by KB Anne
“You took my servant and my prisoner,” Breas growls at me from the other side of the flames.
“If you mean Ryan and Lizzie, they aren’t your prize ponies. They’re people.”
He grins at me. His reaction is sickening. “They aren’t people. They’re werewolves.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Did you neglect to realize what night it is?”
Something about his firm belief that I’ve made a serious miscalculation worries me. I glance up at the sky and see the full moon, almost at its apex, emerge from the clouds.
“The Oak Moon,” he says. “A night of power and strength, especially on the night of the winter solstice.”
Oh shit. How long had we been in the seomra de rúin? How long had I been knocked out after Alaric nearly killed me?
“Gigi,” Alaric chokes beside me. “I can’t stop it. Not on the solstice. I fought it as long as I could.” His body twitches as he tries to combat the shift. “I won’t be able to stop the change. I will kill you.”
As if to confirm that fact, his green eyes flash to the yellow-gold of his wolf.
Panic removes my ability to breathe—and that’s kinda important right now.
“I forgot about the full moon.”
“We didn’t,” Witch Kensey says. She throws back her head and releases a howl, the primal call alerting every werewolf that reincarnated Brigit is here for the taking. It won’t matter if they’re from Maria and Declan’s pack or a competing one. Their canines will drip saliva with the prospect of tasting my blood.
“Gigi, get out of here,” Alaric groans. “You have to leave.”
“Gigi,” Maddie touches my arm. I leap away from him, terrified that he will kill me, but then I realize he doesn’t have claws or teeth. The crystal . . .
Panic grips me once more as my hand shoots to my neck, remembering how Alaric had slashed at my necklace, sending the crystals flying all over the shrine room. But relief immediately washes over me because—thank the gods—the necklace is there, completely repaired. And I’m pretty sure I know who had taken the care to do that. I rip off the necklace and reach over Alaric’s head. He tries to fight me off, but I’m determined to fasten it. The moment the crystals rest against his chest, his fangs retract, his green eyes return, and his claws disappear.
“You’ve done it,” he gasps. “You’ve saved me. You saved us!” He crushes his lips to mine.
“Get your hands off of her,” Breas shouts.
Alaric deepens the kiss instead.
“Enough,” Witch Kensey snarls, and Alaric and I are ripped apart.
“The protections are breaking, Gigi,” Scott says. “We have to get out of here. A portal would be great right about now.”
Anna, Sam, Granda, and the rest of the coven nervously pace around the perimeter, chanting spells to keep the shields up.
I’ve only portal traveled with Scott.
“There are too many of us, and I won’t leave them behind.”
“No, there aren’t. Join hands, everyone,” Caer shouts.
The three of us take hands, further amplifying the power of the trí cumhacht. Alaric takes my other hand, Maddie takes his, and the rest of the coven quickly forms a large circle.
“Together,” the three of us shout and a giant portal pulls us through. No need for shoving into this one.
“No!” Witch Kensey and Breas shout, but the sound grows more and more distant as the portal removes us from the danger. We’ve avoided death for the time being, but the storm is coming.
Storm Moon
The Goddess Chronicles Book 6
1
Fire Is Friend
Fire is friend. Or at least it seems to be at the moment. And so far it keeps Breas and the Fomorian witch in the form of my high school nemesis, Kensey, along with the rest of the mindless swarms at bay while I figure out what we should do next. My fire shield encircles us along with the entire coven and what’s left of Clarissa’s cottage.
Alaric’s green eyes find me. Thank the gods that the nightlock-imbued crystal necklace I threw around his neck as the Oak Moon reached its apex kept him from turning into a werewolf and tearing out my throat. As a werewolf, he isn’t in control of his actions and would mourn killing me later. I’d mourn my death too, but still, stopping the change in the first place is much better. Why deal with the messy side effects? There’s got to be a way to tame the wolf side of him, but today is not the day to enter him into wolf obedience school.
“As long as this fire continues to burn, we’re trapped here,” he shouts to me, scanning the fire shield to ensure it remains in place.
“I know, but I can’t actually harm any living being, so until we figure out a Plan F.U., this is all I’ve got. Look on the bright side, at least I can create fire to keep our enemies out.”
“Since returning from the seomra de rúin, I’ve had more than enough fire, thank you very much,” he grumbles.
He’s so cute when he’s annoyed. Positively scrumptious.
Caer stands at attention on the other side of me. “There are many enemies here, but it is nothing compared to what Scott and I faced earlier.”
She’s not lying. The battle in the Shadow Realm reminded me of a Clash of the Titans–esque battle, with both Scott and Caer chopping off heads and not taking numbers. Medusa’s fighting skills had nothing on Caer. (Although Medusa’s stony expression packed a weighty punch reminiscent of Balor. The two should have a staring contest and save the rest of us a lot of trouble.)
“Any ideas what we should do next?” Scott asks on the far side of Caer.
Breas’s eyes fall to the handle of Scott’s sword. I got up close and personal with Scott’s sword during our seomra de rúin visit to the Shadow Realm, but I hadn’t noticed its ruby-encrusted handle. Where have I seen that before?
Caer grips her own sword’s handle beside me, and I realize why Scott’s looks familiar.
“Did you two purchase matching swords? It’s kinda adorable.”
She arcs her blade through the air. “There is nothing adorable about a weapon that can slice an enemy’s head off.”
Scott inches away from her, obviously familiar with her tendency to swing her sword around and probably not wanting to test their tenuous-at-best relationship—his words not mine.
“The swords were wedding presents given to our godly forms,” he says. “They return to us in every reincarnation and in time of need.”
A werewolf lunges at the fire shield. As his body hits it, he yelps in pain and gets launched backward, his body aflame.
“We’re in need of all the help we can get,” Alaric says through clenched teeth, staring at the collapsed wolf.
Apparently, I can inadvertently hurt a living being if he or she were to propel themselves at one of my fire shields, although I don’t feel as satisfied that I hurt someone as I thought I would be.
I step over to Alaric. “Can you retake command of your pack? Tell them to fight with us instead of against us? It would increase our odds.”
More wolf eyes flash on the other side of the flames. “The whole pack’s here,” he whispers.
“And they’ve brought friends,” Scott says. “Or your pack is much bigger than I thought it was.”
Alaric crouches into a more combative lunge. “No. Declan’s been recruiting.”
My thoughts return to all the cells under the cavern. “Or Carman’s made more.”
He stiffens. “She knows how to make them?”
My gaze slides over to Maddie. He ever-so-slightly raises his shoulders in an I-guess-he-doesn’t-know kind of way. From what Maddie told me, Alaric bit and created most of their pack, but apparently he was spelled by Carman to do it and possesses no memory of it—which fit his claims when he first showed up in my room at Granda’s in the middle of the night all those weeks ago and acted like he didn’t know how he got there. His attraction to me probably made it easier for Carman to spell him.
But Alaric was
imprisoned in Brigit’s shrine with his father for weeks. He couldn’t have been spelled to create new ones.
However, there was another child of Clayone available, and “recruits” could have been sent into the shrine via the tunnel.
“Alaric, did anyone come to visit your dad while you were in the shrine?”
He blinks in surprise at my question. “Not that I remember. And I don’t remember smelling anyone either.”
“Was Lizzie there the entire time? Did she ever leave?”
“Guys,” Scott says, “as much as I’d love to have a sit-down session to figure out how in purgatory’s name there are so many werewolves, we need to figure out a plan of attack or an exit strategy because—wait . . . is that Kensey?” His jaw slackens as he stares at my nemesis and his occasional hookup.
“She’s a vessel for a Fomorian witch. I warned you she was a back-stabbing, hex-throwing witch, only now you can see it for yourself.”
He shivers at the potential ramifications. “Well, whatever she is, she’s cooking up some type of curse that will be nasty.”
All our attention shifts to Kensey. Her lips move as she palms dark smoke in her hands.
“Carman’s not the only one familiar with Maleficium.”
Witch Kensey smiles at me from across the flames. I can just imagine her saying, “I am going to enjoy this.” There are an exceptionally scary number of similarities between her and Carman—that’s probably what attracted Breas to Kensey in the first place. Evil attracts evil.
“What should we do?” Scott says, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m not too keen on discovering how well Moralltach blocks curses.”
“You named your sword?” Boys with their toys.
“Swords of honor all have names. Mine is Freagarach,” Caer growls, her Fae canines flashing. “I say let’s fight.”
The last time Scott and I fought a crazed Maleficium witch, Dad and Calliope died in the crossfire. Tonight, we’ve already lost Gallean and Clarissa. I can’t bear for anyone else to lose their life or risk injury. Caer might be ready to battle, but I’m not. Scott isn’t either.
The shield bulges toward us as Witch Kensey starts pushing against it with her magical Maleficium smoke ball.
“The protections are breaking, Gigi,” Scott says. “We have to get out of here. A portal would be great right about now.”
Anna, Sam, Granda, and the rest of the coven nervously pace around the perimeter, chanting spells to keep the shields up.
I’ve only portal traveled with Scott.
“There are too many of us, and I won’t leave them behind.”
“No, there aren’t. Join hands, everyone,” Caer shouts.
The three of us take hands, further amplifying the power of the trí cumhacht. Alaric takes my other hand, Maddie takes his, and the rest of the coven members quickly form a large circle.
“Together,” the three of us shout, and a giant portal pulls us through.
“No!” Witch Kensey and Breas roar, but the sound grows more and more distant as the portal removes us from the danger.
* * *
Portal hopping causes nasty side effects, especially when it’s your first time, and when you’re entirely human. The motion sickness can cause severe vomiting and dizziness—similar to riding a tilt-a-whirl by yourself five times in a row (and I speak from experience). Half the coven members collapse to their knees in exhaustion, clutching their stomachs. The other half crawl away on all fours, searching for some privacy so they can puke their brains out.
Anna recovers much faster than the others. She’s portal jumped with Clarissa a few times. “Alysha? Bev? Are you okay?” she asks.
Alysha and Bev moan to indicate they’re alive, but they still aren’t sure how or why they feel so queasy.
“Milia, Chanti, where are you?” Sam, who also has some experience portal hopping with Granda and Clarissa, calls out.
“Over here,” they sigh with considerable effort between dry heaves.
“Granda, Granda!” Scott shouts as he rushes over to his collapsed frame.
That’s when everything goes to chaos in a handbasket.
Two werewolves launch themselves into the remains of our portal circle. Their teeth drip with saliva as loud growls fill the space. The smaller one is a cute-but-fearsome tan and white wolf. Lizzie. Her red eyes meet mine one second. The next, her muscles bunch and she launches herself at me. Her claws dig into my chest, sending me tumbling backward. Sharp canines snap at my exposed throat.
“No,” Alaric roars.
Seconds before her teeth graze my skin, he rips her off of me and throws her across the circle. She spins around and growls, crouching down to relaunch herself at me.
“I said, no,” Alaric’s baritone voice rumbles, vibrating through the circle.
She hesitates.
“You will bow to me,” he says. His tone leaves no room for argument. She crouches low as the alpha overpowers her.
Ferocious snarls tear my attention away from Lizzie. Granda’s wrestling a large gray wolf with sadly familiar yellow eyes. Ryan. His teeth snap at Granda’s chest. Scott raises his sword.
“No,” I scream.
He pauses.
“Scott, don’t kill him. It’s Ryan.”
Scott stumbles backward as if struck. “What?”
“It’s Ryan and Lizzie.” I point to Lizzie’s now-folded frame bowing in front of Alaric. Her eyes flash red as she tries to fight his alpha command. She may also be the daughter of Clayone, but she ranks lower than her brother.
Granda screams and our attention immediately shifts back to where Ryan has him pinned against the ground. Caer catapults herself on top of Ryan and tears him off Granda. Scott drops his sword in surprise, dumbfounded at both Caer’s raw power and the fact that the werewolf is his best friend who was supposed to be dead. Scott had pulled the trigger himself.
“Help her,” I yell at him.
He snaps out of his daze and rushes to her aid. The two wrestle Ryan to the ground with brute force. His teeth snap at them as his four clawed paws try to push them off. He’s a powerful werewolf, but they’re far more powerful—especially together. They soon subdue him.
Lizzie emits a low growl as she continues to fight Alaric’s dominance. Maddie stands beside her to ensure her obedience. He fingers the crystal around his neck, thankful that it keeps him from shifting into a wolf and turning on us. I’ve got a whole bowl of nightlock-imbued crystals inside. I’ll force them on Lizzie and Ryan.
“Someone help us,” Anna yells. She’s trying to staunch the blood flowing from a wound on Granda’s arm while Sam holds his blood-covered hands to Granda’s carotid artery. “We’re losing him!”
I can’t lose him too. I can’t. I head toward Granda’s collapsed frame. There must be something I can do.
The Chalice of Healing, Brigit reminds me.
I can save them all. I lunge toward the front door.
“Gigi, we need your help now,” Anna screams.
Her pleading freezes me in place. I war with myself. Take the time to get the chalice and the crystals, or try to heal him without it?
Alaric grunts as Lizzie launches herself at him, knocking him over. Her teeth snap at his chest. His crystal necklace—she’s trying to tear it off of him and cause him to turn. How does she know the crystal is preventing him from turning?
“The crystals,” Maddie yells, snapping me out of my daze. “Hurry.”
Anna releases a string of curses, thinking I’ve abandoned them. I run into the house and grab the Chalice of Healing along with the bowl of crystals and sprint back outside.
“Here.” I throw a crystal necklace at Maddie. He plucks it out of the air with his fast reflexes and prowls toward Lizzie, intent on circling it around her neck and turning her back into a girl.
“Scott, think fast,” I shout and launch another one at him.
He releases Ryan with one hand and catches it on his middle finger. “Hold him,” he yells to Caer—as if s
he needs a lesson on werewolf containment. From what I’ve seen, she’s mastered that job.
Since I’m not as fast as Oegden, I slide across the ground to Granda on my knees. I’ve seen it done in movies a dozen times, so I figured if a plain old human can do it, why can’t I? Granda’s eyes widen as he sees what I’m cradling in my hands.
No, he wails in my mind, unable to speak aloud.
“Yes, and there’s nothing you can do about it,” I snap at him, leaving no room for discussion in my voice as I slice my palm and start to chant.
2
Failure Is an Option
Granda smashes his lips together and refuses to drink from the Chalice of Healing. After a few attempts, I even try to compel him to no avail. Finally I manage to “persuade” him with the assistance of Anna. Sam is squeamish about forcing Granda to drink blood. Anna, who still isn’t a Gigi fan, especially after she thought I’d abandoned them, has no qualms about wedging Granda’s mouth open so I can pour my spelled blood down.
Granda coughs up some of the spelled blood but keeps most of it down. His stomach sputters and heaves, but the contents of the chalice stay with him. The healing effects of Brigit begin to take effect almost immediately. His fingers begin to twitch, soon followed by his arms and legs. Once again I am humbled by the awesome power of Brigit.
When he finally starts breathing normally on his own, he scowls at me.
I jump backward as if I’d been burned. “What?”
Anger and judgement swirl around him, reminding me of a hurricane. “You took a great risk using the chalice on me.”
“There wasn’t an option.”
“There’s always another choice.”
I can’t disagree more. “Well, Gramps, I wasn’t about to let the last non–reincarnated-god member of my family die.”
He clears his throat, still experiencing the healing effects of the chalice. “I wasn’t going to die.”
Ah yes, the stubborn streak in our family is strong in this one. “Your throat was almost ripped out at your carotid artery, and if that didn’t kill you, you would have bled out from the chunk missing from your arm.”