Before Falcyn had a chance to ask Brogan what she meant, the ground around them began to boil. Literally. Chunks of soil bubbled and churned as if it were a living, breathing creature about to rise up under their feet.
Medea cursed as she danced around it to avoid being tripped. Likewise, he jumped over a segment of the ground that burst beneath him. It shot chunks of earth, grass, and mud everywhere.
“What the hell is this? I’m too old for hopscotch.”
Brogan gasped as she jumped over another erupted rut. “Svartle Orms. Whenever the smiths break for the day, the orms are let loose from the forges and they stampede to freedom.”
The head of one ugly, foul beast came up from the ground. It opened its mouth, showing off rows of serrated fangs.
“They’re also starving,” Brogan added. “And will eat anything they catch the scent to.”
“Not on your menu, buddy.” Falcyn let loose his fireballs into the beast’s throat.
Howling, it lunged for him.
Medea fell in at his side, adding god-bolts to his fire to help fry the bastard. Urian and Blaise covered Brogan.
“What should we do?” Blaise asked her.
Brogan lifted her arms and began to whistle gently. The crooning went through Falcyn, making his sensitive ears ache. Blaise made a sound of sharp disapproval.
Still, she continued. Until it began to drive the orms back. “Run!” she said. “Head for the boulder caves! They won’t enter there.”
As they started for them, a cold wind came whipping through the trees.
“Ignore it and keep going! Don’t look up. Eyes ahead!”
Don’t look up? Was she kidding? Now it became an imperative need to do so. But conventional wisdom said it would be all kinds of stupid to defy Brogan’s order.
All kinds of—
Crap!
Falcyn glanced up before he could stop himself.
And the moment he did, fire rained down from the sky.
Not just fire. Rocks. Lava. And some kind of stinging larvae.
Brogan made a sound of supreme disgust. “What part of don’t look up did you not understand, dragon!”
“The part that it’s a dragon’s nature to do what we’re told not to!”
Blaise cursed and swatted at the bugs. “What are these things?”
“Bloodvlox. Don’t let them break your skin or they can infect you and take you over. If they land near your ears, they can crawl inside and ingest your brains! And keep them away from your eyes, too.”
Medea hissed and slapped at one that was trying to burrow under her skin. “How do we get rid of them?”
“Fleabane, but I don’t have any on me and can’t conjure any until we get away from the orms.” Brogan swatted at them. “I’ll boost your powers so that you can teleport to the caves over there. It should be enough to get you to safety. But you’ll have to do it fast, before they catch on and you lose the ability again.”
Growling at the thought of blindly trusting her, Falcyn glanced around and decided there was no other out. “All right. On three, we teleport to just in front of the caves.” And if she was lying or betrayed them, he’d eat her whole. “Ready?”
“Ready!” they said in unison.
Falcyn counted down.
On one they went, but just as he started to follow, an orm grabbed his leg. He turned on the creature and caught it with his claw, wishing he could give it what it really deserved.
His dragon’s venom.
He stomped and kicked until he broke free, then he teleported, making sure he didn’t take any stray beast with him, since that could cause its DNA to merge with his—something he definitely didn’t want to happen. He was damaged enough. His luck, he’d sprout another arm or head.
Or another piece of anatomy he didn’t want to think about duplicating, because one was enough to get him into all manner of trouble. It definitely didn’t need a twin.
Especially not around Medea.
By the time he made the cave and retook a solid form, the howling had picked up volume and the fleas were stinging even more as they swarmed him the moment he was solid again. Blaise whipped at them with his shirt while Medea jerked Falcyn inside by the arm.
Urian used his powers to seal them in the cave.
Teamwork …
He shuddered. It gave him the willies. He’d never really bought into that. Dragons were solitary creatures, and while he’d fought with his brothers a handful of times, it wasn’t enough that it left him comfortable with such things. And definitely not when surrounded by this many strangers.
“Can the orms find us in here?” Falcyn asked while Blaise pulled his shirt back on.
Brogan shook her head. “But there are others who can. The forges are all in places similar to this … as are their homes. It’s why the orms avoid them when they’re free.”
“Awesome,” Urian breathed. “Are the portals here, too?”
“Not close by. That would be too easy.”
Of course it would.
Urian growled. “You think if I called for Acheron he might hear me and come to the rescue?”
“You can try.” Falcyn waited.
After a few seconds, Urian growled again. “It was worth a shot.”
“Anyone know a dark elf?” Falcyn glanced to Blaise, who made it his habit to party with them.
“None that I want to call. Thank you very much. Want to knock up Narishka?”
Falcyn glared at him. “I knocked up her sister. It’s what got us into this, remember?”
“Ha, ha, ha, American slang. You suck so much,” Blaise whimpered.
“Yeah, well, not real big on your slang either, Yobo.”
Blaise shook his head irritably. “Bloody Yank.”
Falcyn lit the cave with his fireballs. “Too bad we don’t have Cadegan here. A dark hole like this is right up his alley.”
“Illarion’s, too,” Urian reminded him.
Falcyn nodded. He was right about that. They’d both lived in drab caves for centuries.
Medea gave him an arch stare. “I would have thought you were at home here, too.”
He grimaced at the ex-Daimon. “Stop with the stereotypes. Not all dragons hibernate in closed quarters. I lived on an island, on top of ruins. In the open and quite happy not to be penned in. My brother Max lives in a bar.”
“Aye to that,” Blaise chimed in. “My home was a castle in Camelot. Usually under the Pendragon’s feet, but we won’t talk about that, as it’s just a dismal memory. Retrospect, don’t know why I brought it up.”
Brogan cocked her head. “Most of the dragons here are cave-dwellers. They fire our forges. The rest hide so as not to be enslaved.”
“How many reside here?”
She scowled at Blaise’s question. “A few dozen that I know of. Not counting the orms. They were bred once the dragon numbers began to thin.”
“Makes sense.” Falcyn passed a sad look at Blaise. “We don’t do well in captivity.”
“Is that why you’re blind?” Brogan asked.
“No. My father blinded me, hoping I’d die in the wild when I was a babe.… At least that’s what I was told.”
Brogan paled. “Pardon? Why would he do such a terrible thing to his own child?”
“My mother had me to be a tool to control my father, but when he rejected me because of my albinism, my mother abandoned me to him and he took me out into the woods and left me there to die. I was to be an offering to the gods. Luckily, they rejected me, too.”
With every word he spoke, fury rode hard on Falcyn, and he crossed the room to Blaise’s side. His features turning dark and deadly, Falcyn fisted his hand in Blaise’s hair and jerked him close. “You were never rejected by me. Never!”
Raw sadness hovered in his sightless eyes. “I know.”
With a gruff growl, Falcyn released him and stepped back.
Medea felt a strange lump in her throat as she saw the moisture Falcyn blinked away from his eyes and the way Blaise licked his lips and cleared his throat as if biting back his own round of tears. That was love in its purest, gruffest masculine form.
Now she knew why Falcyn protected him so zealously.
And that thought brought a wave of strong emotion surging through her that she couldn’t quite identify. But it was definitely tender and overwhelming.
There was a lot more to this dragon than just the beast he let the world see.
And Brogan saw it, too.
Clearing her own throat, Brogan motioned toward the backside of the cave. “There should be a tunnel that leads toward the underground channels where we might be able to find a path to the porch.”
“The porch?” Medea didn’t understand the word, but the way the woman said it she felt as if she should.
“Aye. It’s the plateau where the elders meet to watch the other realms. There’s a portal there.”
“Why do they do that?”
Brogan scoffed at her question. “In case you haven’t noticed, my lady, there’s not a lot to do here, other than survive and make weaponry for the gods and fey beings. So the elder wyrdlings look out, pick a happy mortal, and ruin their lives. For fun and wagering.”
Medea gaped. “You’re serious?”
Her features grim, Brogan nodded. “They call it the yewing. The mortal is randomly selected and his or her fate is up to whatever lot they draw from their skytel bag while they’re watching them. They think it entertaining.”
“I knew it!” Blaise growled. “I knew my life was nothing but a sick joke to the fey. And all of you said I crazy.” When no one commented he drew up sullenly. “Well, you did. And I was right.”
Falcyn snorted. “Anyway, let’s find this porch and see if we can locate the portal back home. Or at least to Avalon or Camelot. From there, we can return. For that matter, I’d take Vanaheim or Asgard.”
“You could travel from there?” Medea asked in an impressed tone.
“I have friends in low places.”
“Those aren’t low places,” Brogan admonished.
“That depends on your point of view.” Falcyn winked at her. “From where I stand, they’re in the gutter.”
“Who are your parents?” Medea asked, even more curious about him now.
Blaise shook his head at her. “Don’t go there. It’s a dark place of pain we don’t want to visit, as it will send him to a level of pissed off he won’t return from for quite some time. We just say that he was spawned from the fount of evil and leave it at that.”
“So you two didn’t have the same mother?” Brogan asked.
Blaise shook his head. “They were only the same lethal species.”
“Can we change the subject?” The bark in Falcyn’s tone added veracity to Blaise’s words.
Medea held her hands up in surrender. Obviously, he had about as much love for his parents as Urian did for Stryker. And speaking of … she really needed to get home and help her family. “Can we not teleport to the portal?”
Brogan shook her head. “I wouldn’t advise it. Those powers tend to attract unwanted attention in this realm. The less magick used that they’re unfamiliar with, the safer you’ll be.”
Awesome. Just flipping awesome.
Suddenly, another streak rushed past Medea’s face.
“Case in point,” Brogan said quietly. “There’s enough trouble with things such as that attacking us. Last thing we need is to be adding to it.”
“What causes that to happen?” Medea watched it ricochet off and explode behind Urian.
Brogan touched the wall. When she did so, it began to glimmer with a faint green glow that allowed them to see deep into the darkness. Oddly enough, it appeared more like a shimmering night sky than an underground cavern. Truly, it was magical and breathtaking. Like something from a dream.
“Well, it depends. Some of those lights are sparks left over from the creation of magical items in the forges. They dance about until they extinguish on their own. Others are certain spells that never weaken. Some actually grow stronger. When they can’t be contained in their own worlds or environments, they’re naturally drawn here.”
Medea frowned at that. “Why?”
“It’s what this was set up for.” Brogan gestured to the walls around them. “Myrkheim. It’s a magnet realm for that magick to protect the other worlds.”
Her scowl deepened. “You use that word as if it makes sense to my Apollite ears.”
Smiling, Brogan glanced to Blaise. “By your coloring, my lady, I assumed you to be a Ljósálfr like Blaise.”
Blaise choked on the word. “Actually my mother was Adoni. So you’d be wrong with your assumption, Lady Brogan. The bitch what birthed me was definitely a member of the dökkálfar. The black fey,” he explained for Medea. “The ljósálfar are those who follow the light and practice magick that only benefits others. Adoni are selfish and practice the dark arts. Hence their dökkálfar moniker, or the dark fey, as they’re more commonly called.” He glanced over his shoulder toward Medea. “‘Myrkheim’ means ‘dark ward,’ which is why it was given to this world.”
Ah, now she understood the distinctions. Medea narrowed her gaze on Brogan. “Which side are you on?”
“I’m what’s called a myrkálfr. Shadow fey. I draw my powers from both the light and dark as needed.”
“In other words, she hasn’t declared a side.” Falcyn narrowed his gaze on her. “No one trusts them as a result. And they’re weaker in their powers because they haven’t committed to one cause or the other.”
“That’s one theory.” Brogan lifted her chin. “But I like to keep my options open. You never know when you’re going to need light or dark powers. The world’s a tenuous place.”
“And I prefer not to judge others.” Blaise offered her his arm.
Medea didn’t comment. “I always thought the light and dark fey thing had to do with their coloring.”
Brogan tucked her hand into the crook of Blaise’s elbow. Medea didn’t miss the way Brogan’s features softened ever so slightly toward him as he placed his hand over hers. “A lot of people mistakenly do, but it has nothing to do with our features or coloring. Most of the Adoni are very fair, and almost all of them are dark in their powers. The designations are more religious in nature and thereby are choices we take voluntarily.”
And by the way Falcyn’s eyes narrowed on that intimate touch, Medea had a feeling he didn’t miss their burgeoning affection either. More than that, he didn’t appear to approve of the way Blaise was doting on his new friend.
At all.
“You okay?” she asked him.
Falcyn turned that glower to her with an unnerving ferocity. She half expected him to breathe fire out his nostrils. If she didn’t know better, she might think him jealous.
“Down, boy. I didn’t do it.”
He arched a brow at her. “What?”
“What, what. Whatever it is that caused that look of hate in your eyes. I didn’t do it. So breathe in, relax, and blink.”
Baffled, Falcyn glanced to Urian. “She always this flippant?”
“Yeah. You have no measurable sense of humor. She has no measurable sense of fear. Bad combo if you ask me. But semi-amusing for the rest of us.”
“Brogan…”
Slowing, Falcyn paused at the musical whisper that echoed off the walls around them.
Brogan froze.
“What is that?” Blaise breathed.
“A haunt. Ignore it. It’s merely another joy that comes with living here.”
“Brogan…” it repeated.
Medea shivered as a chill went down her spine. It was like someone walking over her grave. The singing voice was so creepy in its tone, and at the same time, strangely beckoning. “What are these things?”
“Cousins to púcas, they live in the darkness and lure the unwary to their deaths. I told you that I’m a Deathseer, so they call to me whenever I’m near. To claim one of my ilk is a bonus for them.”
“Medea! Come to me and see what I have for you! You want to visit the past! Come. Come see what I have! You’ll like it, I promise!”
“Ignore it.” Brogan raised her voice louder to cover their tones. “It’s only trying to get you to walk off the edge and plummet to your death.”
“Falcyn … don’t you want to see Hadyn again?”
He patted his ear. “Is there a way to get rid of it?”
“They fear hellhounds … light.”
Urian grimaced as he cringed from a piercing cry. “But apparently not dragons or Daimons.”
“Or Deathseers,” Blaise added.
“Anyone have Aeron’s number?” Falcyn asked, thinking of the Celtic war god who traveled with a Cŵn Annwn. They’d get a twofer with him and Kaziel—actually a threefer since Aeron had once been cursed to be a púca.
More whispers began to echo and sing with the first voice, adding to the volume and making the lure harder to ignore.
Their combined voices became deafening to Falcyn’s sensitive ears. Blaise stumbled and went down.
Urian cursed at the sound.
Her features pale, Brogan turned to Medea. “What should we do?”
“Is there a way to kill a haunt?”
“Not that I know.”
The men were now on their knees with their hands over their ears, in utter agony.
“Me-dee-ah!” They continued to try and call for her, too.
But that singsongy tone gave her an idea.
Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and started singing her favorite Adam Ezra Group song at the top of her lungs to drown them out. “She puts a light to the candles ’round the room like a shrine.…”
Oddly enough, it seemed to be working. At least Falcyn had a bit of a reprieve.
Hesitating as their eyes met and she saw his deep gratitude, Medea began to sing louder. “She says, ‘If it don’t come in vinyl then it ain’t music divine … she calls me her lost and found!”
Falcyn blinked as he heard Medea’s angelic voice over the pain of the haunts’ cruelty. Like a heavenly choir, it overrode their agony and drove it from him. More than that, she wrapped her arms around his head as if to protect him from them while she continued to sing in the most incredible voice he’d ever heard from anyone.
It was as if she were part siren or miren. And it captured him fully, pulling him away from the haunt’s lure.
She held his head against her thigh. “Her voice finds hope and diamonds and fables all around and I’m taken over now, by the soul of a taste of a sound … when I’m lost in the darkness … when I’m cut at the knees … she says ‘you can give your soul to the city … you just bring your heart home to me’ … she says ‘I know ’bout your problems … take a rest for a while,’ and every sign on the highway says I’ll be home again soon.”
Closing his eyes, he savored the sensation of her hand in his hair while she sang and held him against her body. No one had ever held him with such affection.
Like he mattered.
Like I’m human.
As if he were hers to hold and keep …
Words failed him utterly as inexplicable emotions assailed him. An unknown wave of tenderness rose up and swallowed him whole. No words could describe this … inner warmth. It tasted like honey on his tongue and left him even more helpless than the haunt’s crooning.
And still she sang while she gently swayed. Never once in his life had he ever wanted to belong to anyone. He’d always prided himself on standing alone. On being the sinister, solitary beast.
I am drakomai.
Yet in this moment, he surrendered himself to her completely.
Then, in a single heartbeat, the haunts were gone. And so was any resistance to her that he might have ever had …
Urian was the first to recover himself. “Damn, big sister. Had no idea you could sing like that.”
Clearing her throat, she appeared embarrassed as she stepped away from Falcyn. “I don’t do it often.”
He caught her hand before she could leave him entirely. Falcyn wanted to say something to her. To tell her what that had meant to him. How much she’d touched him in a way no one had before.
But words failed him completely. He didn’t want to cheapen it with something so trivial as empty words people spoke to each other without meaning.
All he could do was stare up into those dark eyes, hard and aching, unsure and lost. In that moment, he realized exactly how inhuman he was.
How human he wanted to be.
For her. That realization terrified him to a level he’d never dreamed of.
She’s a Daimon.
No, not a Daimon. An Apollite. Technically, she’d never converted over into the parasitic beast that had to prey on human souls in order to live. Her mother had saved her from that nightmare fate.
Thus the true tragedy of her life. The humans had attacked her and her family when they hadn’t been Daimons. Neither Medea nor her husband or child had ever harmed a human being. According to Urian, they’d been dedicated members of the Cult of Pollux—Apollites who took oaths whereby they swore to harm no human and to die as Apollo intended, peacefully on their twenty-seventh birthdays.
Innocent victims to man’s inhumanity and fear.
At the time of her death, Medea hadn’t known how to fight or protect herself. Had never tasted human blood or violence of that nature. She’d been wholly unprepared for what they’d done to her. What they’d done to her child.
It wasn’t fair. But then nothing in life ever was. He of all beings knew that.
Life preyed on the weak. It preyed on the strong. But at least the strong could fight back. They could weather the hell that rained down on them. The weak were seldom so fortunate.
In one heartbeat everything had changed for Medea. Her innocence had died a most brutal death. And she’d been baptized in the blood of her family.
Life made victims of everyone. Without mercy. Or compassion. It spared none.
Rising to his feet, he enveloped her in his arms, wanting to shelter her there. To keep her safe from any harm, as she’d done him. That was what his kind did. It was how they showed affection.
Not with words.
With action.
“Um … Falcyn?”
Blaise laughed at Medea’s tone. “What’s my brother doing?”
“Holding me in an awkwardly tight manner. It’s very strange.”
“But is he sitting on you?”
“No…” Medea stretched the word out. “Why? Should I be worried?”
“Well, it means he’s not trying to hatch you. Yet. That’s always a bonus.”
“Stop,” Falcyn growled. “Both of you.” He tightened his arms around her an instant before he let go. “I was only saying thank you for helping me.”
Medea smiled in spite of herself. “You’re welcome.” Biting her lip, she watched as he ambled back toward her brother. Whom he summarily took a playful swipe at.
Damn, he was exceptionally handsome.
And she despised the fact that she noticed. Hated how edible his ass was in those tight black jeans.
Normally, she didn’t really pay attention to such things, except in passing. Yet the longer she was around Falcyn, the more she was seeing how gorgeous he was and the harder it was getting to dismiss it.
Worse? She liked the way he’d held her. It’d been way too long since anyone touched her like he did.
Like she mattered.
She’d forgotten what it felt like to be part of a couple—to have a man stare at her as if he hung on her every word. But Falcyn made her remember things she’d done her damnedest to forget.
More than that, he made her crave it again.
Don’t! She didn’t want to be hurt. Not like that. Not after what she’d gone through with Evander. It’d almost killed her to lose him, and she never wanted to hurt that way again.
And yet …
This was different.
He was different.
And it wasn’t just because Falcyn was a dragon. Though that was a large part of it, there was a lot more.
Something in her reached out for him against her will. She didn’t understand it.
And she hated that weakness with every part of herself. You’re stronger than this.
She didn’t need anyone. Ever. Not for anything. On her own two feet. That was how she lived. It was what she knew best. What she liked. Nothing could hurt her unless she allowed it and she refused to be vulnerable.
No connections. She had her brother and Davyn. Two warriors who were virtually incapable of falling. They were the only ones she was attached to.
And her parents, who would fall to no one.
Not even the gods.
That was all she’d allow herself. I will stand below no more pyres to watch my loved ones burn. She refused to be Urian. To live in absolute grief. A shadow of her former self. A shade lost in the anguish of heartbreak. She’d been there for too many centuries and it’d taken her too long to get over the death of her baby and husband.
Medea couldn’t go back.
She wouldn’t go back.
Not even for Falcyn.
Heartache was for fools. Love was for the weak. She had no use for either. I’m stronger alone, always.
No matter what, she had to make herself believe that and remember that. To live it.
And as they walked, Brogan drifted back to Medea’s side and cocked her head in a very birdlike manner. “They called you a Daimon?”
“Sort of.”
“I don’t know your species. Are you like the fey?”
“My people were created by the Greek god Apollo and then cursed by him.”
“Why?”
Why indeed. That had been the question that had galled her the whole of her exceptionally long life.
Medea sighed as she was driven against her will to remember the tragedy of her mother’s mortal fate. Head over heels in love as a girl, she’d married Apollo’s son without hesitation. And then, pregnant with her, her mother had been forced to divorce Medea’s father or see herself raped and murdered by the vengeful god.
Leaving her father had emotionally destroyed her mother. Had killed something deep inside her that hadn’t come alive again until the day they’d reunited.
Centuries after Stryker had married and raised another family with another wife—Urian’s surrogate mother.
And thus had begun the curse of her people, as Stryker had made a bargain with an Atlantean goddess to save his family from his father’s curse.
“Apollo had a Greek mistress that caused his Apollite lover-queen to become jealous, as she felt betrayed by him because her own son had died. Or so she thought … The queen didn’t know that her son had lived because Apollo had spared him. That Stryker had been taken from her womb so that he could be safely raised by his father in Greece, with a surrogate mother. So when Apollo fathered another son with his Greek whore, she sent out her soldiers to murder Apollo’s mistress and child. Only the Apollite queen didn’t have the backbone to stand by her decree. Rather, she told them to make it appear as if an animal had ravaged them—as if a god couldn’t figure out the truth. Tells you exactly what kind of moron my grandmother was, and I shudder over the fact that I share genes with that brainiac.”
Medea growled and rolled her eyes over the nature of people’s jealous idiocy. “Anyway, in anger over their murders, Apollo cursed not only Stryker’s real queenly mother and her soldiers who’d actually done the deed, but every single member of the race he’d created—my people, including my father and mother because he totally forgot that they shared her blood—to die at the age of his mistress. We were given the fangs of an animal and forced to seek our only sustenance from each other’s blood, as no other food could nourish us ever again. We are banned from the sunlight Apollo’s known for so that he will never have to endure the sight of one of us again. And if that wasn’t enough punishment, on our twenty-seventh birthday we wither away and decay into dust in the most painful way you can imagine.”
“That’s horrible!” she breathed.
“It is, indeed.” More so because she was Apollo’s own grandchild—his very flesh and blood—and the rotten bastard had spared none of them his wrath. Not her. Not Urian or any of his brothers or other sister.
Nor Stryker, Apollo’s own son.
All of them had been damned by the god’s anger for something they’d had no part in or any ability to stop. They hadn’t even lived in Atlantis at the time the queen had done it.
How Medea hated Apollo for his vindictive cruelty.
For that matter, they all did. For a god of prophecy, he’d proved very short-sighted, indeed.
“I’m so sorry, Medea.”
She shrugged. “I got over it. Besides, I was six when he cursed us. I barely remember life before that day.”
“You don’t eat food?”
She shook her head.
Brogan fell silent for a moment. “But if you were to die at twenty-seven and you’re not a Daimon now, how is it that you’re still alive?”
“A bargain my mother made for my life.”
Sadness turned Brogan’s eyes a vivid purple. “Tell me of a mother who so loves her child. Is she beautiful? Wondrous?”
Medea nodded. “Beyond words.” She pulled the locket from her neck and held it out to Brogan so that she could see the picture she had of her mother. “Her name is Zephyra.”
“Like the wind?”
“Yes. Her eyes are black now, but when I was a girl, they were a most vivid, breathtaking green.”
Brogan fingered the photo with a sad smile tugging at the edges of her lips. “You admire her.”
“She’s the strongest woman I’ve ever known. And I love her for it.”
Closing the locket, she handed it back to Medea. “She looks like you.”
“Thank you. But I think she’s a lot more beautiful.” Medea returned it to her neck. “What of your mother?”
A tear fell down her cheek. “My mother sold me to the Black Crom when I was ten and three. If she ever loved me, she never once showed it.”
“I’m sorry.”
Wiping at her cheek, she drew a ragged breath. “It’s not so bad. She sold my siblings to much worse. At least I had Sight. Had I been born without anything, my fate would have been…” She winced as if she couldn’t bring herself to say more about it.
“What exactly is the Black Crom?” Medea asked, trying to distract her from the horror that lingered in the back of those lavender eyes.
“A headless Death Rider who seeks the souls of the damned or the cursed.”
Medea jumped at Falcyn’s voice in her ear.
“A kerling can sing to them to offer up a sacrifice before battle. Or summon them for a particular victim.”
“Can,” Brogan said, lifting her chin defiantly. There was something about her, fiery and brave. “But I don’t. I hate the Crom. He springs from Annwn to claim the souls of his victims with a whip made from the bony spines of cowards. He rides a pale horse with luminescent eyes that can incinerate the guilty and innocent alike should they happen upon him and stare into them. None are safe in his path. To the very pit with him and his insanity. I’ve no use for the likes of that beast. You’ve no idea what it’s like to live in its shadow. Subject to its pitiless whims.”
Though she’d just met her, Medea felt horrible for the woman. “Can you be freed?”
She shook her head. “Not even death can free me, as I am bound to him for all eternity. What’s done is done. I only want to be released from this realm so that I’m no longer used by the dökkálfar for their schemes where he’s concerned.”
“Used how?” There was no missing the suspicion in Falcyn’s tone.
“They can bargain with the Crom for my services, and when they do so, I have no choice except to give them whatever it is they’ve contracted for. I’ve no say whatsoever in the matter.”
Medea grimaced at the nightmare she described. “Will that change once you leave here?”
“It will weaken their hold over me. Aye.”
Suddenly, Brogan stopped moving.
Medea became instantly nervous at a look she was starting to recognize. “Is something wrong?”
“We’re approaching the porch,” she whispered.
“Is that bad?”
She didn’t answer the question except to say, “The Crom is here.”