting?”

  That had him blinking. Why was Theo talking about Lykens? Because no way in fuck was Mikkel anything… Just thinking it made his jaw ache with how hard he was gritting it.

  “I remember,” Thalia said, her fingers gently squeezing his as she tucked herself closer to his side on the ragged sofa. Her knee pressed to Mikkel’s, and even though the position was awkward for her, she rested her free hand on his lap. “I asked Kane if it was true about Zeus screwing a swan.”

  Theo’s lips curved slightly. “Yes. And I’m certain that was the first time he’s ever been asked such a question too.”

  Thalia shrugged, totally unapologetic. “You can’t fuck swans without being asked about it.”

  Mikkel snorted. “Say it how it is, babe.”

  She shot him a quick wink. “Oh, I will. Don’t you worry.”

  Being at the center of her sparkling attention recharged him somewhat. It allowed him to suck in a deeper breath when Theo prompted, “Remember he spoke of more interesting Lykens, Mikkel?”

  He did. They’d been in Kane’s weird floating salon where the sofas were made of clouds and the conversation had felt like a riddle. “Yeah. I do.”

  “There was a time when special Lykens were considered Gods, son,” Ragnor stated, his voice raspy. “When something unusual didn’t have to be dissected and understood, just appreciated and even feared. I’m talking way back in the day here.