Brogan hissed at Blaise. “His name is Brandor! Not Brevalaer! And you will not disrespect him again in my presence by using such a fey insult for him! Do you understand me?”
Falcyn’s jaw went slack at her unexpected outburst.
Okay, then …
Nice fit from our new companion.
In a complete huff, Brogan embraced the tall, dark Adoni male. Eyes wide, Medea met Blaise’s equally shocked expression. While he couldn’t see her current actions, he’d definitely heard her verbal explosion.
A tic started in the mandrake’s jaw. “Are they kissing?”
Stunned by the amount of jealousy betrayed in that single question, Medea screwed her face up. “No, but she is hugging him like she hasn’t seen him in a really¸ really long time.”
Falcyn cocked his head. “Does kissing his cheek count?”
Medea popped him on the stomach as Blaise’s expression turned into one of extreme pain. “That’s mean! Don’t torture the poor mandrake!”
With a fierce grimace, Falcyn and Urian stepped around her to approach Brogan and Brandor with those predator gaits she knew so well. “What’s going on here?”
Medea stayed back to cover them.
Just in case. As she’d quickly learned that when hanging out with these two, literally anything was possible.
Brandor, who was the same height as Falcyn, put himself between Brogan and them. Even though his clothes were ragged and it was obvious he hadn’t been living well, he kept one arm on Brogan as if to protect her while he braced his body to confront Falcyn. Medea would give him bonus points for that. Spoke well of him that he was concerned for Brogan’s welfare.
Still, she reserved judgment.
Even assholes could have consciences from time to time.
Extremely tall and handsome, he had the same chiseled striking features that marked all Adoni. Of course a lot of that had to do with the fact that if any child was deemed “unfit” their mothers abandoned them to die. Or dumped them in the human world to fend for themselves with no knowledge of their otherworldly ties.
Yeah, the fey and demons had a lot in common.
She could almost feel bad for the guy even if he was gorgeous, with his long, wavy black hair and hazel eyes so green they all but glowed with an unholy fire.
By his predatorial stance, it was obvious he knew how to fight and wasn’t afraid to bleed.
But as Medea shifted her gaze from him to Brogan and back again, she realized that their features were extremely similar. Not just because they were both fey and both had pointed ears …
“I had Brogan bring you here so that I could speak with you.”
The look on Falcyn’s face said that if he’d still possessed his dragon’s fyre Brandor would have been incinerated on the spot. “Excuse me?”
Brandor tensed, watching them for any hint of a coming attack. “I know you don’t trust me. You’ve no reason to, but Blaise can tell you that I’ve been privy to Morgen’s most secured council for years.”
“True, and why are you here and not buried in some part of her body, where you normally live?” Blaise all but growled those words.
Anger sparked in Brandor’s eyes, but he restrained it admirably. “I was caught trying to smuggle a portal key to my sister. Morgen gave me no chance to explain before I was banished here in one of her more stellar rage-fits.”
That news seemed to shock Blaise.
“Who’s your sister?”
Medea laughed at Falcyn’s question, unable to believe he could miss the obvious, given how observant he normally was in all other matters. “Brogan.”
“Brogan?” Urian, Blaise, and Falcyn spoke in unison.
Brandor gaped at Medea. “How could you tell?”
She gestured at the two of them. “It’s obvious. You look just alike. And while she hugged you, it wasn’t what one would give to a boyfriend or lover. It was definitely familial. Are you twins?”
Brogan finally stepped away from him. She cast a sheepish glance toward Blaise. “Aye. I told you it could have been much worse. My brother’s life makes a mockery of mine and my sisters’ combined. To protect me from their fate, Bran gave up the bulk of his powers at puberty—transferred them to me so that I’d be stronger and have more value.”
Sadness darkened Brandor’s eyes. “I’ve been trying to help Ro for a long time. But Morgen can’t abide Deathseers in her Circle or the fey court. And as Ro said, I have little power left. The moment I heard you’d been pulled into her realm, I knew this was the only shot we’d ever have of helping each other, and getting her free.”
“So what news do you have to share?” Medea wanted to keep him on point and not let him wander to inconsequential details.
“Morgen has made a pact with the god Apollo. They’re after the goddess Apollymi and intend to use her army of Charonte to kill Acheron and take over Myddangeard and Olympus.”
That was all well and good, except for one thing.
Her people.
“And the Daimons protecting Apollymi?”
“Apollo has sent a plague to kill them and the gallu to punish them for their rebellion against him.”
Well, that explained the foreign illness that was tearing through their ranks. No wonder they couldn’t fight it off. Damn her grandfather for it! Was he never to grow a heart and leave them in peace?
“Why do they want my stone?” Falcyn asked.
“It’s the only thing that can stop them. The gallu need a dragonstone to repair your brother’s tablet. Apparently, Hadyn’s treasure is a key of some sort they need to free their dimme sisters.”
The expression on Falcyn’s face said there was much more to it than that, but he didn’t comment. “Yeah, well, they can rot.” He shook his head. “I’m not about to help any of them.”
Brandor gave him an arch stare. “Not even to save your own sister?”
That cold steel hatred returned to Falcyn’s eyes, and it made Medea’s blood run cold. “Don’t go there.”
Brandor glanced to Brogan. “I would never taunt anyone with such a cruelty. Family should never be used as a bartering tool. But it’s what they will hold over you and use against you if you don’t do what they want. It’s why I told Ro to bring you here. I know where Sarraxyn is, and I will take you to her before they hurt her to get to you.”
“For what price?”
He took his sister’s hand. “You’ve already paid it. You freed my sister from her realm and brought her to me so that I can protect her from her master. I’ll help you free yours from hers. It’s the least I can do.”
Blaise shook his head. “Bullshit. I don’t believe you.”
Brogan’s cheeks brightened with color. “You can trust him, Blaise. He’s a good man.”
“I don’t trust anyone who beds down with Morgen.”
“Says the mandrake who served the Kerrigan?” Urian cocked a sarcastic brow.
Finally quelled, Blaise cleared his throat. “Okay … valid point taken.”
Urian sighed as he cast his gaze around each of them. “Yeah, I don’t think anyone in this group can judge another for their past deeds.”
Medea didn’t comment on that. Mostly because he was right. All of them had served evil at some point.
Of course, she and Brogan were the only two who continued to do so.
But still …
“This is all well and good, but let’s not lose sight of the fact that Urian and I aren’t here on a vacation. I need your dragonstone, Falcyn. There’s still the matter of the plague that’s spreading through my people. I can’t watch my parents and best friend die. I’ve had enough of death and I don’t want any more of it.”
Brandor scowled at her. “You’re the daughter of Stryker?”
His question brought her suspicion straight to the forefront and put her instantly on guard. “How do you know that?”
“Morgen and Apollo. As I said, I’ve been privy to Morgen’s most intimate councils. The word brevalaer is fey for nothing. Which is exactly what she considers me. Therefore she never worried what I heard or saw, as she didn’t think I could use it against her.”
Falcyn narrowed his eyes on Brandor. “How much have you heard?”
“Everything.”
Blaise nodded. “She kept him literally chained to her throne or bed most of the time. I can attest to that.”
“Well, if you know so much, any idea why we can’t turn into dragons right now?”
“No, but I can tell you this. If Narishka made a bargain and you turned her down, they’ll put a hit out on you.”
“What kind of hit?”
“Ever heard of a strykyn?”
Medea had no idea what that was, but the anger flaring up in those steely blues said that Falcyn had dealt with more than his fair share of them.
“I’ve killed a few.” Oh yeah, his voice was scarcely more than a fierce growl.
“That’s what they’ll be sending … along with anything else they can bribe.”
Medea waited for an explanation, but they didn’t seem eager to elaborate. So she prompted them. “What’s a strykyn?”
Falcyn gave her a cold stare. “Children of Stryx.”
“The water witch?”
He nodded. “Yeah, and they’re what your father was named after. Fierce birds of prey who once served Ares in his larger battles. They are the black war owls with red wings and gold beaks who live on the edge of Hades where they feast on the souls of the damned and eat the carcasses of cowards.”
The ones that traveled in swarms and could bring down entire armies …
She gaped at the old legend her mother had used to frighten her into behaving when she’d been a girl. But instead of using their real name, her mother, being an Atlantean Apollite, had referred to them as Greek War Birds. “His prized birds he suckled on the blood of misbehaving infants and children?”
“Yeah. For battle or to fight, they shift into large, mountainous warriors with serious attitude problems. Bastards so irritable, they make me look friendly.”
That she’d like to see.
Urian cursed. “Apollo must have seized them when he defeated Ares and the others on Olympus and took it over.”
“Would be my guess and our luck.” Falcyn cursed under his breath. “Damn it. We really got to kick their asses out of that place soon.”
Great. Medea’s head was starting to throb again. “How do we fight and defeat them?”
Brogan crossed her arms over her chest. “The fruit of the strawberry tree can paralyze them.”
“Good to know.” Medea glanced around the bleak landscape that sadly lacked strawberry trees. Too bad they weren’t allergic to drab gray ick.…
“Any other tricks?”
Brandor considered it a moment. “They can be diverted with other meats. Even if it’s raw. But if they catch you, there’s no way to escape them.”
“Beautiful.”
Falcyn snorted derisively. “Cut their hearts out. Their heads off. Incinerate them. Best of all, they taste like duck and are quite filling, if not a little gamey.”
Medea arched a brow at Falcyn’s dry tone. “Pardon?”
“You asked how to kill them. It’s what always worked for me. I am a dragon, you know.”
With a sarcastic laugh, she sighed at him. “You really are violent to your core, aren’t you?”
There was a light in his eyes that she didn’t quite understand. “From the moment I made the mistake of crawling out of my egg, everyone around me has tried their damnedest to kill me, for one reason or another. Starting with my own mother. That kind of survival doesn’t exactly lend itself to benevolence or trust. Just a whole lot of pissed off.”
Those words choked her as they gave her an insight into him that was brutally honest.
As hard as things had been for her, no matter the hell life had unleashed, she’d always had the shelter of her own mother’s love. She couldn’t imagine being alone the way he had. Of being left to fend for herself.
And while the death of her family haunted her, there for a time, she’d been deliriously happy with them. It was a happiness Falcyn couldn’t even begin to fathom.
That thought brought an unbelievable ache to her chest. How could he keep going when they’d taken everything from him?
In that moment, she saw him for what he really was.
A survivor in the purest sense of the word.
With a coldness she knew was only surface protection, he turned toward the others. “Blaise? Can you open the portal out of here?”
“The key I have only works in Avalon. My father keeps everything locked here because he doesn’t want anyone to discover that he’s still alive. But we should be able to find him in his palace, and get him to open it. Although … he pitched a glorious fit about opening a gate the last time I was here with Varian and we asked him. Might be easier to get a kidney from him than a key.”
Brandor scowled. “Your father?”
“Emrys Penmerlin.”
“Your father?” he repeated. “That bastard?”
“Hey now! No shit-talking the man who took me in and saved my life. I owe him everything.”
And still Brandor sputtered as if he were an overinflated tire that had sprung a leak on a hot afternoon. Really, the sounds were quite impressive.
A part of her had the urge to tip his teakettle before he exploded.
But after a few seconds, Brandor pulled himself together. “Well, we have him to thank for the lovely traps in this place. So I’d caution all of you to be wary of where you step and to keep your senses alert. At all times.”
Blaise let out a fake laugh. “He would not be wrong about that. My father was a little overzealous when it came to populating the landscape with terrifying creations.” He rubbed awkwardly at his neck. “You definitely don’t want to fall into the pits of despair.”
Medea scowled. Did he really mean what he’d just said? “The who … what?”
Blaise flashed a nervous grin at her. “They have a gas in them that makes you unbelievably depressed and you lash out at everyone. Although … Merewyn was kind of entertaining when she stumbled into a pit—at least for a while. Still, it’s best to avoid them.”
“Goodie. What else?”
“Standing water,” Brandor said irritably. “It explodes when you touch it.”
“Oh yeah.” Blaise smirked. “I forgot about that.”
Brandor snorted. “Wish I could. Lucky me, I learned the lesson when a hare made the mistake of trying to drink it before me. Least I got some hasenpfeffer out of it.”
Medea wrinkled her nose at his offbeat sense of humor. Although, she appreciated his ability to turn lemons to lemonade, or in this case, rabbit entrails to stew.
Without pausing, Brandor continued with the warnings. “Basically, Merlin controls everything here except for the sylphs, who hate his guts. They hate ours, too. So, again, avoid any water where the water sylphs might live—including deep puddles—and the trees where the tree sylphs are, as those are nasty men-hating bitches who will rip our limbs from us just for entertainment.”
“And the rocks will attack, too.” Blaise flashed another grin.
“Are you shitting me?” Urian was aghast.
“Nope. A lot of them are bantlings and goylestones.”
“Who? What?” Medea asked again.
“Baby gargoyles. They’re not real bright, but they are rocks and they will attack en masse. So get your rocks on takes on a whole new meaning.”
Why wasn’t she surprised? Damn. It was as challenging to live here as Kalosis—which was the Atlantean hell realm where you had to avoid all manner of scary things. Things that included hungry Charonte and her parents. “Lovely.”
“And whatever you do, you have to avoid the SOD.”
Medea looked down and shifted her feet as a wave of severe trepidation went through her. “The dirt? Seriously? Why? What’s it do?”
“Not sod. SOD.” He stressed the word as if there was a difference to her ears. “S-O-D. Shadows of Doubt. Cousins to the sharoc, they reach out from the shadows, grab you when you least expect it, and suck the life out of you. You won’t feel them at first. Just a little twinge that you can’t complete what you’re doing. Next thing you know, you’re paralyzed with doubts. Incapacitated and they have their fangs in you. Once they do … you’re theirs. They own you and you’re dead.”
Medea passed a less-than-amused gape at Urian. “And they think Daimons warrant a dedicated execution squad? Seriously? At least we give the humans a quick, painless death. And a choice. We don’t come at your back.”
He shrugged. “What do you want me to say? They’re shadows. No one’s afraid of a shadow—that’s Peter Pan kid shit. But everyone fears the dark. Besides, only cowards and thieves lurk in the shadows. It takes a true warrior to hunt in the darkness where your actual fears and threats thrive, and to kick the ass of real evil where it lives and breathes. That’s a real man or woman. Not some sneaky piece-of-shit coward.”
Falcyn snorted. “Hence the other so aptly named branch of Were-Hunters they use for my brethren.”
Because Were was the Old English word for man and was a shared root word for fear and war. Meaning that the Were-Hunters were men-hunters or those who hunted what men feared most and weren’t afraid to kick its ass wherever they found it.
And speaking of the great evil … “So where do we find this Merlin?”
“Dad!”
Falcyn cringed at Blaise’s unexpected shout. Not that Medea blamed him. Her own ears weren’t happy about that shrill decibel level, either.
And no one answered the bloodcurdling screech.
Blaise cocked his head to listen. “Weird.”
“What is?”
“My father always answers me.” Stepping back, he put his hands to his mouth to shout louder. “Father? Nimue?”
Again, nothing.
Not even an animal stirred. And now that she noticed it, that was very peculiar indeed.
Medea had that bad feeling again. Something about this wasn’t right. She could feel it deep inside.
Without a word to them, Blaise headed for the trees. “Sylph?”
Curious, Medea headed after him, toward the forest. She’d never seen a real sylph spirit before. Only heard legends and stories about them.
But as the tree came awake with a reddish color and in a twisted form, she had her doubts about all the great beauty they were supposed to possess.
Let’s hear it for creative license.
She thought it was just her being judgy about them until Blaise jumped away with a curse.
“What is it?” Urian asked.
Transforming into a bleeding, demonic body, the sylph advanced on them with a round of cursing and hissing.
Blaise turned pale before he grabbed Brogan to pull her back from the tree. “She’s a gallu! Run!”