A fire-breathing dragon and weapon of The Goddess, who was exchanged at birth for a Fae princess, escapes the cage of the royal court, and joins forces with the sexiest wereleopard on Earthworld. She fights the urge to mate and the cage that comes with it as they race against time to find the princess and a master of the black arts who wants the princess’ power.
Major Steve Taylor, a wereleopard in the Army For Light, partners with an impetuous Moira in the middle a dangerous mission where failure means all their deaths. Worse, his leopard decides Moira is his mate, leaving the man at war with his cat.
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DRAGON’S CHILD
WARRIOR’S FOR LIGHT—BOOK 2
By
LJ DeLeon
Copyright 2011 by LJ DeLeon
Published by Dark Hallows Publishing
Smashwords Edition
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Cover Art by Dawné Dominique
Copyright 2011 All Rights Reserved
ISBN: 978-1-4524813-8-8
Acknowledgments
Thank you to the following people:
Kate for being a great critique partner, for brainstorming ideas and for listening to my incessant whining whenever I get stuck. Elise for being a wonderful editor. To my beta readers whom I’ve nicknamed The Brave Ones, you know who you are—you guys were great and helped make this the story what it is. And to my long-suffering husband, who supports my writing.
CHAPTER 1
Present Day: July 30, Otherworld:
Spying had become a bad habit.
But it was the only way she ever learned the truth in this palace of secrets.
Over the past three months, her mother had frequently cloistered herself in her vision room. After each session, trembling and with swollen, reddened eyes, she refused to meet Moira’s gaze. What secret made the queen so desperate she turned to confide in an outsider she’d met only a few days ago?
Moira settled herself in the corner, shielded by a cabinet. Alarm skittered along her nerve-endings like a bolt of lightning sparking its way through her body.
Never one to ignore a warning, she inched forward, preparing to make her escape. The door opened and Ma entered followed by Major Steve Taylor, a wereleopard visiting from Earth.
Moira shivered at the sight of the tall, lean, hard-muscled warrior’s unflinching moss-green stare. His scent of laurel and crisp mountain air mixed with a hint of musk wafted over her, exciting every nerve ending. It drew her, enveloped her, melted her where she sat. Good thing she’d never gotten this close to him at her brother and Deva’s wedding. She inhaled again. Goddess help her, she would have fallen at his feet and made a fool of herself.
Moira gnawed on her lower lip. What was it about this hard, closed-off Were? What made her look twice at him when no other male triggered her interest?
A second later, a guard in the hall pulled the door shut, sealing them inside.
Moira eased back into her corner and prayed she escaped discovery. They couldn’t see her, but she could observe and hear everything from her location.
“Major, I trust everything I say will remain in this room.”
“You have my word, your majesty. Within limits.”
“Limits?”
“I’ll do nothing to betray my oath to the Cáidh Arm or her mate.”
Moira bit back a snort. A Fae-human half-breed as the Goddess’ Holy Weapon, who would have thought it? She bit her lower lip and reminded herself the Goddess had spoken and it wasn’t her place to question.
“I would never ask you to deceive Deva.” Her mother clasped Steve’s hand. “But if Padraig discovers I knew and kept silent, he might turn against me—all my children may.”
Her mother’s heartbreak and sense of hopelessness ripped through Moira. Her burgeoning empathic power, a new skill she’d disclosed to no one and had covertly viewed as an asset, was now a crippling liability. She couldn’t think or move. Her mother’s pain overwhelmed all thought, leaving only a roiling sea of fear in its wake. What could her mother have known that was so terrible she feared her children couldn’t forgive her?
“Have more faith in him. In all your children, Queen Graciela,” Steve said with the firmness of someone used to command. He placed a finger to his lips and scanned the room. His eyes phased to those of a leopard, fitting seamlessly into his human face—unblinking, soft grass green with a narrowed black iris. His mouth opened slightly, his tongue pressed against his teeth, as if tasting the air. His head made small abrupt movements, taking in the room.
Moira’s eyes widened at his mouthed, “We aren’t alone.”
She froze as he turned and prowled toward her. Damn his wereleopard nose. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed to the Goddess with every cell in her being she were invisible.
Goose bumps broke out all over her body. The air in front of her stilled. Nothing moved. Only his scent touched her.
He’d found her.
She opened her eyes and stared into his. Her chest constricted with dread. He stood, fully alert, feet planted directly in front of her. If he’d been in cat form, she suspected his ears would tip forward to catch the slightest breath. Whiskers would twitch, testing for any change in the air.
Panic rose. She quickly tamped it down. A Tuatha de Danaan princess did not crumple in a crisis. Her gaze narrowed at his quizzical expression and she braced herself for exposure. He was playing with her. Making her believe he didn’t see her.
Yet, he showed no recognition of her presence as he frowned and his forehead furrowed. It was as if he doubted his senses. As if he didn’t see her.
Bewildered, she looked down at her hands and studied them. She turned them palm up then down. She was here. She could see herself, so why couldn’t he?
Maybe he wasn’t playing.
Over the past six months, she’d been changing. First in small ways, now larger, unexpected abilities had emerged. Her sense of smell rivaled a werewolf’s. At night, she’d swear she saw the dew beads form. Until fifty years ago, she loved being a court lady. Now she stared out at the warriors practice field with unfulfilled longing. She had the strangest urge to fly, not as a D’ Danaan, but as something flying loops and figure eights. What kind of creature, she didn’t know, except it was massive; dwarfing anything she’d ever seen, and she craved to be it.
She inhaled and a shudder rippled through her. That blasted leopard and his wonderful scent! It tickled her, filling her senses, and she knew she’d never be free because it would haunt her. Stifling a sigh, she focused on him. His hard green eyes gleamed with intelligence and frustration as he searched her alcove then shook his head.
Sucking a wayward curl that always slipped into her mouth, Moira watched him stalked back to Ma.
“I’d swear I smelled someone here. It’s a scent I’ve encountered before, but only since I’ve been in Otherworld.” He glanced about the room, again. Confusion and frustration clearly marked his expression. “Must’ve been my imagination.”
Moira smelled his placating lie. He knew better. If she wanted to avoid detection, she needed to steer clear of him over the next two weeks during his stay in Aoibhinn Tir nan Og.
“Come, Major, we have much to discuss and little time. The Cáidh Arm will soon demand your presence.”
Moira held her breath, waiting to learn her mother’s secret yet fearing what she’d hear.
Ashen-faced, the queen turned toward the window with tears in her eyes. “Since Moira’s birth, I have had dreams. Visions. Nightmares.” Shoulders shaking, she wrapped her arms around her waist. “Moira opens her mouth. Flames shoot out, burning off a man’s face. I have also seen another child, now a woman, who bears a family resemblance that can’t be denied.”
“And Moira, with her brown eyes and copper hair, obviously doesn’t.”
Her mother spun and faced the major, fury etched in every line and feature of her face. “You are correct, Major. A traitor exchanged Moira for my daughter right after her birth. I sensed the difference immediately. Her energy felt different.”
Moira clutched her stomach. Her lungs and throat spasmed closed. Who was she? Where did she belong?
He took a couple of steps back from her mother. “If this missing woman’s your daughter, who’s Moira?”
Hands fisted, mouth tight, Moira glared at the queen through watery eyes. Yes, who am I, Mother?
“The daughter of my heart,” the queen said in a soft voice, one weighted with years of pain.
So that’s what she meant all these years.
“Is she D’ Danaan?”
“No, Major, she isn’t. But only I have recognized the subtle differences.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. All your children, including Moira, strike me as very astute.”
Anger, rage, a refusal to believe what she’d just heard filled Moira. She wanted to demand the Goddess force her mother to recant. She was too Queen Graciela’s daughter. But Graciela’s anguished emotions and the confident affirmation in Steve’s voice told the truth.
She, Moira, did not belong in the lineage of the O’Neill’s, the royal family of Aoibhinn Tir nan Og. Her mouth opened as if to scream her denial, but only a soft puff of searing, hot air escaped.
Yet deep down, in the place she’d never admit existed, she’d always wondered why in a sea of blue and gray-eyed tow-heads she had red hair and brown eyes.
“In my vision, my stolen daughter was abused. Her torment resulted in the birth of twins. Daughters...my granddaughters. She was finally rescued, but not by me.” Her gaze met the major’s. “I’ve never known where she was, except it wasn’t Earth.”
Her mother’s breathing was rapid and shallow. She stood wringing her hands, and seemed to fumble for the words to continue. “Three months ago, I had the first vision of my daughter in over a hundred years. She has learned the truth of her birth and that her twins live and although over a hundred they are unlike the Fae. They are immortals. Her new knowledge lashes at me. She has left her hiding place and is now on Earth.”
The queen’s hands covered her heart. “These visions will not leave me alone. I have not slept a night through because of them.”
Moira took in Steve’s rigid stance. He looked as if he were standing at attention. His hesitancy in approaching the weeping queen sent a ripple of unease through her.
Moira understood. Her own helplessness was overwhelming. Everything in her cried out to comfort the queen as she had after Da died. Yet rage and denial at what she’d learned warred within her. With a few words, her world had just been destroyed.
“Why have you told me and not sought council from your advisors?” he asked.
“This must not be known by any within my Kingdom. It will create...problems. Problems we do not need when fighting a war with the Dark Lord.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, “I refuse to have Moira hurt. The Fae may reject her; they can be bigoted and very unforgiving. I love the daughter of my heart, Major. I will not allow her to be hurt or her joyful, trusting spirit crushed. At a hundred and fifteen, she’s still a youngster.”
“That’s an explanation of why you haven’t told anyone in Otherworld. But you still haven’t said what you expect of me.”
“I want you and those you trust to search Earth for my daughter and granddaughters.”
“Again, why us?”
“You know Earth. My people don’t. And as I said, Aoibhinn Tir nan Og must not learn of this until the three women are found.”
“And then what happens to Moira?”
“I hold her in my arms and we discover together what she is and where her birth mother is. But never doubt for one moment that Moira is anything other than my daughter.”
Numb, Moira watched Steve rake fingers through his short honey-colored hair, pivot and pace to the window and back to the queen. “And just how am I supposed to accomplish this?”
The queen shrugged. “My lost child’s scent and that of her daughters should be similar to my eldest daughter Rhianna, whom you met at the wedding.”
“There’s no way we can find these women by scent alone. Do you have any idea how large Earth is? Also, my team is Deva’s protection detail. We’re already splitting our forces because of a time-critical mission. I can’t and won’t accept another mission without telling Deva and she’ll tell her mate, your son, Padraig.”
His gaze bore into her mother’s. “This is the only way I’ll help you find these three women. Understand my duty is to the Cáidh Arm and saving Earth in our war against the Dark Lord.”
Moira focused on the unyielding soldier, inhaling his scent, examining his emotions, checking for lies and finding only an honor-bound warrior.
“You may tell my son and his wife. Finding my missing daughter and her twins is every bit as critical as this special mission of yours. They have untold power and will be important in this war. Should the Dark Lord or one of his allies capture them …”
Moira sat in frozen silence as her mother’s words rained down on her like stone hammers. For years after Da died, she accompanied Ma to the vision room only to have her mother crumple to the floor weeping, stopping once Moira crawled onto her lap. Her mother would wrap her arms around Moira and while rocking her, croon, “At least I have you, child of my heart.”
All this time, she’d believed she was special because she was the child of Ma’s heart and could take away the sadness. She now knew nothing could have been further from the truth. Instead of being a comfort, she’d been a constant reminder of her mother’s loss.
Gradually, the oppressive quiet penetrated her stupor and Moira realized she was alone. Curling into a ball, she sobbed as she hadn’t since her father’s death.
An hour ago, she’d felt loved and protected.
Now she was adrift.
With a few words, life as she knew it had ceased.
***
Moira entered her bedroom, marched to her dressing table and stared at her reflection. Why hadn’t she seen it before? Red hair. Brown eyes. No one in the family looked like her. Not even ten millennia ago. Even Deva a half-breed had the Fae height and hair the color of a golden-red sunset. Talk about blind!
She shoved the stupid itinerant copper curl that always fell into her mouth behind her ear. All she wanted was to disappear.
Her eyes widened at the now empty mirror.
She looked down at her hands. They were there just like in the vision room.
She turned back to the mirror. Only the pale green plaster wall behind her was visible. “It’s true, he didn’t see me.”
She was like the Cáidh Arm. She wasn’t Fae and could become invisible at will. As she stared at the empty mirror, her image wavered back into view.
Clearly, she needed more practice.
Between now and when she left for Earth—and she was going—she just didn’t know when or how yet, she’d master invisibility. Then she’d hunt for the queen’s missing daughter and granddaughters and return them safely to her mother. That was the only way she could free herself from the bonds of Otherworld and discover who she really was. What happened to her fulfilling her mission, where she went and what she did, was in the Goddess’ hands.
Sniffling, Moira grabbed a linen cloth and scrubbed all evidence of hurt from her face. She stared at her now-despised hair. It marked her as an outsider, not truly belonging.
As she studied herself, another blasted lock of red hair fell forward and into her mouth. “This ends now.” She couldn’t do anything about the color, but she could cure the annoying distraction of her hair.
She marched over to her desk, grabbed a pair of shears, and returned to the mirror. “If I’m not Fae, there’s no reason to have long hair like them.”
She grabbed a hank of hair and lopped off all but three fingers width. Eyes narrowed, she made her way around her head, hacking as she went. In some places, like the nape of her neck, she rested the scissors on her skin and cut.
Completing her declaration of adulthood and independence, she stared at her image. A few long, straggly pieces and curls of differing lengths stuck out from her head. Perhaps it had been a declaration of insanity. Then again, why not finish the job? Lips tightening into a thin line, she grasped those few long stands and sliced them off.
As they fell to the floor, she heard someone gasp behind her.
“Moira Fiona O’Neill! What in the name of the Goddess have you done?”
The scissors slipped from numb fingers to the floor. Turning from the mirror, Moira met her mother’s horrified expression. She had to be strong. At least she was over her temporary fit rejecting Graciela as her mother. After all, the queen had raised her, loved her, given her the Light.
Yet still, in her heart, Moira feared she wasn’t seen as one of them. “It made me stand out as different.”
“And this does not? All females in Aoibhinn Tir nan Og have long hair.”
Moira matched her mother’s gaze with one of tenacious determination. “I want to be a warrior, not a court lady.”
“Even our warriors have longer hair than yours.” Her mother glided forward and cupped Moira’s chin, lifting her head up, turning it from one side to the other.
“Are you angry? Do you hate it?” Moira almost winced at her weak, needy voice.
“No. Just surprised.” A twitch at the corners of the queen’s mouth blossomed into a beautiful smile. “From your first steps you have been inquisitive and impulsive. Nothing you do could ever change how much I love you.” Her mother tugged and pushed at the mass of short, uneven curls. “Now, let us see if your cousin Lyrissa can fix this. It is not as if we can glue it back on,” she said with a chuckle.
Moira blinked back tears. Her best friend Raielle and she had been infants when placed in their foster mother’s arms. If Raielle could be happy, so could she. In the end, it didn’t matter that who she was might be a lie. Ma loved her and had suffered because of her.
Now, it was up to her to fix things.
She would find Ma’s birth daughter and granddaughters. In so doing, she’d also search for her birth mother. Not that she’d take Ma’s place, but because Moira needed to discover what had happened, learn about and understand her true nature, and not burn off that man’s face.
The gnawing inside her to strike out and fight grew with each hour. Soon she wouldn’t be able to contain it. All she could do was control it, master it.
She strolled to the window overlooking the warriors’ practice field then turned back to the queen. “Ma, I was meant to be a warrior. Please, this time, let me try to become one. I can start with the fledglings and if I’m a failure, I won’t say another word. Please, Ma.”
She watched her mother’s face for any sign she was weakening in her long-standing opposition to Moira’s drive to become a warrior. Maybe because of Deva, having the leader of the Army for Light as her son’s mate, this time would be different. As soon as she spotted a twinkle in Ma’s eyes, she knew she’d won.
“Yes, but only with the fledglings. If you cannot handle it...not another word.”
Discovering she was not a true princess, freed her from the strictures forced upon royalty. It gave her the courage to follow her destiny, wherever it led. “Agreed.”
Never again would she live caged by a lie.
***
Last month she started training with the new recruits. She’d proven herself—first with the novices then journeymen of the D’ Danaan military. Today, she started her lessons with the battle-hardened warriors. She was right. She was a born warrior not a princess.
She’d show them all.
Moira grinned. She was finally wearing warrior leathers and boots. The day she’d advanced from fledgling to intermediate, Ma arranged for Ansiel, Tailor to the Warriors, to make her a set. It only took four weeks to earn her first day with the veteran master warriors. That meant she was allowed to wear leathers.
She looked at the way the form-fitting leathers cupped her derriere. The leathers hugged her from shoulders to toes like a second skin. “Nothing to catch on a doorknob, tree limb or be stepped on in a procession.” Her hands slid down her legs, stroking the soft, supple leather that caressed her skin like water, reminding her of when she went swimming naked in the warm sea.
Slowly pivoting, she faced the mirror again and sighed in happiness. For once her small breasts didn’t look underdeveloped in her clothing. She looked like the warrior she was, from her tawny leather vest and pants to the matching soft-soled boots that came up to her knees.
She sniffed and smelled nothing. The lack of odor made them perfect for a scouting mission. She lifted her arms and sniffed beneath. Even there, there was no hint of smell. It seemed the leathers actually hid her natural scent, shielding her from detection by even the most sensitive noses, like the demon Alu and Raksashas. And that curious wereleopard.
She hoped.
Facing front, she ran her fingers through her short, cropped hair. It curled, barely, surrounding her face in soft waves. She looked like a giant pixie. Who knew, maybe she was one. At least the length was perfect for fighting. It stayed out of her eyes and couldn’t be used against her.
Head high, she left her room. As she strode toward the training fields, she wondered if before this war was over, all D’ Danaan would be wearing leathers.
An hour later, she stood grinning at the scowling, dirt-covered seasoned warriors. She had dropped them like flies. Compensating for her lack of height, she grabbed them from behind by their waist-long swinging queues, jerked their heads back, and pulled them howling to the ground, holding her short, practice sword to their throats.
Her gaze rose from her latest victim to Colin, leader of the Tuatha de Danaan warriors. As he strode through his troops, the men parted like the sea receding.
“Playtime is over, princess. You’ve done adequately.” He turned to the men. “Stop treating like a porcelain doll. She wants to be a warrior, so be it.” He turned back to her. “Now, the real lessons begin. I promise...you will live through it.”
Moira swallowed hard at the sight of his steely gray eyes boring into her. “What do you mean live through it? If I hadn’t been gentle, none of these warriors would have survived my attacks.” She suppressed a wince at Colin’s roar of laughter.
“Oh, little girl, you have much to learn about war.” Still grinning down at her, Colin said, “Let it begin.”
They faced off in a large circle of warriors. Moira didn’t trust Colin’s smirk. This old warrior was up to something, and it didn’t bode well for her. He had at least nine hundred years on her.
She grasped her short sword in her right hand as they circled. “Do you really fight like this in battle?”
“In alleys and forests. This is called one-on-one, my sweet.”
“I know that,” she huffed. Now, all she had to do was survive. That required taking Colin down—hard, fast. She could do it. She had the advantage. Her five foot four inches gave her a better center of gravity than Colin’s six and a half feet. Now, all she had to do was use it against him.
She needed to stay inside him, like a bothersome gnat. If she stayed close his long arms became a disadvantage.
They continued to feint. No matter what she did, he blocked every move. He lunged at her. With her right foot, she kicked out to the side connecting with his knee. He stumbled. Using his off-balance moment, she charged behind him, grabbed his queue and jerked his head back.
Before her sword touched his throat, Colin’s knife sliced through his hair. A nanosecond later, she hit the ground with a thud, his braid in her hand, her breath whooshing from her. Before she could move, he’d immobilized her sword arm with his knee, his blade at her throat.
“Listen well, little girl. I could have kept my braid and taken your liver...or heart. All that was required was a backward thrust of my sword.”
He removed the knife from her neck. With a twist of his wrist, the blade faced backwards, and he jabbed as if she were still behind him.
Moira stared. He was right. She might have slit his neck, but Colin would have killed her at the same time. Too bad she couldn’t disclose her invisibility. It would raise questions none of them could answer. No, that crafty, old warrior would still have jabbed backwards and gotten her.
He stood and pulled her to her feet. “I sacrificed my warrior’s braid to teach you a valuable lesson. Unless you are so quick your enemy can’t respond or you have truly immobilized him, you are open to counterattack. As long as your enemy has a knife, a sword, or a fighting dagger in his hand, you are unprotected, vulnerable. Should it be a demon with claws, you will always be at risk. Our advantage, Moira, is from the air. Try again, this time flying.”
Momentary panic filled Moira. Then she settled. Like all the D’ Danaan, when she flew she turned invisible to all but her fellow airborne Fae. She wondered if she was a chameleon, becoming whatever the people around her were. If so, that explained why no one other than Ma knew or suspected she wasn’t one of them.
Iridescent wings slid out hidden vents in the back of her vest and unfurled, arching high over her head with feathers brushing the ground. Her thirty-foot wingspan rivaled that of any warrior, including Padraig and Colin. No, hers were at least five feet wider. Strangely, she knew her wings were small compared with those of the blurred winged creature she’d seen in her dreams.
Pride filled her as she took to the sky.
“Remember to use your practice sword. I don’t need to lose any of my warriors’ heads.” He took a mask from a warrior and placed it over his eyes. “I will be the enemy who can’t see you.”
The next thing she knew, Colin joined her. She grinned. There he was. They might be invisible to the enemy but not to each other. Except today, he was flying blind and she had him.
Within seconds she found herself face down in the grass.
He held his thin-as-gossamer mask in front of her.
“You cheated.”
“Never trust the enemy, not even your compatriots in training. You have much to learn yet, my princess. Even if I couldn’t see you, your beating wings gave your location away. Had I been a harpy, you’d be sliced and diced. Remember, once aloft, glide as much as possible. Mimic the eagle, the hawk, the falcon, not the hummingbird.”
As he helped her up, Moira’s wings retracted. Head lowered, a tear tracked down her cheek. Shame at her arrogance and foolhardiness filled her. Colin and his troops had seen the truth. She wasn't a warrior. She could cost them all their lives in battle.
He tipped her bent head up. Their gazes met then he nodded to his men. As one, they grasped their daggers, reached behind their heads and severed their warrior braids.
***
Moira gnawed her lower lip. She had less than a week before the September First dedication ceremony on Earth. She had to get there, but how? Spotting her brothers Sean and Aidan ambling toward her, she grinned. Thanks be to the Goddess.
She struggled to hide her smile at their short hair. All the warriors now wore Earth military-style hair, her brothers, too. She wondered if Padraig had whacked off his braid yet.
She’d learned a lot about herself this past month, the signals she sent, her childish behavior. Instead of lacking abilities, she was evolving into more than she’d dreamed.
“Well done, Pipsqueak. You’ve taught us all a valuable lesson,” Aidan said, chucking her under the chin.
Moira met Sean’s gaze, his face a marble mask. From the day of Ma’s secret revelation that Da had been murdered and hadn’t died in a riding accident, all of Sean and Aidan’s laughter had disappeared. Aidan was chosen to hunt for Da’s killer. Sean, the spy master, was needed on Earth. He dealt with their leaders and Otherworld’s government, The Body. In this war, his skills were invaluable.
Smiling, she placed her hand on Sean’s chest. “Ma said there’s to be a dedication of a shrine to the Heroes of the Light in Earth and you’re attending. I beseech you, ask Ma to allow me to accompany you. I want to see some of the world we’ll enter once the veil falls,” she said in the special voice that convinced others to do her bidding.
“Why don’t you ask her yourself?”
“She still holds me too close to let me cross through the mist.” Her shoulders sagged. “I’m just over a hundred. You know we aren’t supposed to go to Earth before our hundred and fiftieth year. But if you ask her, she might relent.”
His lips curved into a small answering smile. “I cannot promise anything. But I will speak with Ma.”
“Promise to the Goddess?” Fae kept promises sworn to the Goddess when they might otherwise renege. They loved to twist the words so they didn’t have to fulfill their oaths. The Fae had used this to trick human norms since the beginning of time.
Unfortunately, an agreement made when she used her special voice was without substance unless sworn to the Goddess.
Sean placed his hand on his heart. “I swear to the Goddess I will request Queen Graciela to grant you leave to accompany me to Earth.”
She could hardly wait.
Freedom!
CHAPTER 2
hIfreann, Seraphim Dimension:
“You got me here. And I’m going on record, I don’t like my privacy on Earth violated.” Sabina flashed the Seraphim assassin Azreal a scowl then faced front and glowered at her father, Raziel, King of the Seraphim. Usually, she loved hIfreann, its crystal-spire buildings, and Eden like environment, including her father’s soundproof inner sanctum at the top of his Crystal Palace. But not today. “So stay the hell out of my home! Trump Tower is off limits!”
“You didn’t enjoy the Dom Perignon?” Raziel asked.
She ignored his arched eyebrow. “That’s not the point. You or your pet,” she jerked her thumb at Azreal, “invaded my home and a room I thought inviolate. Now I know differently. If you could find it, so can the Dark Lord or one of his sycophants.”
“Highly unlikely,” Azreal said, moving to her father’s side.
“Oh, really. I just learned on my last trip to the Abyss they have my phone lines tapped. It’s a damned good thing I use disposable cells with my spies and seedlings.”
The look that passed between the two men didn’t comfort her.
“What is it? What’s happened? Has the Dark Lord discovered the truth? That I’m not his daughter? That I’m working with you to save my skin?”
“I don’t know,” Raziel said. “Asmodeus tortured your foster mother Bucama. He fed her to the Lasae inch by inch in Beliar’s...the Dark Lord’s throne room until she died.”
A low moan escaped before she could stop it. Stories of friends or family being devoured by those sentient ants were whispered in fear-laced voices by the monsters of the Abyss. Every time Sabina had rebelled, Bucama had told tales of their atrocities to keep her in line.
“Why?” she asked, her teary gaze meeting her father’s.
“Over the past six weeks, ten more of Beliar’s sons have become ash. Yesterday, he pulled me down into a warded circle. He ranted at Asmodeus, that if Bucama was innocent then you must somehow be responsible. He has ordered Asmodeus to trace your entire life from birth to the present. We believe prior to bringing you in, Beliar’s eliminating everyone who could provide you support or protection.”
“Gorrin?”
“For now, your foster father is safe, he’s gone to ground.”
She glanced over at the still silent Azreal. The man was an emotionless cipher, one she couldn’t get a read on. That scared her. She was usually good at reading males, including the Dark Lord, Asmodeus, and Raziel. But this one, it was as if he were made of smoke. “What else?”
Raziel arched an eyebrow at Azreal.
Azreal gave a short, sharp nod then said, “I do not believe Bucama broke. If she had, you and our king would have been ordered to appear before the Dark Lord. Both you and our king would find yourselves trapped within a warded circle in the Abyss.”
Sabina inhaled sharply then slowly exhaled to a count of twenty. “What can I do? I’ve tried, but never been able to refuse his demands that I appear when called. As they say, ‘resistance is futile.’ I’m always jerked back down there.”
She swallowed hard. “He no longer hides his contempt of me. I heard him gift me to Asmodeus to do with as he wishes once he no longer has any use for me.” She trembled. For the first time in her life, the thought of descending to the Abyss to face the Dark Lord and his enforcers terrified her.
Raziel stepped forward and placed both hands on her shoulders. “That is why I had Azreal bring you to me. What name does Beliar use when summoning you?”
She stared up at Raziel’s angelic face and black eyes. “Sabina. Why?”
A slow smile spread across his face at her answer. “That means you have not had a secret naming ceremony, granting you a power name. But you will now.”
His fingers tightened on her shoulders. “You will choose your true call name, one known only to the three of us. Once the ceremony is complete, if a being does not know your true name he has no power over you. He cannot force your appearance. Never allow anyone to discover this name. If they do, they have the power to control you as Beliar does me. Raziel, The King of hIfreann, no less,” he spat out, disgust radiating from him.
“I thought you said it had to be completed under the stars.” Her father pointed up at the ceiling. She followed his finger. Stars twinkled above her through the transparent roof.
“My shields form a bubble around us, up, down, and around. While it will appear clear from our side, it creates a haze between us, and any potential spies. Should anyone be in this room, no one other than we three can see or hear us.”
“You don’t trust your own people not to betray you?”
“Beliar was one of my subjects and now I’m his slave.”
“Do you trust anyone?”
“Yes, your protector.” Raziel lit a low bonfire in a small stone pit in the middle of the floor. “Do you remember what you are to say?” At her nod, he continued. “As an adult, you must supply the name you wish to own.”
“Can I say it mentally, not out loud?”
“No. There must be two witnesses. I am your father, Azreal is your protector.” With a wave of his hand, a glittering wave of air surrounded them, encasing them. Then he and Azreal joined hands and grasped hers between them. “Begin.”
At his softly spoken order, she said, “Goddess above hear my call. I, Sabina, daughter of Raziel, King of hIfreann and an unnamed human slave seek your audience. It is time for my naming. I have chosen...Mwynen-Gwry of my free will. So let it be.” At Raziel’s scowl and Azreal’s choked laugher, she winked. Never in a million years would the Dark Lord think to call her “Gentle Virgin” in Welsh. Come to that, he probably couldn’t pronounce it even if he saw it written.
The haze and shield momentarily dropped as Azreal disappeared then returned with a large overstuffed chair to add to the two her father had dragged up to the pit. Once the furniture was settled, the privacy shield returned.
Sabina flopped down in the largest chair, swung her long, bare legs over one arm and began to swing them. Raziel and Azreal took the other two chairs and sat facing her. She flashed the ever blank-faced Azreal a mocking smile. She knew the picture she presented—azure-blue eyes, blond hair streaming down her back and long legs swinging over the arm of the chair as her short, formfitting microfiber dress hitched even higher.
Unfortunately, the damned assassin and her newly found father weren’t taken in by the package. They knew the real Sabina—cold, calculating, and ready to kill to get what she wanted.
“So, why the secrecy now that the deed’s done?”
“I have a story to tell you,” Raziel said.
Only when she arched her eyebrow did she realize she and Raziel did the same thing down to the identical lifting of the same brow. “Do you think the Dark Lord’s recognizes I’m your daughter; that I carry your essence, not his?”
“It’s possible, but doubtful. Beliar wasn’t called The Fool in my realm for no reason.” He leaned back, his elbows on the arms of the chair, his templed fingers tapping one another. “We have greater problems. First, some history: in 1895 Queen Graciela gave birth to a daughter. Within hours of her birth, the Dark Lord, using a D’ Danaan slave, switched the child with that of a Saraph. This changeling received the name Moira, intended for Graciela’s daughter.”
“What’s a Saraph?”
“Our weapon. Graciela’s daughter was kept a prisoner in the Abyss. Another prisoner, a human warlock healer, raised the child as his own and named her Allana. He loved her beyond measure.
“After Allana’s second bleed, Beliar infused his essence into her womb during a time I was in the Abyss. He bragged about how he had Queen Graciela’s true daughter; how one day he would release her and her two sons. You were his only daughter.”
“Ah, but I’m your daughter, not his.”
“True. Once Graciela’s daughter and her children were returned, Beliar believed he’d control Aoibhinn Tir nan Og, Earth, the Abyss and, through me, hIfreann.”
Sabina swung her feet onto the floor and leaned forward, not wanting to miss a word. The more she learned of this archangel, Raziel, whom she now called father, the more she understood of herself. Why she could never seem to take evil to the ultimate level, and the main reason the Dark Lord viewed her as a failure. Something had always held her back. Damn it to the Abyss, she’d even felt guilt. More so now that she knew she was the product of angels, the Goddess’ Paladins.
“This was not to be borne. The healer and I made a blood oath. As with you eight centuries earlier, I destroyed Beliar’s essence and implanted my own, ensuring the twins would be female. When Allana went into labor, Beliar called me to the Abyss to witness his triumph. Once the girls were born, Beliar ordered them destroyed, fed to his pet Hellhound, and swore he’d keep trying until he had his sons.”
“Do I have other siblings besides these two sisters?”
“Yes. My Seraphim son, Ouriel.” He looked over her shoulder at someone only he could see. “He is lost to me.”
“I’m sorry. But why have you only made daughters within the Abyss?”
Raziel laughed. “Because Beliar, when here in hIfreann and as the Dark Lord in the Abyss, has never taken females seriously. He has never realized they are the more deadly of the sexes. Because of this, Beliar forgot about you for the first five hundred years of your life, thus allowing you to gain knowledge and power. Know this, daughter mine, Beliar fears you.”
“He fears me so much he’s giving me to Asmodeus.”
“Exactly.”
“What happened to the twins?”
“I brought them home with me, to hIfreann.”
Sabina left her chair and knelt in front of Raziel. She wasn’t alone, she had sisters. “Where are they? What’s happened to Allana?”
His hand rested on her head, absently stroking her hair. Outside of sex and other than Gorrin, her foster father, it was the first time a male had touched her with gentleness. That she cared—and worse, craved it—horrified her. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to move.
“This took place in 1909. I had Kakabel give the twins to separate but loving families in Earth. On my next trip to the Abyss, I arranged for the warlock and Allana to escape to hIfreann with me by making it appear they had been killed by Beliar’s pet hounds. We immediately held a naming ceremony.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“Allana’s learned the truth. Having a hIfreann call name allows her to teleport in or out of my realm at will; as it now does you. She is in Earth searching for her daughters.”
“Would they still be alive?”
“You are.” He chuckled at her shocked tone. “My dear, Sabina, another advantage of having my essence, besides beauty, is immortality.” His smile faded at her frown. “You must never return to the Abyss. My seers have foreseen your death should you go.”
She nodded. “Given he can’t force me there, I should be safe. But I don’t understand. Why don’t you just use Allana’s power name and call her to you?”
“Never. That would make her a slave with no free will, just as I am with Beliar.”
“What about the twins, do they have call names? Where are they?”
“No, they don’t. It was an oversight.”
“What about the families he left them with?”
“They are over a hundred years. Who knows where they are. If they have followed the normal pattern of Supernaturals, they move and change identities every ten to fifteen years.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Find Allana and her daughters. Protect them. Bring them here or help them get to a Sanctuary or Aoibhinn Tir nan Og. The Cáidh Arm is also seeking them. Assist her when possible.”
“How will I recognize Allana? I’ve never seen her.”
Raziel placed his hands on both sides of her temples. “Here, this is what she looked like three weeks ago.”
A tall, willow thin towhead with silver eyes stood before her. “Shit, she’s a younger version of that prig, Padraig.”
“You’re not helping.”
“Sorry, Daddy. Can I continue living at Trump Tower when in Earth?”
“Yes, Azreal and one of my mages will return with you to change the wards surrounding your home. It will be set so that only we three can enter. It will be keyed to our essences. While you’re on Earth, all our communication must remain telepathic.”
“Why him?” Sabina jerked her head at Azreal.
“No one will suspect Azreal of being anything other than your newest boy toy while he remains at your side as your protector...except for when, as you say, he is taking out Beliar’s sons.”
“I can live with that.”
“Remember, help the Cáidh Arm.”
“Count on it.”
CHAPTER 3
Earth:
Moira’s stomach clinched as her gaze drifted to the top of the monument. She envisioned the entire structure covered in names within a few years. “It’s awfully big.”
“It has to be. Before the war is over, there are going to be many names,” Sean said. “Perhaps hundreds of thousands.”
The harsh reality of this war sickened her. “Let’s go. I want to pay tribute to those who have already passed on to Summerland. Padraig said some of our family is already listed with the Innocents.” Moira ascended the granite stairs of the thirty-three meter bronze monolith, formerly known as Devils Tower.
The Goddess had hollowed out the solid igneous structure, turning it inside and out into a shimmering bronze monument. Granite stairs led to the top and down into the tower. Granite walking platforms jutted from the bronze walls every four meters along the wall out from the stairs circling the memorial.
Engraved at the top right were the names of the fallen heroes. All the soldiers lost to the silent war were listed, followed closely by all the soldiers—Fae, Supe, Human—killed in their first battle. Deva had told her that unlike in the Cave of the Fallen where the names were listed using different gemstones to denote race and species, here there would be no differentiation.
In this war of Light against Dark, the time for separation of species was past.
Etched inside the monument’s protected bronze walls was the ever-growing list of the Innocents murdered by the Dark Lord’s minions or followers.
An hour later, after paying homage to the fallen warriors, Moira crested the top and began her descent into the interior, saying prayers for all the Innocents, many of whom were friends and family, slaughtered by the Dark Lord’s followers.
Three hours later, now dressed in a pale green spider silk gown like the princess she’d been raised to be, Moira sat with Sean in the front row at the shrine’s dedication ceremony. She hoped Deva didn’t make a dry, boring, long-winded speech as President Kittredge had.
Moira glanced up at the unrelenting sun. Pulling a small linen square from her clutch, she dapped at her forehead and the back of her neck. She’d never experienced heat like this before. Otherworld was always temperate, never too hot or cold, just another day in paradise. She also didn’t understand why everyone kept insisting it wasn’t bad because it was dry heat. Heat was heat.
Closing her eyes, Moira prayed silently, I beseech you my Goddess, please have Deva say only a few words. Otherwise give her a temporary case of laryngitis.
With a sigh, she watched Deva, clad in her warrior leathers, step up to the lectern with Padraig at her side and the remnants of her team behind her. Suddenly, the largest pure white wings Moira had ever seen unfurled behind Deva. No Fae had wings that size, not even her. They must be unique to Deva. With them, Moira knew, came the gift of teleportation, and the Goddess’ final approval to her new Cáidh Arm.
Her gaze drifted over and locked on Steve’s rigid, professional stance. Why did this emotionless soldier draw her? Was it his protectiveness of the Cáidh Arm? Or was it his scent that relentlessly called to her?
Whatever the reason, she needed to control it. Not that she’d had to this visit. During the past week, since his return from a mission, he had gone out of his way to avoid her—probably uncomfortable with the secret entrusted to him by her mother. Good thing, too. Otherwise, at the first whiff of her scent, he would recognize it from the vision room and be on alert. She couldn’t afford his scrutiny. It would raise questions, create problems with Padraig and he’d quash her plans. She had five days to figure out how to remain on Earth without anyone being the wiser.
She swallowed as Steve’s hard gaze narrowed on her. Blackness to the Abyss, he’d felt her watching him. She needed to tread carefully around him, avoiding him unless she was in her Fae leathers. His mission was the key to finding Ma’s daughter and who she herself was. Now, how could she use him and his mission to fulfill her own quest?
The flashing pop of camera lights snapped Moira from her musings about the intriguing wereleopard. Please make it short, she prayed yet again.
"Thank you for attending, President Kittredge and other dignitaries. The Goddess has turned a spectacular creation of nature into a Shrine for the Fallen. Now and in the future, all names engraved by the Goddess, be they warriors or innocents, are heroes of the Light.”
Moira winced under her unyielding gaze.
“The war to save the Innocents has just begun.”
Moira’s gaze widened as Deva stepped back from the microphone to stunned silence from the crowd and walked off the makeshift stage. Praised be, the Goddess had answered her prayers.
***
Moira hugged Padraig then Deva at the entrance of The Cave of the Fallen. “Thank you so much for allowing me to come. Earth is beautiful.”
“We loved having you,” Deva said.
“Good. I loved being here with you.” Her brows furrowed. “You’ve been so quiet the past two days I was so scared I’d done something wrong.”
Deva brushed Moira’s short curls from her face. “It isn’t you. We haven’t gotten a lock on Carlson yet.”
“Oh, he’s that nasty Senator who killed those ten people, right?”
“Yes. He’s also a powerful black mage, and I suspect the new leader of the Humans First movement. We’ve received reports that HF is growing and targeting anyone who isn’t a hundred percent human. That’s why I’m glad you’re going back to Otherworld.”
“I don’t understand.”
“They hate anyone who isn’t a norm. They’d kill us all off, even if it cost them the war with the Dark Lord.”
“One’s already tried to kill Deva,” Padraig said. “If I hadn’t been there, if our healers hadn’t been near …” He shrugged, his expression desolate.
“Oh. I see.” Moira pulled free of Deva. Lifting her face, she met Padraig’s swirling silver gaze. His guarded expression said it all. He suspected she was up to something. And she was. He just hadn’t figured out what, yet. To succeed, she had to keep him off guard. Starting now.
Moving to give Padraig a goodbye hug, she admitted to herself he wasn’t her biggest worry. Deva was. Between her visions and her Cáidh Arm senses, Deva might divine her plans.
She paused, worry over succeeding catching her off guard.
Was her decision reckless? Could she carry it off?
What if she was being played like a hooked fish? A hidden shiver shot through her body. Yesterday, she watched Steve from afar play with the trout he’d caught. He’d given it line, letting the poor fish wear itself out before slowly, carefully reeling it in. What if Steve had already told Padraig about smelling her in the vision room, and Padraig had figured out her plan, and was playing her like that trout?
Projecting calm she didn’t feel, Moira met Deva’s smile with one of her own. “I’ve left my belongings here. Ma said I can come back to visit when you say it’s okay...I guess that’ll be after you catch Carlson.” She exhaled a practiced sad sigh and gave Deva another kiss on each cheek then turned back to Padraig with a forced laugh. “How do you like my warrior leathers?”
“They fit, maybe a touch too well.”
Deva punched his arm. “They’re looser than mine.”
“I know,” he growled.
Moira patted her brother’s cheek. “Ma commissioned them from Ansiel himself.”
“You should feel privileged. Ma may have asked, but Ansiel only agrees after seeing a warrior train.” He leaned forward and fingered the front edge of the vest with another assessing look.
“Really?” She knew it! She was a warrior born. “Did Sean tell you how good I am, how I almost bested Colin? They’re all wearing their hair short like mine now.”
“Yes, and so did Colin. He said your tactic of using their hair as a weapon against them was brilliant.”
“He did? I’m surprised because he proved how it could have been my death.”
“Yes, but it would have been his death at the same time.”
“So when can I expect to see you with a haircut?”
“Never.” Deva tugged his silver-blond mid-back braid. “Not if you value your life”
Grinning, he shrugged. “She likes the feel of my hair flowing around her when—”
“TMI,” Deva interrupted holding her hands up forming a “T”
Moira snickered at Padraig’s reddening ears. Once Deva explained the meaning of that sign, Moira had enjoyed seeing Deva use it. Somehow in just a few months, she’d changed Padraig from rigid and withdrawn to if not warm, at least welcoming.
Moira gave him another kiss on the cheek then raced to Sean waiting just outside the cave’s opening. “I’m staying. Ma said I could. She’ll send Colin to get me in a week.” She hugged him then stepped to the side. At his hesitation, she responded quickly. His mistrust of her ran deep, and for a number of well-earned reasons. “Ask her if you don’t believe me.”
“I believe you, squirt. Tell Ma I should have something to report shortly.” He waved off her budding question. “She’ll know what I mean.”
Unfortunately, so did Moira. He was meeting one of his spies, a human norm. More secrets in the palace of lies.
As he vanished, Moira simultaneously teleported a mile away, then teleported back with her invisibility firmly in place. It’d taken her almost three weeks after Colin had shown how to gain complete mastery over it, but now it was hers to command. Seconds later she raced into the cave, on the heels of Deva and Padraig as they slipped into their secret quarters and the rock-faced door slid shut.
She smothered her reflexive gasp for air as her heart tripped then raced. If she was caught, she would never be allowed to leave Aoibhinn Tir nan Og again. Her breathing and pulse calmed only when she realized, neither of them was aware of her presence. They were too wrapped up in one another.
“Much as I’d love to haul you off to our room, Steve’s waiting for us in the conference room. He said it’s important.”
“He can wait an hour,” Padraig said with a chuckle then lifted Deva in his arms and strode off to their bedroom. As if on cue, she pulled at the band controlling his hair and tossed it behind her.
Heat rose in Moira’s cheeks. There were some things a sister just should not observe.
***
Moira scrunched into a corner on the floor of Deva’s private conference room. She hadn’t dared sit anywhere but this out-of-the-way corner. Invisible she might be, but she still occupied space. With the way these warriors sprawled on one piece of furniture and then the next, sooner or later they would have landed on her before she could move, or tossed something over her, exposing her.
“What do you think our chances are of getting Carlson? Dead of course,” Mark asked.
Steve arched an eyebrow. “Somewhere between slim and none, with slim on life support.”
Mark sighed. “Think we have a shot?”
“He teleports, we don’t. His evil was so great it almost killed that Dream Chaser, Kallen. Then there are the three armed guards he killed when he escaped that magickally locked cell.
“Don’t forget the ten congressmen,” Mark said.
“Some might consider that a blessing,” muttered Jamie, Mark’s younger littermate.
“Not helping, Jamie,” Steve said, his growl overpowered by a chuckle. “As for killing Carlson, he’ll vanish before we’re within twenty feet. The key will be to get him in our scope from a mile away.”
“Right, that’s all we have to do.” Scowling, Mark leaned back in his chair and settled his heels on the mahogany conference table, crossing his legs at the ankles.
Jamie glanced toward the doorway. “Padraig said an hour. It’s been almost ninety minutes. If they aren’t here in five, I’m beating on their door.”
Moira stomped down her urge to cheer Jamie on. The floor and walls might be smooth, but they were still cool, hard stone and her backside was numb.
“No need, I hear them coming,” Steve said.
About time. Moira didn’t know how much longer she could stay in the same room as this leopard. His scent drew her, called to her on currents of air, promising he was important to her, promising she could trust him. Each time he strode past, she’d inhaled and he would search the room. Last time, he’d almost hit her head as, with eyes closed, she’d leaned out from her corner to savor his rich musky scent. A disturbance in the air alerted her in time to pull back. Gratitude to the Goddess filled her that because of her Fae leathers he couldn’t smell the depth of her arousal.