He went motionless, staring into my eyes. Softly, he said, “You crazy, beautiful, maddening woman, that’s because you trained yourself to live that way. And wisely so. It’s what kept you alive. It’s been your saving grace. You learned young the necessity of leaving the pain behind and embracing the next good thing. Few people ever achieve that clarity. Prolonged grief is self-mutilation; a blade you turn on yourself. It doesn’t bring them back and only keeps you trapped in misery. You were healing the way people should heal but they punish themselves instead. For what—being the one who lived? Those we love will die. And die. And die. Life goes on. You choose how: badly or well.”
I knew that. With my head. But my heart had felt guilt so enormous and crushing, I hadn’t known what to do with it. I’d been out of control from that moment on. Each time I’d passed Chester’s, telling myself I was just checking on it, it was all I could do not to stalk in that door and pick up where our last kiss had left off, when he’d kissed me like I was the many complicated things that I am, when he’d shown me how completely he understood me. I’d wanted to forget my pain but any way I looked at it that was equivalent to forgetting Dancer and I was the one who remembered the people who died, damn it. That was what I did. I noticed the invisible people. I knew what it felt like to be one. I used to think I’d die in my cage and no one would ever even know I’d once been there. I’d simply vanish, unknown, unmourned, forgotten. Sometimes, toward the end, I’d wondered if she’d been trying to starve me to death.
“I couldn’t forgive myself,” I said softly. “It was a betrayal of the love we’d shared. I refused to see you because I knew what I’d do and I couldn’t resolve the conflict. But I would have,” I added heatedly. “Within a few months at most. You could have texted me, checked to see how I was. But you never did. Not once,” I said bitterly. “Your turn. Where did you go? And why were you starved when you got back?”
He smiled faintly, mirthlessly. “I never went anywhere, Dani. I never left at all. I was right here in Dublin the entire time, beneath your feet, under the garage behind Barrons Books & Baubles.”
“What?” I exploded.
“You walked above me once, feeling lost. I tried to send you a thought but the pain was so intense by then, the hunger so consuming, I’m not certain it got through. It was either make Barrons imprison me in a spelled cage I couldn’t escape, where he’d once contained his son, or cut my brand off you, and risk you getting lost. I was never going to risk that. If you’d called me, Barrons would have released me. If you’d used IISS, it would have bypassed the spells holding me.”
I stared. He’d been locked in a cage for two years? Barrons’s son—what the hell? I knew nothing about a son! I filed that away for future questions. Right now all I could think about was Ryodan trapped like an animal, as he’d once been so long ago as a child. As I’d been. We both knew the hell of cages. I would never go back into any kind of prison again. Couldn’t imagine any reason to willingly commit myself to two years of isolation, locked up. Oh, God, the whole time I’d been so angry that Ryodan had left me alone, he’d been alone, too, suffering! He’d been starved because he hadn’t eaten for two years, shut away in the ground!
“I turned into the beast shortly after Barrons completed the final spell, and never changed back again. I knew it would happen when I went in. We can only go so long without eating. After that it was madness. I lost all sense of time. Marked moments by your most intense emotions. My beast raged every time you fucked. My beast wept every time you cried. With some small part of my brain, I kept thinking you’d call and it would end. I’d be free. We’d be free. Together.”
The horror of it flooded my heart. All that time, waiting for me to call. But I never did. “Why?” I cried, incredulous. “I don’t understand!”
Shadows rushed in his silvery, crimson-flecked gaze. I would have killed every man you slept with, Dani. I’d have left a trail of dead men behind you, guilty of nothing more than being chosen to share your bed. You’d have hated me for that. And I couldn’t control it.
“But you controlled it with Dancer,” I said.
Locked beneath Chester’s. I killed three of my men the final night you spent with him. That you loved him and were loved in return was enough to give me an edge over the beast. But lust, ah, Dani, that my beast can’t accept. I couldn’t fight it. I couldn’t win. I’m not human. Despite my appearance, despite my efforts, I’m beast first and it’s not always controllable. That’s what I was trying to tell you when I told you Lor wouldn’t have stayed to watch you dance. We know our weaknesses. If we can’t control them, we avoid them. We live by a rigid code. We didn’t always. Barrons developed and enforced it and one by one we all adhered. You have always been my greatest weakness. You had every right to take men to bed. I had no right to stop it. I stopped myself the only way I could.
I stared at him and began to cry. Not ugly, just big, silent tears slipping down my cheeks.
“Christ, don’t do that. Not when I can’t—ah, fuck. Close your eyes.”
I did, because I couldn’t stand looking at him, knowing I couldn’t touch him. Couldn’t bear the expression in his eyes, identical to my own.
Then he was holding me and my eyes flew open but he hadn’t moved.
“There are benefits to the bond we share. Close your eyes, Stardust.”
I did, again, then his hands were in my hair and he was cradling my head, holding me to his chest. I could smell his skin, feel the unflinching strength of his body.
I opened my eyes and the illusion vanished.
“It only works if you keep your eyes closed.”
“Ryodan, I’m so sorry,” I said miserably. “If I had known, if I’d had any idea this would happen…” I trailed off. We’d both wasted two years. I’d wasted it. I’d never called. And I’d wanted to so many times.
His silver gaze locked with mine. You, Dani O’Malley, have always been the greatest mystery of my existence, the one thing I’ve never been able to predict. Linchpin theory means nothing where you’re concerned. My actions may not have been the wisest either. But whatever’s happening changes nothing. You’re so bloody beautiful to me—any color, any race, any skin, any species, woman, I will love you across all of them. If you turn into a Hunter, my beast and yours will run together. We’ll fight wars, save worlds, become legend. He smiled faintly. I’ll be the only beast in the universe in love with a dragon.
His words took my breath away, slammed into me with a painful blend of joy and sorrow. In a moment I would pull myself together.
“As will I. That’s what we do, you and I,” he said quietly.
And in a moment we would get down to determining how to save our world.
“Precisely.”
And maybe in a million, trillion, gazillion moments, being a dragon loved by a beast would be enough for me. But at the current moment I couldn’t begin to envision that place in time.
Once before I’d waited too long and learned the true meaning of regret. I was choking on that bitter taste now.
Raw. Endless. Grief. Raining. Eternal. Tears.
I closed my eyes against the burn of it and wondered if dragons could cry.
FOR A NOVEL CHANGE, Gustaine was happy to be small and inconspicuous.
The great god Balor was in a lethal mood today, killing the human bodies brought to him without even bothering to absorb their souls—a total waste of power!—just so he could enjoy each moment of pain and torture he inflicted upon them before they died.
Gustaine had little respect for those who reacted with ego and emotion over long-term planning for survival, it was against his cockroachian nature. Survival was paramount. Patient, subtle chesslike moves, plus yet more patience, guaranteed success. That was why he’d pledged fealty to the one called Ryodan for as long as he had. Of his many alliances over time, it was that cool, calculating beast that had commande
d his respect. Like the cockroach, the beast-man would endure.
The Faerie prince was once a close second, but Cruce lied and the lethal ice-fire he’d charged Gustaine with planting at the abbey had damaged many of his individual parts. A single mind controlled his hive of bodies, and Gustaine counted each incremental part of himself precious. Felt the pain of them all. Hundreds of his bodies sported permanent scars from that battle, had been hobbled, crippled—like Balor was now.
Dani O’Malley had injured the great god, making Gustaine wonder if he’d pledged his services hastily. The Soulstealer was limping with a raw, jagged wound in his leg, charred at the edges.
Eons past, Balor had been one of the most powerful gods to walk the face of the Earth, and a merciful one. The Soulstealer had once alleviated the suffering of humans, walking battlefields, attending the lingering dying, removing their souls from their bodies to spare them the pain of slow death.
But the Faerie had come with stealth, abducted and tortured Balor for a small eternity, trying to kill him, all the while impersonating him to his tribes. The Faerie had destroyed half his face in their efforts to gouge that great killing eye from his body. But he’d slipped their clutches, even with his shattered leg, and returned to live up to every one of the horrific legends the Fae had sown about him.
Then been captured again by the Faerie and entombed in the earth.
There was no god alive that despised humans and Faerie more. For that reason alone, Gustaine would remain in his service a bit longer. See if Balor could turn his recent failure around.
“Gustaine!” Balor roared. “Show yourself!”
Hissing softly, Gustaine assembled himself into a small head deep in the shadows. “My lord and master, how may I serve?”
“Find her again! Dispatch your countless bodies and locate that bitch. I want to know the instant you spot her, where she is, what she’s doing, who’s with her, where she’s going. Get me concrete information this time!” he snarled.
He didn’t point out that he’d gotten Balor perfectly concrete information last time but the god had overestimated himself, and underestimated his prey. He loathed that he would have to leave enough of his bodies here with the destructive, raging god to remain in constant communication with him. Yet another master, yet more volatility. He’d give Balor wide berth until he knew her location, stay compressed beneath rocks.
Clearing his throat, he ground out, “How will you destroy her when she possesses such power?” Perhaps he should have allied with the woman. Anyone that could injure Balor was a potential ally worth considering.
Balor gave him a terrible smile, sharp teeth, loathing and rage. “Why do you think I made my camp here of all places? The benefits were countless. I already have something she cares about deeply, and when humans care, humans fall.” He turned in a whirl of long black robes and snarled, “AOZ, gather the other gods and get them here now. It’s long past time we rain down hell on this world.”
Do you wanna touch me there, where
LATER, RYODAN AND I met with Kat and the Shedon in a bona fide conference room beneath Chester’s that was decorated with the same sleek blend of muscle and elegance as the rest of his club. From snooping in his files while he was gone, I knew he had vast holdings, and imagined he held meetings here, preferring to keep his business private. I couldn’t picture him walking into a bank or an attorney’s office.
Part of the nightclub was open again, as Elyreum was a pile of rubble, and I could feel the powerful bass thrumming beneath my boots as I irritably tapped my fingers along to “Do You Wanna Touch Me” by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts. Clearly, someone left Lor in charge of the music. Clearly, someone needed to drag him out of the eighties before he drove the clientele away. Clearly, they could pick a better song than one about people wanting to be touched. My only option right now was a Pillsbury Dough Boy poke in the belly.
When I’d called Kat earlier to fill her in on Balor, she’d swiftly proposed coming into the city for a meeting, saying she had information for us as well.
“It’s possible,” Kat was saying now, “this never would have happened but the Song enhanced whatever the Hunter left inside you, Dani.”
“It’s also possible,” Enyo said, “like the Fae, when one Hunter dies, another must be born; the way Christian and Sean replaced the Unseelie princes.”
“It’s also possible,” Colleen said, “with Hunters, if someone kills them, they automatically become the next one.”
“Not only is all of that irrelevant because it is what it is, it’s also possible,” I said dryly, “that I’ll only turn solid black and never become anything else.” I doubted that. But I was sick of talking about me. I was sick of thinking about me. “We called this meeting to discuss Balor, not me,” I reminded, scratching my arm through my glove. I was no longer icy to the touch but I was having random, sporadic bursts of itching beneath my skin, as if my cells were doing something I’d prefer they weren’t.
I was gloved, covered from head to toe, and bloody well hot. My hair was sleeked back into a braid, because I was afraid if I turned around fast, my long waves would fly out and kill someone. Holy crackling curls, my hair could kill someone!
Everyone knew not to touch me. It wasn’t as if they could forget I was dangerous when half my head was black. Obsidian flames licked across the left side of my face, streaking over my nose. With one solid black eye, dancing with low flames, I was downright fierce looking. And beautiful. Just not who or what I wanted to be.
Kat had filled us in on her time with Christian and Sean, and I’d mulled over the shocking realization that all of us—Mac, Barrons, Ryodan, me, Christian, Sean—had been off in our own corner of the world, trying to deal with our problems. They hadn’t left me. In fact, none of them would have gone if they hadn’t been forced to by their circumstances. Mac needed to learn to wield the queen’s power, Christian would have killed everyone if he’d come around, Barrons would never leave Mac’s side, and Ryodan, oh God, Ryodan had locked himself away to give me the freedom to take lovers, to figure myself out, to grow up. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for you, he’d said. Saving me from the fire at the abbey, tattooing me, offering to save Dancer, helping me rescue Shazam, forcing me to live when Dancer died, disappearing when I’d chosen a Ryodan look-alike.
I couldn’t think about that now. We had a world to save.
Thanks to Christian, we finally had a reliable timeline of the history of gods, Fae, and Man. When Kat had finished recapping, I’d taken my turn and filled them in on my battle with Balor.
The Shedon furiously thumbed through the books I’d swiped from BB&B, while I talked.
“Listen to this,” Decla said, reading aloud. “ ‘Balor: king of Fomorians, often described as a giant with a large eye that wreaks destruction when opened. It’s said as a child, Balor stared into a cauldron of poison, or a spell of death being brewed by druids, and the fumes caused him to grow an enormous, toxic eye. He was eventually killed by Lugh, in the battle between the Fae and Fomorians for dominion of Ireland.’ ”
“Here’s another one,” Duff said, reading from a different book. “ ‘The demonic one-eyed god of Death. Invader, conqueror, with a single enormous leg—’ ”
“How does anyone even walk on one leg?” Ciara said with a snort.
“He had two,” I assured her. “I injured one of them.”
“ ‘—and one huge eye—’ ”
“He had two,” I said again. “One was much smaller.”
“ ‘—that he can use to kill merely by opening it and looking at someone.’ ”
“That’s how he was taking my soul. I made the mistake of locking gazes with him and couldn’t break it. When we find him, you must never look at his eyes. He was wearing a mask, and when he took it off, it was instinctive for me to peer beneath it.”
“Probably wh
y he wears it,” Aurina said. “I’d have looked, too. When people conceal something, it makes you want to see it more.”
“I don’t think that was it, or that’s merely an added boon for him,” I said. “His face was badly scarred beneath the mask, but the rest of it was attractive. Beautiful, even. I got the impression he’s vain, egotistical.”
“Perhaps he got scarred like that when he looked into the cauldron of poison,” Duff suggested.
“If there even was a cauldron,” Kat said dryly. “I researched Balor myths as soon as Dani told me his name on the phone. They’re all over the place. Completely different stories. I found one that alleged he was a benevolent god that came when beseeched to battlefields, to attend the lingering dying, freeing their souls so they wouldn’t have to suffer the pain of death. According to that myth, he was merciful, gently removed them from their bodies and released them to the sky.”
“Well, he’s definitely not doing that now,” I said grimly. “He’s keeping them, absorbing them, using them for power and fuel. Factoring in what Christian told you, Kat, perhaps he was once a benign god, and what the Fae did to him turned him against us. Rather than using his gift for good, he uses it for himself.”
Kat said, “The question is: how do we find him?”
“And how do we kill him?” Enyo said.
“The legends say by taking his eye,” Decla said.
“Those same legends say Balor’s dead,” Kat pointed out. “Which seems to imply it didn’t work.”
“Not necessarily,” Enyo said. “Dani said he’s scarred around that eye. That sounds like someone tried but failed.”
“The myths say Lugh used a slingshot to take Balor’s eye with a stone,” Decla said.
“Yes,” Kat countered, “but supposedly Lugh was his grandson, and Lugh was Fae. Our history is a mess.”
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