THE PACT

Ricky paced around the tiny room, some sort of magical cage with no exits. Every now and then he’d bang the walls and shout, “Hey! I wanna talk to someone!” Which was probably as effective as a convict clanging his cup along the bars, but at the very least, he might get their attention.

And he did. He was opening his mouth to shout again when she appeared—the woman who was the manifested format of the elder sluagh.

“Where’s Liv?” he said. “Where’s everyone? Gabriel, Lloergan—”

“Yes, yes, you came with many people. Some of them more important to you than others, but you will ask about every one of them. That is the weakness of the Cŵn Annwn, the fault of a life spent in service to others. You might play the rebel biker, but you are as bound by your sense of honor as your Huntsmen.”

“I want—”

“You want many things, Arawn. But you don’t get them, do you? Or if you do, it’s only temporary. Gwynn has always been just that little bit better. In the beginning, he was the kind one, the thoughtful one. Uncommonly considerate for a fae prince. But you drove that out of him. Taught him a lesson. And what happens? He comes back now, having fully assimilated your lesson, a true king of the Fae, more manipulative and headstrong and selfish than you ever were. And somehow, despite all that, he still wins. He’s still better.”

“Yep, I lose. So where—”

“You say that so cavalierly. But you don’t feel it cavalierly, do you?” She waved her hand and a mirror appeared on the wall. “Look at yourself. A perfect specimen of young human manhood. Beautiful face and physique, with the brains to match. Add in charm and wit and compassion, and you should be the unbeatable suitor. So how does she choose…”

Another wave and the mirror turned into a window. On the other side, Gabriel sat on the floor, knees drawn up, head against the wall, eyes shut.

Asleep? Really? He was fucking asleep at a time—

Ricky squelched the indignation. If Gabriel appeared to be napping, he was unconscious. Or deep in thought.

“Or actually asleep,” the sluagh said. “Resting confident in the knowledge that Matilda will choose as Matilda always chooses.”

“Choose?” He turned to the sluagh.

“Shocked? Perhaps that’s why she picked him. You aren’t quite as quick on the uptake.”

“No, maybe I just thought you wouldn’t beat that dead horse again. So you’re making Liv choose between us.”

“Yes. Gabriel already knows. And as you can see, he’s terribly concerned.”

That jolt of indignation again. Damn it, yes, he wasn’t quite as cavalier about this as he should be. As he wanted to be.

She’s playing you.

He knew that, and yet as he watched Gabriel, he kept bristling, kept thinking…

“She chose him,” the sluagh whispered. “She will always choose him. He is better. No matter what you do, what you accomplish, he will always be better. That pretty face of yours? Merely genetics. That brain? His works a tiny bit faster. Your success? An MBA on the fast track to leader of a motorcycle gang?” She laughed. “Not exactly Eden’s idea of a life partner. Whatever Gabriel’s reputation, he has a legitimate career. He has the success and the stock portfolio to show for it. You might be able to make a decent down payment on a condo…half as good as the one he bought outright when he wasn’t much older than you. But all of that isn’t nearly as important to Olivia as sheer strength of character. And that is where he beats you, hands down. He rose from nothing. Endured neglect and abuse and abandonment. And you? Your mommy left you, too…and let your adoring daddy take you, while she remained part of your life. As childhood traumas go? Negligible compared to his.”

The sluagh leaned into his ear as he watched Gabriel. “Don’t you just want to wipe that arrogance off his face? Wouldn’t you like to see how confident he looks when he realizes he’s lost? All those years ago, he took her from you. Stole her. He allowed her to die rather than let her even remain friends with you. He doesn’t deserve her. You do.”

Ricky kept staring. He thought of all the times Gabriel had betrayed Liv. All the times he’d hurt her. Ricky had never done that.

Arawn had never done that, either. It’d been Gwynn. Gwynn broke his vow and wooed Matilda and then made another vow, that if she went to Arawn, he could have her.

So arrogant. So cocky. So sure of his success. Just like Gabriel.

“Exactly,” the sluagh whispered. “That is exactly right.”

No, it’s not, a voice whispered, deep in his mind.

The scene blurred. A smell wafted past, out of place here, and Ricky inhaled. Horse? He sniffed deeper, not trusting his senses. Horse and hay and dung.

He heard a skritch-skritch, and when his vision cleared, he was grooming a coal-black stallion, brushing it a little too hard, the beast’s ears twitching in complaint.

“Sorry isn’t enough,” said a voice behind him. “Sorry can never be enough. I realize that.”

He kept brushing.

“I made a vow,” the voice continued. “It doesn’t matter if I thought you weren’t interested in her—”

“Not interested?”

He dropped the brush and spun to face the speaker, a young man, mid-twenties, fair-haired and blue-eyed. Even if Ricky didn’t recognize Gabriel in that face—particularly the expression, gaze downcast, contrite, even cowed—he knew it was Gwynn.

When Gwynn spoke, it was with great care, as if not wanting to defend himself but feeling the need to say, “You’ve never given any sign. And you’ve taken many lovers, seeming happy with them…”

Because Arawn wanted Matilda to see that other girls fancied him. Other girls chased him. And he earned their interest—he was an attentive and skilled lover. Matilda would notice that and wonder what all the fuss was about and, perhaps, see him in a new light.

Or realize she was jealous. See Arawn with them and think, “Why not me?” and join the competition for his affections.

No, that last part put a distasteful angle on Arawn’s ploy. He’d only been trying to position himself as a potential lover.

All that, and whom did she choose? Gwynn. Who had never taken a lover, never even cast a longing glance at a woman or a man. Because all his glances were for Matilda. And all hers for him. Both of them, since they were old enough to feel that longing, since Arawn first realized their connection and went to Gwynn…

“Gwynn, I need to talk to you about Mati.”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t think we should woo her. Either of us. In fact, I think we should make a pact that we’ll never do so.”

“I don’t under—”

“I don’t want you to get hurt. I’m afraid you would get hurt if I wooed her. I don’t want that.”

“Oh. Yes, I suppose—”

“So, it’s a pact, then. We won’t woo Mati. Either of us. But we can’t tell her that. She’d kill us both. Now, let’s go find her and race to…”

Arawn shook off the memory. He did have Gwynn’s best interests in mind at the time. He hadn’t wanted his friend to be hurt.

And then Arawn had proceeded to woo Mati in his own way. Through temptation and jealousy.

No, it wasn’t like that. If Mati had come to him, he’d have told Gwynn. Been forthright and up-front. Told him the pact was over before he took Matilda. But he’d still have taken her. Still would have snatched her from under Gwynn’s nose, knowing how Gwynn felt.

Just like Ricky with Liv. He’d seen how Gabriel felt. Sensed how Liv felt. Too bad, so sad. You snooze, you lose.

Arawn’s thoughts pushed Ricky’s aside.

Yes, maybe he’d acted less than honorably, but he’d never have gone as far as Gwynn had, all the way to the brink of marriage before admitting he’d been wooing Mati, kissing Mati, bedding Mati…

Arawn looked at Gwynn, standing there with the sheer gall to apologize, hanging his head like a misbehaving puppy.

“You broke our pact,” Arawn said.

“I know. And if there’s any way we can get past this, still be friends, all of us—”

“Oh, is that your offer? You’ll let me still be friends with your wife? How generous.”

“Friends with our friend. Our Mati. Neither of you needs my permission for that.”

“You broke our pact. That comes with a penalty, Gwynn. You know it does.”

“All right. Punish me—”

“Oh, I intend to.” Brush clutched in one hand, Arawn stepped toward Gwynn. “If Mati comes to me the night before your wedding, she is mine.”

“What? You intend to seduce—?”

“She only needs to come to me. To hunt with me. If she chooses me on that night, she chooses me forever. That is the new pact.”

Now Gwynn’s temper flashed as he stepped back, his jaw setting in a way Ricky did recognize as Gabriel’s. “I will never agree—”

“Too late. You broke a pact. As the wronged party, I can claim a new one. I just did. It stands. A pact and a curse. Now run home, Gwynn, and see if you can keep your bride by your side for a single night.”

Ricky ricocheted from the vision, blinking hard. The sluagh stood there, her mouth open as if frozen in time.

“No.” He rubbed his face. “No. We were told it was their pact. That Gwynn and Arawn made it together.”

“They did, in a way,” a voice said.

Ricky looked to see an older man, fair hair shot with gray. Despite the age, he knew the face as the one he’d seen only moments ago. “Gwynn.”

“I did not disagree the first time,” Gwynn said, “so the pact was sealed. By breaking it, I gave Arawn the right to set a second pact.”

“I had no right.”

Ricky looked toward the new speaker, a man he’d seen once before, a man he now realized was the older Arawn.

“What you just saw?” Arawn said. “That is the truth. Gwynn might take the blame, but the lion’s share was never his.”

“I wouldn’t say—” Gwynn began.

“Stop,” Arawn said. “Really. Stop. Martyrdom does not become you, old friend. No more than petty vengeance became me.” Arawn turned to Ricky. “I’d rather you didn’t remember that scene. Much easier on the ego to think we were the more wronged party. But I had to show it to you. Gwynn never stole Mati from us. No more than Gabriel steals Liv now.”

“I know. I just—” Ricky ran a hand through his hair and looked at the frozen sluagh. “Bitch.”

“Agreed,” Arawn said. “But remember that, and trust Liv and Gabriel. Always trust them. It’s when you don’t that you get yourself in trouble, a firestorm of outrage and jealousy that ultimately consumes even you.”

“Got it. So the answer is…” He moved in front of the sluagh. “Go fuck yourself.”

The sluagh snapped out of it. “What did you—?”

“You heard me. Go fuck yourself. And while you do?” Ricky took a step back and lowered himself against the wall. “I’ll be right here.”