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 ex
actly 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 dokkalfar 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."
5
"So that's a Crom...." Medea felt her jaw go slack as she caught sight of the massive glowing horseman. At first, he appeared headless. Until she realized that his head was formed by mist at the end of the spiny whip he wielded as he rode. The white horse was giant in size ... almost as large as a Mack truck. An awful stench of sulfur permeated the cavern, choking her and sticking in her throat as if it had been created from thorns.
Even more disconcerting, the baying horse made the sound of twenty echoing beasts. And its hooves were thunderous--like an approaching train. The sounds reverberated through her, rattling her very bones.
"I won't do it!" Brogan shouted. "I refuse you!"
The horse reared as the Crom cracked its whip in the air. Fire shot out from the whip's tip as more thunder echoed.
Unfazed and with fists clenched at her sides, Brogan stood stubbornly between them and the Crom. "Beat me all you like. I will not give you that power. Not again! Not over my newfound friends!"
"What's going on?" Medea asked.
Brogan kept her gaze locked stubbornly on her master. "He wants the ability to speak. But if I give it to him, then he can call out your name and claim your soul to take it with him to hell. And I will not allow it."
With a long, bony finger, he pointed at Brogan.
She shook her head at him. "Then take me, if you must. I'm all you'll be getting today! I won't let you have them! You hear me? No more!"
He charged at her.
In an act of absolute bravery, she stood her ground without flinching.
Blaise caught her an instant before the Crom would have mowed her down. Lifting her in his arms, the mandrake whirled her past the razor, blood-encrusted hooves that were mired with the remnants of the Crom's past victims.
Falcyn and Urian went charging in to cover them.
Rolling her eyes at their brave stupidity since none of them were armed, Medea joined their cause. She manifested her sword and twirled it around her body. Falcyn unleashed his fireballs while she watched the fey creature turn around for another pass.
It started for them.
Until it saw her sword.
With one last shrieking cry, it vanished in a puff of pungent green smoke.
What the hell was that?
"Okay ... that was effing weird. Where did he go?" She glanced around, half expecting him to manifest behind them. "What just happened?"
Brogan inclined her head to Medea's sword. "'Tis the gold of your blade and hilt. It's his weakness. With that, you could have maimed him."
Medea gaped at her. "You couldn't have told me that before he charged?"
"Wasn't allowed to say it until you found it on your own. I'm forbidden to."
"Well that just sucks!"
Brogan smiled. "For me more than you, my lady. Believe me."
She had a point.
And Blaise had yet to set her back on her feet. In fact, he seemed reluctant to let her go.
"My lord?" Brogan blushed profusely.
Blaise hesitated. "Not sure I should let you down. You seem to keep finding trouble whenever I do."
Medea looked away as a strange tenderness went through her at how adorable the two of them were. Especially when Brogan wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled against his chest as if content to stay right where she was.
But Falcyn wasn't so kind. "Blaise! Set her down! Now!"
Medea popped him on the arm as Brogan appeared stricken by his sharp tone. "What is your problem?"
Falcyn gestured at Brogan. "He doesn't know where she's been."
Was he serious? "Oh my God, Falcyn! He's not some two-year-old child and she's not a piece of candy he found on the floor that he stuck in his mouth!"
"Well, that's how he's acting. He looks at her like he could eat her up."
"And you're acting like a baby. Get over it. He's a grown dragon. He's allowed to be nice to any woman he wants to. Without your permission or approval, you know?"
Falcyn's nose actually twitched and flared. "Doesn't mean I have to like it," he groused like that two-year-old she'd just mentioned.
Blaise rolled his eyes and shook his head. "He always acts like an old woman. I'm used to it. He's the same way with Illarion. Max is just as bad, if not worse. At least they no longer try to burp me after my feedings. Or check my nappy."
Brogan laughed as Blaise finally set her back on her feet, but he kept her tucked by his side.
And yet there was a profound pain deep inside Falcyn's eyes that Medea didn't miss. What was that dark shadow that haunted him so?
Before she could ask about it, Brogan drew their attention to the stones that, when they stepped back, Medea realized formed a half-broken demonic face suspended on pedestals over a deep, fiery abyss.
"Well, that's different." And the dais was impossible to reach....
Medea arched a brow. "I take it that's the portal we're looking for?"
Brogan nodded. Her mood now was subdued and quiet. Gone was any hint of the playful sprite she'd been a few seconds ago.
Medea cast a dry stare to Falcyn. "This is when having a flying dragon would come in handy."
Falcyn snorted. "So would rope ... and a gag."
Before she could stop herself, Medea swept a hot, seductive glance over his long, lush body. "A rope and a gag come in handy for lots of things, princess," she said suggestively.
"Ew! Hey, brother over here, and I do not approve of this entire line of conversation with my sister! Back to a G rating, folks."
Laughing, albeit a bit nervously, Brogan started toward the platform.
She'd only taken a step before a light flashed and smoke exploded in front of them--this realm seemed to like that a lot. Apparently, the entire place seemed to be rigged for a heavy metal concert tour.
The peculiar portal in front of them churned into action, spinning and turning like a rusted nickelodeon. Light shot out from the demon's mouth and eyes, with a blinding intensity. Symbols twisted around it in a frenetic ballet that was painful to watch.
And out of that madness came m
ore smoke and mist. As if an angry beast snorted at them with a furious hatred. Spiraling up and dancing to a jerky beat, the mist solidified into the shape of a tall hooded beast.
No, not a beast.
A man.
At first, Medea thought the emerging figure was a wizard of some kind. Or shaman. Indeed, his flowing feathered robes and chains, along with the braided black hair and the huge elaborate raven skull headdress, would have lent themselves to that assumption. Especially since bells chimed as he moved and he held a bloodred torch staff in his left hand. One that belched more fire and smoke as it shot arcing balls of light upward around his head.
Yet there was something more to him than that. Something powerful and ancient.
Timeless.
As he turned to face them, she saw that he'd painted a thick black band over his golden eyes that made their unusual color more vibrant. He stepped down from the dais with the grace of a man half his age. And when he neared them, he flexed his dark gray gloved hand that held the staff, digging the wooden claws that were affixed to his fingertips into its leather-wrapped shaft. His gaze bored into them with the wisdom of the ages, and with the sharpness of daggers. As if he were cleaving secrets from their very souls.
"Kerling," he growled in the gruffest of tones. "What is this?"
Brogan curtsied to him. "They were brought here against their wills, copian. They don't belong in this realm. I seek to send them on their way."
A deep, fierce scowl lined his brow. The red light of his torch flared again, and turned blue.
Confused, Medea leaned toward Falcyn. "What's a copian?"
"Hard to explain, exactly. Lack of a better term, they're time wardens and keepers of the portals."
That only confused her more. "Why don't we have one for the bolt-holes in Kalosis, then?"
"You do," the copian said. "Braith, Verlyn, Cam, and Rezar were the first of our kind. They set the perimeters for the worlds and designed the portal gates between them. It's how they trapped Apollymi in her realm--by her own blood and design. It's why her son is the only one who can free her from her realm where she was imprisoned by her own sister and brother for crimes they imagined, that she never committed."
Ah, finally she understood. Because Apollymi was the ancient goddess Braith. One of the very gods who'd first set the gates.
Medea gaped. Holy shit ... literally. No wonder the ancient Atlantean goddess was so pissed off all the time.
Now it made sense. That was how Apollymi had been able to open the portal originally and bring Stryker through it. How she controlled it to allow the Daimons to come and go, while keeping everyone else out.