Table of Contents
Anduron: God of Mabon (Sons of Herne, #7)
ANDURON: GOD OF MABON | SONS OF HERNE 7 | J. ROSE ALLISTER
ANDURON: GOD OF MABON SONS OF HERNE 7 J. ROSE ALLISTER
Read on to find out about the next tale... Archipellus: God of Samhain: | ABOUT ARCHIPELLUS: GOD OF SAMHAIN:
Titles in the Sons of Herne Series:
ANDURON: GOD OF MABON
SONS OF HERNE 7
J. ROSE ALLISTER
He frees those who are unjustly imprisoned...but can he release his captive heart?
The seventh in a series of erotic romance fantasy novellas...
The Fates have been bringing all the sabbat gods to their knees over carnal desires, including Anduron's own twin brother. Anduron will not be so easily swayed, however. The god of Mabon needs only one thing from the Fates: the power to free one who is unjustly imprisoned, an act bestowed upon him once per year in honor of his sabbat.
Then he encounters an old woman in need of rescuing, an act that, outside of the ritual of Mabon, is technically forbidden.
Jenna is worried sick when her overdue grandmother shows up with a handsome stranger on her arm and tales of how sexy Anduron saved her from a mugging. Jenna is grateful, quite possibly to the point of swooning, until he disappears right in front of her eyes. He returns to say he is the god of the pagan thanksgiving—and that he wants her for a ritual where she will sleep with him out of gratitude for her grandmother's rescue. The sheer nerve leaves her burning, but those eyes and that hard body leaves her curious. She proposes an alternative: woo her like a mortal man, and if he succeeds, she will grant her consent for the Mabon ritual.
Anduron has little experience with courting a woman, let alone one as infuriating as Jenna. She rejects all his overtures until she finally confesses what she wants most: a freedom raid on an animal testing facility that will cost him more than he bargained for. He will have to risk capture to keep her out of danger. With no guarantee she will agree to his terms, just how many immortal laws will he break in order to win her consent to be his?
About the Sons of Herne series:
The god Herne has appointed eight of his most virile, headstrong sons as keepers of the pagan holidays. To honor their sabbat, each must join with a mortal female in a ritual to maintain the balance between worlds.
The Fates have secretly conspired to grant the gods one thing they lack—a true union of male and female that will last well beyond the fleeting passion of a sabbat joining.
Herne’s sons will wrestle with the conflict between sacred duty and their own yearnings, a struggle that will not only challenge their beliefs, but may threaten the success of rituals that must be observed lest the realms of mortal and immortal collide in chaos.
Genre: Erotic Romance/Fantasy
Length: Around 33,436 words
Copyright © 2016 by J. Rose Allister
First Ebook Publication: September 2016
Cover design by J. Rose Allister
All cover art and logo copyright © 2016 by J. Rose Allister
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
ABOUT THE E-BOOK YOU HAVE PURCHASED: You do not have the right to distribute or resell this book without the prior written permission of the author. This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred.
ANDURON: GOD OF MABON
SONS OF HERNE 7
J. ROSE ALLISTER
The tree-lined street greeted the god of Mabon with the colors of autumn—leaves of gold, ruby red, and deep, sunset orange. They rustled at Anduron as he passed, and fluttering bits of the season broke free of their branches and dropped to the ground. The god of the thanksgiving harvest strode with purpose, unconcerned that his glittering eyes or unusual ears might attract the notice of humans. The veil pendant was secure around his neck, the crystalline gem in the center glowing brighter than the afternoon sun. The pendant rendered him invisible to most in this realm until he wished otherwise. The sound of his feet crunching through the leaves might have been of concern, except no one was near enough to hear.
He looked around at the houses along the street. Which one belonged to the witness he was there to present his formal request to? The time of Mabon was soon at hand, and the woman chosen for him awaited his arrival. She would tell him of a human who had been unjustly imprisoned, and by the power infused in the artifact hidden in his cloak pocket, he would release them. The gesture of freedom would be celebrated later between the god and his witness, a carnal joining of bodies reveling in the sabbat named after a deity who freed many who were held captive.
His hand went to his pocket, feeling for the reassuring weight of the artifact. The key of Mabon was the instrument by which the Fates granted Anduron the power to release a mortal, once per year, to fulfill his duty while still obeying the law regarding immortals not altering the destiny of humans. Many gods felt the Mabon ritual should be abolished, that even this one small gesture of freedom was too much meddling on the part of the Fates in the lives of mortal men. Meddling in the lives of gods, on the other hand, was something that the three Fates had thus far been getting away with.
Morta, Decuna, and Nona had expended a great deal of effort in the year of the Thousand Seasons to screw with the gods who oversaw the sabbats—his brothers. They were determined to see the sons of Herne turning their ritual lovers into long-term mates, and thus far, they had succeeded with every sabbat keeper who had observed their annual pagan holiday. Not even his own twin, Feillor, had avoided this fate.
No fewer than five times during the blessing of the key had Anduron opened his mouth to challenge the Fates about their recent actions and warn them not to attempt any such trickery with him. Still, others had tried to confront them—including his own father—and all had failed. The Fates had powers none clearly understood, but they could not fully overcome one’s own free will. So it was assumed that if a sabbat god had fallen in love, it was because he wanted to.
Anduron did not want to.
Unlike his brother, he held no particular ill will against humans. Far from it. But Anduron had his own mission in life, and settling down with a woman might only stand in the way of what mattered to him most. Freedom. His father being a stubborn old stag and his mother one of the enchanting, yet sometimes conniving fay, it was hardly surprising that he should suffer from a strong sense of opinion—and a loyalty to a sacred vow once made. His duty to freeing those who were unjustly imprisoned was what he most cared about, even if the laws only allowed him one such gesture each year. Regardless of whether the Fates thought they had other plans, they had given him the power to go forth as the keeper of Mabon, and go forth he would.
An earth vehicle raced by, stirring leaves around his feet. The passengers inside didn’t notice him, meaning the pendant was still hiding his presence here. He had wondered about the pendant, for it had been acting strangely of late. Feillor had made use of one during his recent sabbat with disturbing results. The Fates had apparently tampered with the gem so that rather than keeping him unseen, Feillor’s appearance had been altered to make him appear more human. His proud rack of antlers had vanished. Anduron reached up at the thought to trace the outline of his ears, reassuring himself that their elongated, pointed tips were still intact. Antlers aside, Feillor already had a good deal of their mother’s human genetics, and the Fates ma
king the transformation complete for a time had no doubt played into his brother’s ultimate madness. After all their conversations about the Fates’ meddling in their brothers’ love lives, after swearing to one another that they would guard themselves against similar trickery, Feillor, who couldn’t stand humans, had gone and mated himself to one. Permanently, or so he claimed.
For a god, permanently was a very long time, and Anduron had scoffed at the idea. At least, he had until his besotted, starry-eyed twin had cornered him at the Counsel of Sabbats to share the news that his lover had conceived during their joining on Lammas. A ripple of unrest had gone through him at that. Conception was a serious matter for the sabbat gods, all of whom engaged in sex with humans as a matter of course while fulfilling their duties. Powerful magics were employed to stop the sabbat keepers from procreating during their ritual carnal relations, but it was said that should the bond between the joining pair be strong enough, there was a possibility that the couple’s sexual energy could overwhelm the enchantment. Such was considered highly improbable, since the sabbat gods by and large joined with women they knew little about. But Feillor’s feelings for Salina, his human enchantress, had obviously run deep enough to thwart the enchantment. Anduron’s closest kin, both genetically and practically speaking, had fallen for the Fates’ plan.
As Anduron swept along the street, his cloak billowing behind him, he did not find the familiar landmarks he sought. He might be safely hidden, but he had a different problem with the veil pendant. Ordinarily, the gem allowed him to phase between worlds, appearing in or near a destination of his choosing. The longer he walked, however, the more suspicious he became that he wasn’t in the correct location. Either he had not applied sufficient focus, or else another pendant had mysteriously malfunctioned.
He stopped on the street, picked up the pendant, and closed his eyes while focusing on his destination. Moments later, he opened his eyes with a sigh. He hadn’t phased, hadn’t moved at all. Something was definitely wrong.
A scowl crested his features. He was certain the gem itself was not to blame. Fashioned by elven gods, who used the most sacred of magics to imbue the crystal with energies from the veil between worlds, the pendant’s capabilities would be flawless. Only the one using the stone—or a power great enough to influence destination mid-phase—could have altered his course. Perhaps holding his tongue with the Fates had not been prudent after all.
But then, perhaps he was too quick to blame them. Understandable, considering their relentless meddling among his brothers. It was possible, however, that there was another explanation. Maybe the witness was rapidly changing locations. Might she be traveling by portal? Unlikely. Still, perhaps he would find her if he kept going a bit farther. If not, he would return to the Counsel who had selected the human witness and request instructions. It would be unusual, but then, so was his sabbat. His celebration of thanks was considered unique among the rituals overseen by his brothers. Unique and controversial, second only to the highly debated ritual of Samhain when it came to stirring up whispers and outright indignation. Though next to one another on the wheel of the year, he could not see why the two were so often compared. The Samhain ritual involved the taking of a life. His Mabon ritual would give one back.
The street ended, and he rounded the corner into an abruptly different setting. Gone was the lush fall foliage and pleasantly appointed houses. Here was a city block, with cement light poles in place of tree trunks and liquor-selling establishments rather than homesteads. Scanning the street more diligently, he kept moving, wondering what the witness was doing in such a place. If, in fact, the chosen one was here at all.
A cry snapped his head around, and he paused, every muscle stiff, while he listened.
“No! Please!” he heard a woman say. Then another shout.
His feet began to move, picking up pace, the god jogging toward the woman who was clearly in trouble. The witness, perhaps? An alley veered off up ahead, and Anduron stopped in the opening to see a disturbing sight.
Two men had captured an old woman, each holding one of her arms while she struggled between them. Bags of food had been dropped at her feet, fruit spilled out and eggs broken and stepped in. Her cry was pitiful, terrified, while a third thug dug through her purse.
“Empty?” he said, waving a leather wallet at her. “Where’s the cash?”
“I have no money,” she said. “I spent it on those groceries. Please let me go.”
Interfering would be forbidden, technically speaking. But then, the men were restraining her. Anduron could consider that she was being unjustly imprisoned. He could use the key, though once he did, he would not be able to aid another. Meaning whomever his witness had chosen would remain captive.
The man reared back and struck the woman across the face. Rage burned through Anduron. Chosen or not, the woman needed assistance—and the god of Mabon would answer.
He strode forth, removing the key from his pocket. He was still invisible when he held the artifact aloft and activated its power.
“Ah shai-ya noma da sabbat,” he called out. “Insoyola mata ram so kai a Mabon!”
The humans glanced around, clearly puzzled by the disembodied voice. The key dissolved in Anduron’s hand, the energy absorbing through his palm and surging up his arm. A golden glow followed, filling him with light, and he turned that power on the man who had dared harm a fragile woman. He let loose a burst of energy that hit the human in the chest, sending him back with a piteous shriek to land among garbage cans a short distance away. The other two let go of the woman, though one shoved her to the ground while they backed up. Unable to resist, Anduron took hold of the pendant, focused his presence there, and judging by their reaction, the gem had responded by allowing him to be seen.
“Who the hell are you?” one of them asked, still backing off. “Some kind of freak?”
Anduron continued advancing on the men. “I command you to release this woman.”
The shorter of the pair backed into a brick wall. Cornered, he lashed out, but Anduron caught hold of his wrist, tossing him aside to join his friend among the trash.
“And have you anything to say?” Anduron asked the final man, whose rheumy eyes had gone wide. “Remorse for your crime would be wise.”
The guy took off running, leaving the alley and his cohorts behind. The other two, who had struggled to their feet, fled as well. When they were gone, Anduron turned to the woman, who was still on the ground, sitting among her ruined foodstuffs.
“Are you all right?” he asked, standing over her.
She gazed up at him with an innocent, childlike wonder that took decades off her wrinkled, leathery features. “Are you a guardian angel?” she asked.
He smiled. “I am no angel,” he said, crouching to peer at the angry mark on her cheek. “Although I have a brother who is.”
He reached out gently, using his immortal powers to infuse her injury with healing light. An angel, no. But there were times that his elven heritage proved useful.
She gasped and fingered her face.
“Better?” he asked.
She nodded. “I don’t know how to thank you.” A gnarled hand reached up, stroking his face. “I wish I could see you better. My glasses got lost when those awful men grabbed me.”
He helped her stand and looked around the alley. Her spectacles were covered in raw egg, and he did his best to wipe them clean on his cloak before returning them. Much of the food was a loss, but he gathered the rest into a relatively undamaged bag.
“Shall I transport you to your home?” he asked, wondering whether the veil pendant would cooperate if he attempted it.
“I live just around the corner, if you wouldn’t mind walking with me,” she said. “I’m still a little shaken.”
He swooped her up and carried her, the bag of food in her lap. She protested at first, but she finally gave up and clung on, her glasses perched on her nose, regarding him closely. Now that she was able to see better, there would be no h
iding the fact that her rescuer had not been human. Even with his hair covering his ears, there was the matter of his eyes, one a glittering gold color, the other silver.
As they made their way, he tried not to think about the ramifications of what he’d just done. The woman had needed saving, and he had possessed the means to do so. But he had expended the energy of the key before the ritual of Mabon, and on someone of his own choosing. Such an act would not be without consequences. But he could not take it back now. The deed was done, and neither the Fates nor the Counsel of Sabbats would allow the key to be recharged with the power to save another in the same week. The old woman had become his gesture of freedom. His best hope of salvaging the situation would be to plead his case to the witness, get her to agree that the woman should be named as the offering.
True to the old woman’s word, they did not have far to go. She directed him to a house on the street he had first phased to, and his mind whirred with suspicion about that while he deposited her on the doorstep. He opened his mouth to ask if she needed a key for entry when the door yanked open. A young woman stood in the doorway, her eyes looking like a pair of wild, green orbs. Her mouth went agape when she saw the two on the porch.
“Gran!” she exclaimed, flicking frequent glances at Anduron. “I’ve been worried sick. Where have you been?”
“I’m sorry,” the old woman said. “I had some trouble. But this man saved me.”
The girl’s stare landed on him longer this time before returning to the woman. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”
He hadn’t intended on entering the house, but with a surprisingly tight grip for her age, the grandmother took hold of his hand while she let herself be led into the house. He followed into a tasteful, moderately-sized living room, but not to stay overlong. He would need to extricate himself and find the witness with all haste.
After helping the old woman get settled in a tufted arm chair, she pulled him down to his knees. “He told me he wasn’t my guardian angel,” she said, taking hold of his cheek and pinching it. “But that’s exactly what he is.”
Anduron: God of Mabon (Sons of Herne, #7) Page 1