Feillor: God of Lammas (Sons of Herne, #6)

by J. Rose Allister

  She heard Feillor, who had been sitting nearby, get up and move closer. “The council was open to your suggestion?”

  “You mean your suggestion. And I think so. At least, they’re willing to consider postponing the clearing efforts until they can reconvene. They’ve dragged their feet for months already, so a little more time shouldn’t matter. The petition helped a lot, and Andrea’s mural was genius. You should have seen it.”

  “My sabbat duties required a period of extended meditation.”

  “I know. Still, it was your idea about volunteers clearing out the damaged trees and such that really what helped sell it. Thank you for coming up with it.”

  His hands joined hers, strong fingers moving in soothing circles over her head. She popped her eyes open to find him standing over her, staring down with those eyes that made her heart wobble.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, trying not to sound alarmed.

  “Helping.”

  “Again with helping out a human? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re starting to like us.”

  “Not all humans. But perhaps there are a few who are worth a second look.”

  His second look took him on a tour below her neck and beyond, and she felt her throat close up. His hands continued to do miracles to ease the headache, so she dropped hers to her lap and let him work his magic. Whether that magic was due to his fay-god heritage or just strong, capable fingers, she didn’t know. But the results stirred her pulse and made places other than her temples throb.

  “Why did you let Rogan think I am just some homeless male you took pity on?” he asked after a minute.

  “I told you the day you got here that I wasn’t about to tell him I have a god at my house.”

  “And making it a point to say my presence is only temporary? What was the purpose of that?”

  She frowned. “I didn’t want him getting the wrong idea about us.”

  “What idea is that? That you and I are sexual partners?”

  Every inch of her stiffened at that. “Which we aren’t.”

  “And you want that to be clear to encourage Rogan to pursue you as a lover himself.”

  “No! That isn’t it.” She sat up and turned around.

  “Then why?”

  “I just...I don’t know. Why, do you want him to get the wrong idea?” She blinked at him. “Is that why you brought that stuff about going home with me yesterday? Did you want him thinking we’re lovers?”

  Feillor came around and sat on the couch. With her seated in the middle, his thigh was now touching hers. “You make the prospect sound so distasteful.”

  She started to scoot back, put some distance between them, but he grabbed the back of her head and gazed into her eyes. “When we are close, your cheeks flush and your pupils widen. I know the truth about your attraction to me. Having sex together would not be the awful experience you make it sound like.”

  He silenced her argument by closing his mouth over hers, and the world went silent. The deafening pulse in her ears shut out everything but Feillor—his clean, masculine scent, the heat rising off his body, the hard muscles she was being pulled against while his soft, but insistent lips explored hers.

  “Salina,” he breathed in a soft whisper. Then his tongue swept open her mouth and plunged in.

  Her hands had gone out instinctively to brace against his chest, but when his tongue unleashed a hot jolt of pleasure, she slid those hands up around his neck. Feillor grew bolder, moaning against her mouth, letting his hand wander down to the fullness of her breast. Her nipple was already stiff and aching when he found it, and when he pinched it, both of them gave a muffled moan, and her pussy began a wet, insistent throb.

  When her hands decided to explore, she ran one along his shoulder, down his narrow waist, and found the hard bulge of his cock pulsing in the tight jeans. His groan sounded almost anguished when she gave him a squeeze. He pushed her away and stood up.

  “I am sorry,” he said, adjusting the long ridge in his pants. “I should not have done that.”

  Although she hadn’t planned to let things progress even that far, his sudden rejection tore through her stomach. “I’m not sorry. But then, I forgot. I’m not desirable enough to you.”

  “You are quite...desirable. But I still cannot sleep with you.”

  She glared at him, smoothing her hair back from her burning cheeks. “Why, because I’m a human? Just what is your beef with humans, anyway? Your mother was one. Was she that terrible?”

  His lip snarled. “My mother was a fine woman who does not deserve your sharp tongue.”

  She recoiled a bit at his harsh tone. “Look, Feillor, I’m sorry. But if she’s so great and all, why are you so hard on humans? When’s the last time you even saw her?”

  “My mother is dead,” he said, his gaze going flat and ashen. “Long dead because she was human.” He spat out the last word as if the very taste of it in his mouth was bitter.

  She stared up at him, and he stared right back, daring her to challenge him. As they faced off in silence, she saw the pain in his eyes. Pain and truth.

  “That’s what all this is about, isn’t it?” she asked. “You resent humans because they’re mortal. And because your mother was mortal, she died and left you behind.”

  His nostrils flared. “She left me because my father would not stay with her. If he had remained, if he had made us a real family, his immortal grace would have extended her life.” His voice broke. “But he would not stay here on earth because of his disgust over what the human race had become. He went off and found another. Then another after her.”

  The hollow, bereft tone drove tears to her eyes, and she blinked them away when she rose and laid a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry for the loss of your mother. But was that really the fault of mortals? Had your father truly loved your mother, he could have chosen to overlook human flaws. Or maybe he could have brought her over to the other realm.”

  Feillor pulled away. “He loved my mother, just as he loves the sons she bore him.”

  “Of course he loves you. And I’m sure he loved her. I’m just saying it wasn’t the kind of love that would have made him willing to sacrifice. Forgive me, but you said you have other brothers, yet only one by the same mother. Sounds to me like Herne is more of a player than the settling down type.”

  He glowered at her. “You pass judgment on a god you call upon for help?”

  “I’m not passing judgment. I’m just saying him leaving might have had more to do with his own nature than that of the human race. Can’t you at least admit that it’s possible?”

  Feillor walked to the fireplace, eying himself in the mirror above the mantle. “I asked my mother once, when I was still a young lad, why Father did not stay with us. Why he wanted to have families with so many different women. She told me he was forever trying to fill a void that had opened inside him before I was born. That hole inside him sucked away any temporary happiness he found. It forced him to move on and seek it elsewhere before the pain he inflicted on those close to him became too great. She said I should not think myself inadequate because he was still looking to fill that void.”

  “Then how did you make the leap from that to him being disgusted with humans?”

  Feillor glanced at her reflection in the mirror. “I overheard him one night when he was angry. He spoke to my mother about the issues with humans, their wastefulness and destructive ways. He left and did not return for many years.” He turned around and faced her. “I decided then that he’d gone away because we were part human. I suppose that was an easier idea for me to bear than the thought that we were simply not enough for him.”

  For a moment, she saw a flash of innocence in his eyes, a vulnerable expression that revealed to her the boy he once was. A boy who had struggled to cope with the absence of his father.

  Salina walked up to him and stopped just inches away. “I can see how that would have made you angry with humans, even if there was more to the story that you wer
e too young to face. I get it, Feillor. I do. My father left us for some other woman when I was twelve, and I refused to talk to him for two years. Then my mother, well, she married some jerk I couldn’t stand right before I graduated high school. I know what it is to want answers about family and not like the ones you get.”

  She saw his Adam’s apple bob.

  They stared at one another for several long moments, silent understanding flowing between them. Then the atmosphere began to shift. She felt herself pulled into his gaze. Her stomach swirled with a sensation of sinking into Feillor, drawn as if by magic to the magnetic, erotic pull of a god.

  His head lowered, and her heart drummed harder. He paused right above her lips, his own hovering close enough to feel his breath. “Perhaps you are right about my view of humans,” he said at last. “But that does not change the fact that I will not sleep with you.”

  “Why?” she asked, cringing inwardly at the desperation in the word. “Because you still can’t face the fact that I’m human?”

  He shook his head. “Because I must remain celibate. Perhaps it is time I told you more about the ritual of harvest.”

  A loud knock on the front door halted the discussion. Feillor scowled at the banging and headed toward it, but Salina tugged on his arm and stopped him. “I’ll go.”

  The pounding resumed by the time she crossed the room, and when she pulled it open to a pair of livid eyes, she stepped out on the porch and closed the door behind her. The owner of those eyes was the last person Feillor should see if Salina had any hope of swaying his opinion about humans.

  “Mr. Mars,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Why are you pounding on my door?”

  “You know damn well why.” He stood there with his hands bunched into fists and his nostrils flaring. His dark hair stuck out at odd angles, as though he’d been shoving his hands through it. “The council tells me they’re planning to postpone while they deliberate—again—about my proposed development. My already approved development, I should say.”

  She shrugged. “That was their decision.”

  “Because you went down there to start more of your crazy tree-hugging shit.” He jabbed a finger at her. “This project is going to infuse life into this podunk mountain town. How can you argue that fact when it’ll bring more money and jobs than this place has ever seen?”

  “Along with pollution, traffic, and hot, smelly asphalt in place of clean air and nature.”

  “Lady, if you think I’m going to let some lonely spinster with nothing better to do cost me a five-million-dollar deal while I go away with my tail between my legs, you’ve got a hard lesson coming.” He took a long step right into her face, close enough to see every red, jagged capillary in his bloodshot eyes. “That’s the trouble with single women, thinking they can do whatever they want because they don’t have a man around to keep them in line. Know what I would do to you if you were my bitch? I’d...”

  The door crashed open, bouncing off the front of the house. She spun around to see Feillor come into view from some distance back, too far away to easily explain the door. He stalked forward into the doorway, his bulk filling the frame. The lethal glower in his expression made Mr. Mars appear downright serene by comparison.

  “Shit,” Mars murmured, jerking back at the sight.

  “You were saying about me being a lonely spinster?” she said, folding her arms.

  “Get away from her,” Feillor said, a dire warning glowing in his gaze. “Do not return here.”

  “Who the hell are you?” Mars asked, but he was already stepping back.

  “You better do what he says,” Salina said. “You could say he’s god around here.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Mars said. He stopped at the bottom of the porch steps. “I have power in this town. This isn’t over.”

  “It would be over if you were a wise man,” Feillor answered. “You are not the only one with power.”

  Mars stormed off with a string of profanity, hopping into a sleek four-wheel-drive. Feillor came up alongside Salina while the man peeled off, shooting dirt and pebbles everywhere and almost clipping the side mirror off her car.

  “I closed the door because I thought I could handle this privately,” she said, watching him go in a cloud of dust. “But maybe it’s a good thing I have a god hanging around after all.”

  “No man should threaten a woman so.”

  “He’s all talk. I think. In any case, I doubt he’ll pound on my door again.” She lightly smacked him on the arm. “You were quite formidable looking. Handsome too. I’m sure he felt super inadequate by comparison.”

  “He thinks you are a spinster.”

  She shrugged. “He can think whatever he wants, just so long as he leaves my mountain alone.”

  He eyed her. “This time, you let a man believe we were lovers.”

  “Because this time, a man really pissed me off.” She looked up at him. “And maybe because this time, it was closer to the truth. I guess we should go inside and finish that talk.”

  She turned back to the house, and Feillor let her go ahead of him through the door. He pulled it shut behind them and nearly ran into the back of Salina when she stopped short.

  “Uh, I think you got another special delivery,” she said.

  She nodded to the living room, where neatly tied, rich golden wheat stood in tall bundles in the corner.

  “The sacred wheat,” Feillor said. “It has been blessed, and the Fates have sent it here. Why?”

  “No idea. What are you supposed to do with it?”

  “I must turn the wheat into the first loaf of the harvest season. I am to break bread with it as part of the ritual of Lammas.”

  “This is the same wheat you cut yesterday? Doesn’t it have to dry out first or something?”

  “This is not your typical earthen wheat. It was grown in the sacred fields of my realm. Still, the full process does require some time.”

  “Then I’m guessing the Fates knew you’d have to get started on it.”

  “But none of the preparation can be done here.”

  “Why not?”

  He threw her a look. “The items required for the grinding of the wheat and baking of bread are back in my realm.”

  She laughed. “What, you think humans have never heard of bread?”

  “Yes, and you have large factories that churn out foul plumes of black smoke in order to produce it. That is hardly appropriate for this.”

  “I doubt there’s any churning smoke from a bread factory. Either way, there are plenty of us mere mortals who can make homemade artisan bread.” She rocked herself up on her toes and winked. “Some of us can even grind our own wheat.”

  He stared down at her. “Are you saying you have implements to do such a thing?”

  “I have a spinning wheel, don’t I?”

  He lifted a brow. “A spinning wheel is not used in the baking of the sacred loaf.”

  “No, but it should tell you that I’m not exactly a big city girl. I’ve ground wheat and herbs and all sorts of things. Although I’ll admit it’s been a while since I made wheat flour. Usually it’s almond flour. I use an electric grinder to pulse the nuts smooth.”

  He stopped near the wheat and examined one of the sheaves. “The grinding must be done manually. And I must do it, as well as prepare the loaf, with my own hands as part of my duty as the god of Lammas.”

  She stuck her tongue out behind his back, then wondered belatedly whether gods had eyes in the backs of their heads. “Fine, then,” she said. “I’ll let you borrow my kitchen and take my unacceptable human genetics far away from the sacred wonder bread. But I’ll have you know that a lot of pagans bake bread for Lammas. It’s tradition.”

  Now he turned to her. “I did not say that nobody else could assist in the ritual preparation. Acolytes normally aid in the baking. Indeed, the most important part of the Lammas ritual is done together with...” he trailed off, staring at her.

  She waved a hand at him
when he didn’t finish. “Done with what?”

  His gaze took a quick, measuring sweep of her. “With a human.”

  “Really? I’m surprised to hear that.”

  “A human woman, to be precise. For the breaking of bread.”

  “Okay. So you break bread with a human. I’ve done similar rituals myself. If you’re still around on Lammas, maybe you’ll get to see.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Somehow, I doubt you’ve done rituals quite like this one.”

  “I wouldn’t know, since you haven’t told me much about it.”

  He sighed. “I will tell you if you will lend me your implements and assistance to prepare the sacred bread.”

  “Now?”

  “Several stages are required, so yes. Do you have a threshing floor?”

  She paused. “No, that I’m afraid I don’t have.”

  “A barn, then, or any outdoor structure for separating the wheat?”

  She shook her head. “But you only need enough for one loaf. Come on, let’s take all these bundles out on the front porch and hope there’s no breeze. That’ll have to be your official threshing floor.”

  He nodded. “Before that, however, there is one other matter. The god of harvest must first be wed.”

  ***

  “Wed?” Salina blinked, her eyes widening into large marbles. “As in married?”

  “As in handfasted,” he corrected. “To the grain.” He raised a brow. “Try not to look so frightened. Have you never heard of a handfasting?”

  “Oh, I’ve heard of them. But here, they normally involve people. Not plants.”

  “It is merely symbolic,” he said, selecting the stoutest wheat bundle. “Binding myself to the wheat acknowledges the interdependence between the harvest and the laborer who brings it forth.”

  Salina nodded. “Sounds like a nice tradition. How is it done?”

  Feillor extracted three long stalks from the bundle. “Acolytes weave the wheat stalks in an intricate pattern while the ancient prayers are recited. Then symbols of harvest are painted on my flesh.” He eyed her. “I would ask you to bind me to the grain while I make the prayers. As you lack the gold dye and knowledge of ancient symbols, we may need to skip the painting.”