“Not an oracle, but you’re free to attempt it.”
“How is it the sharoc can’t detect you?” Morgen’s cruel allies and spies, the sharoc were shadow fey who thrived at Camelot. Varian had a hard enough time eluding their detection whenever he ventured here on his missions. He’d never understood how Shadow managed it.
“You want secrets I’m unwilling to give.” He passed a gimlet stare to Kaziel, who was being unusually quiet. “The two of you aren’t the only ones with pasts you don’t want disclosed.” And with that, he vanished.
Kaziel crossed his arms over his chest. “You trust him?”
“I don’t trust anyone, other than my wife and children, but he’s never given me a specific reason not to. Why?”
“Just thinking of something Aeron always says. I’d sooner trust my enemy than a friend, as I can afford to lose an enemy. But killing a friend over betrayal burns twice as deep and thrice as long.”
“Your point?”
“No point, really. Just something about that demon makes my hackles rise.”
Varian couldn’t agree more. “Don’t worry. Like you, my bite is much worse than my bark.” And he’d taken enough lives to prove it. If Shadow betrayed them, Varian would have no compunctions about laying open his throat.
Still, there was an evil presence here, and for once it wasn’t his mother or Morgen.
No, this was something far more insidious. Like a blackness trying to devour the world. Like Níth?ggur gnawing at the roots of Yggdrasill as he sought to free himself from his prison.
For now it was contained, but his gut said it wouldn’t stay that way.
Kaziel scowled at him. “What’s wrong?”
“Just a bad premonition.”
“Of?”
“What the world would be like if we fail to stop Morgen and Apollo.”
*
Morgen watched as Apollo left her bed to dress. Exceptionally tall and golden fair from the top of his blond head all the way to his toes, he was exactly what one would expect of a god.
In and out of bed.
She pouted at him. “Why are you leaving?”
“It’s taking too long to round up the dragon. I don’t like this delay.”
She scoffed at his worried tone. “My men will handle it. They know better than to fail me.”
He rinsed his mouth out and spat before he turned toward her, patting his chin dry. “And I know my son. He was ever resourceful. Not to mention that bitch he serves. Apollymi hates me with a passion. As do her two sons.”
That news shocked her. “Two sons? I thought her one and only son was dead.”
“I wish.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Nay, my evil fairie queen. Not dead. Acheron is hers by birth and conception. Brought back to life by my idiot of a twin sister who wanted to fuck him, and instead screwed the rest of us by her insatiable appetite for an ex-human whore. As for Styxx, he belongs to Apollymi by adoption. To that end, you can count my son as well. Indeed, she oft mothers Stryker more than she does her own.”
“Really…” Morgen’s mind whirled with this newfound information. “Any other brats I need know about?”
He dropped the towel and reached for his pants to pull them on. “You could almost count the Malachai. He is a direct descendent of her firstborn. Granted, a thousand times removed.”
Four sons for Apollymi …
Morgen rose up to lean against Arador, who slumbered in her bed. Worthless prick had no stamina. “Does she consider the current Malachai as one of hers?”
“Not as far as I know. Her loyalty to that end seems to have died with her original son, Monakribos.”
“And what of his father? Was Kissare not supposed to be reborn so that he could return to her?”
Apollo froze in the middle of buttoning his shirt. He blinked slowly before he answered. “He was, indeed.” A slow, evil grin spread across his face. “Why, Morgen, dearest evil bitchtress, I do believe you’ve found something.”
“So he was reborn?”
Laughing, Apollo crossed the floor to her bed and pulled her naked body against his. “I don’t know. But I know who will.”
The Fates.
He didn’t say it, but Morgen knew the answer as well as he did. Those three whores knew everything about everyone.
“And if he does live,” Apollo whispered against her lips, “we will find him and gut him at her feet!”
“I don’t follow. Wouldn’t that be a bit anticlimatic? What’s the point?”
He kissed her lips. “The point is that the goddess of all destruction and darkness has only had three weaknesses in the whole of her life. Kissare, Monakribos, and Acheron.” He nipped at her lips. “Given how frigid a bitch she is, I’m willing to bet that they had more in common than just their mother.”
Morgen’s eyes widened as she finally understood. “You’re thinking that Acheron’s father is Kissare reincarnated?”
He actually drew blood from her bottom lip with his fangs as he pulled back and nodded. “It would explain so much.… Archon swore he would never father a child with her and he went to his nebulous state claiming Acheron wasn’t his son. Had Apollymi truly loved him, she would never have ended him as she did. God knows, she suffered much to protect Kissare and their offspring.”
“Then who’s Acheron’s real father?”
“Only Apollymi knows.”
Morgen smiled at this newfound knowledge and what it signified. “And the Fates.”
“If they don’t, they will learn it.” He gave her one last kiss, then stepped away.
She frowned at his actions. “Where are you off to?”
“To find Kessar. I have another errand for him.”
12
“Shake that moneymaker, baby! You go! Make that barrier pay! Kick it! Show us more biceps! Spank it till it bleeds! C’mon, you can do it. Pound it harder! Put some muscle into it.”
Aghast and irritated, Falcyn turned around to glare at Medea as she sat on the ground beside Brogan and catcalled to them while he, Urian, Blaise, and Brandor sought some way to break through the barrier. Hands on hips, he narrowed his gaze at her. “Not helpful.”
Medea put her hand up to her lips before she leaned closer to Brogan to whisper rather loudly. “Neither are their attempts, but notice it doesn’t stop them from trying.”
Brogan laughed.
Falcyn arched a brow at their misplaced humor. And it was then he was struck by just how different the two women were. Not only because one was blond and the other a brunette. Medea was dressed in black leather, tight T-shirt and jeans, and heeled boots with an innate I’ll-cut-you-for-irritating-me aura that bled from every fiber of her being. Meanwhile, Brogan was much softer with her multi green and brown shimmery gauze that floated over her brown leather. Even though she was a powerful kerling with the abilities of a Deathseer, there was an air about her of serene gentleness.
How sick of him that he preferred Medea’s rough fire and spirit to Brogran’s much more subdued and quiet nature.
Yeah, he felt nothing for the kerling, but one look at Medea was enough to make him hard and aching for another taste of her lush, full curves.
Even while she insulted him in front of everyone.