Fourteen – 05

Posted on July 3, 2017 by Erin M. Klitzke

[This post is from Sif’s point of view.]

Grim-faced, Sif stood slowly. “They won’t make it here in time,” she said. “The others? He’ll be on us before they’re arrayed on the wall. He’s coming too fast.”

Seamus straightened slowly, his fingers tightening around the haft of his bow. “Then we need to delay him.”

She looked at him with a faint smile. “I’m glad we’re of the same mind in this.”

Seamus nodded slowly. “I imagine we are. Do you want me to come along, or cover you from the wall?”

For a few seconds, she stared at him, weighing options. Finally, she shook her head. “If Menhit shows up down there to back him up, you’ll be in danger from her little true love trick. Cover me and whatever you do, don’t let Thordin follow me out into that field.”

Seamus nodded, expression grim. “I’ll do what I can.”

“I mean it, Seamus. Do whatever you have to do to keep him off of that field.”

“I will,” he assured her, his voice quiet. “Now go, before someone shows up to talk you out of this.”

“Thank you for not trying.”

“I’m in favor of anything that keeps everyone here alive. Be careful.”

Sif gave him a firm nod and dropped off the wall. She landed in a crouch and straightened slowly, staring out over the field for a moment before she started to walk forward, toward Anhur and what she suspected would be a vain attempt to divert him from his goal—or his task, as she suspected was actually the case.

Even if he truly wanted revenge, he wouldn’t come of his own accord. I know that for certain. His death had been too brutal. The man wasn’t fearless. Sif suspected even death didn’t fully erase old fears, and the fear of death was the oldest for all of them.

Even a thousand years can’t erase some fears.

Her fingers tightened around the haft of her bow. She wasn’t about to let anyone take Thordin from her. Not again.

Never again.

Taking a deep breath, she began to run.

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Fourteen – 04

Posted on June 30, 2017 by Erin M. Klitzke

[This post is from Sif’s point of view.]

Sif’s eyes narrowed as she tracked Anhur’s approach, squinting at the shadows that seemed to gather around his feet, writhing and twisting. She hadn’t determined whether or not it was an optical illusion when Seamus joined her on the wall, grim-faced.

“That was fast,” she said. “Thordin find you first?”

“I could feel something coming,” Seamus said, his voice low and grim.

“Mm,” she said, frowning slightly. “One of the great hunters has harnessed the skies again. Anhur comes.”

“He was supposed to be dead. We heard about it in the north.”

“Thordin killed him at Saqqara,” Sif said quietly, shifting her weight. She had an arrow at hand, but her draw arm was relaxed as she watched the enemy’s advance. “He shouldn’t have been able to come back.”

“Aegyptus always had its secrets,” Seamus murmured, shaking his head. “And they certainly had a penchant for cropping up just when you thought they were down for the count.”

“He was dead, Seamus. Thordin took off his head.”

“But did you burn the body?”

Sif winced.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Seamus said, then shook his head, leaning forward slightly. He wore a sword strapped to his hip and had a bow at hand. “That’s the only way to make sure they stay gone with that one, Sif.”

“Forgive me if we didn’t have the luxury of immolating the corpse, Seamus.”

“I’m just saying.”

She felt the very strong temptation to punch him, one she suppressed ruthlessly. Behind them, she could hear the sounds of Paul and some of the others manning the watchtower, preparing for a fight. Her jaw tightened.

“I don’t suppose we’re anticipating the ability to negotiate,” Seamus said, glancing back over his shoulder for a moment, then forward again to the advancing storm.

“No,” Sif said. “Not at all. Thordin killed him, Seamus. He’s not here to negotiate with us. He’s here to take down anyone who gets in his way.”

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Fourteen – 03

Posted on June 28, 2017 by Erin M. Klitzke

[This post is from Thordin’s point of view.]

“Hell,” Rory said, shaking his head. “We can’t go two damn weeks without someone new gunning for us, can we? Turning into one of those damn monster of the week shows.”

“This is a little less monster-of-the-week and a little more someone called in backup, if I’m reading this right,” Phelan said, his expression grim. He stepped around Marin and Hecate to reach for Thordin’s shoulder. “How much time do we have?”

“He’s leading the storm front,” Thordin said. His stomach twisted in on itself and he tasted bile at the back of his throat. “I couldn’t see what else he was bringing with it.”

“If Menhit’s with him, the camazotzi,” Marin said grimly. She glanced back toward Tala and Neve. “You two better get under cover with the twins.”

Tala nodded slightly, reaching down with one hand to help Neve to her feet, her son nestled in one arm as Neve cradled little Gwen. “Do you know where Angie is?”

“Probably already on her way there,” Marin said. She crouched to take Lin from Hecate.

“Are you coming with us?” Neve asked.

“They’ll need me on the wall,” Marin said.

J.T. cleared his throat. “Mar—”

“Don’t,” she said. Thordin’s stomach dropped. He’d heard that tone before and the look on Phelan’s face—and J.T.’s, for that matter—told them that all three of them knew she wasn’t going to budge on this. “I know where I’m needed.”

“What about Lin?” Hecate asked as she slowly climbed to her feet, swaying slightly. Thordin’s lips thinned. The witch-goddess was pale. Under ordinary circumstances, while he might not entirely trust her, her magic could have been useful up on the wall.

Except she’s not going to be up to slinging magic anytime soon. I didn’t realize how much that fight took from her until now.

Marin took a step forward and hugged Hecate gently, mindful of the newborn cradled in one arm. “You and I talked about you taking care of him when I can’t. This is one of those moments. Go with Tala and Neve. I’ll bring Lin. I know that I can trust the three of you to take good care of him until we’ve dealt with the threat that’s coming to knock on our gates.”

“I—are you—”

“I’m sure,” Marin said.

Thordin’s throat tightened and he stood mute as Marin gently turned Hecate and started to lead her after Neve and Tala. “That’s a thing I never thought I’d ever live to see,” he murmured to Phelan and J.T., shaking his head slightly.

Phelan snorted. “Well, that describes a lot of things these days. Let’s get back to the wall. I’m sure Thom, Matt, and the rest will be joining us shortly.”

“I’ll go round them up,” J.T. said. His gaze was also on Marin and Hecate’s retreating backs, his voice caught somewhere between thoughtful and concerned. Phelan reached over to squeeze his shoulder.

“They’ll be fine,” he said, his voice firm.

Thordin glanced toward his friend, frowning. He wasn’t sure where Phelan got his certainty, but sometimes he wished that he’d share.

“Let’s go,” Rory said, already walking away from the fire.

Thordin exhaled, squeezing his hands into fists, then turned to follow, Phelan falling in a step behind.

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Fourteen – 02

Posted on June 26, 2017 by Erin M. Klitzke

[This post is from Thordin’s point of view.]

His heart hammered against his breastbone, as heavy as a ball of lead trapped in the cage of his ribs. I killed that bastard long ago. She’s right. He should be dead.

I should also know better than to underestimate anyone from Aegyptus, too, but apparently I’m an idiot who thinks people from that particular Otherworld are going to stay dead just because I want them to. Nothing stays dead anymore—and they’ve got less reason than most.

Thordin swore under his breath.

He spotted Davon halfway between the wall and the well.

“Thordin, what—”

“Something’s coming,” Thordin blurted, barely pausing. “Get the others up on the wall and do it fast.”

“What’s coming?” Davon asked, spinning to track Thordin as he kept running. “Thordin!”

“Trouble,” Thordin shouted back, then he was at the edge of the tent and still moving fast. He could hear Davon’s quiet curse behind him, but he also heard the other man start moving, too.

His heart had climbed into his throat by the time he got close to the fire, but he could also hear the whistles of alarm being raised. Marin was already standing by the time he got there, her arms empty but the sling she carried her son in hanging loose around her chest.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice steady.

“Something’s coming. It’s not a normal storm.”

The figure sitting on the ground at Marin’s feet stiffened, sucking in a soft breath. “I knew it,” Hecate breathed. “I knew something didn’t feel right.” She looked back over her shoulder toward Thordin, her eyes wide and afraid—more afraid than he could rightfully say he’d ever seen them, though he’d seen little of her in the days of old and remembered even less. She held baby Lin in her arms, the newborn gently cradled against her chest. “Who’s coming?”

“Anhur,” Thordin said, his voice choked. “And where he goes, Menhit can’t be far behind.”

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Fourteen – 01

Posted on June 23, 2017 by Erin M. Klitzke

[This post is from Thordin’s point of view.]

Perched on the wall with Sif at his side, Thordin stared out toward the west, toward the oncoming storm. The faint rasp of her whetstone across an edge of steel was almost comforting, a counterpoint to the growl of thunder.

“It’s going to be nasty,” he murmured.

She snorted softly but didn’t look up from her work. “These days they tend to be. Between the height of summer—such as it is—and whatever the hell is going on well west of here, it’s to be expected, isn’t it?”

“Mm. It doesn’t feel like a normal kind of nasty, though.” He’d been able to sense the storms ever since his parents had been killed, since he’d called that first storm without knowing that he’d done it. He risked a glance toward Sif, intent on her work. He hadn’t told her, though he suspected she already knew.

After she watched me holding that shield during the storm, she must know that there’s something—that there’s something more than just the mortal left in me.

“What?”

He startled, blinking, looking away quickly, back to the sky and the vista laid out before the walls. “Nothing.”

“Bollocks,” she said. The whetstone went still. “I could hear shit rattling around in that head of yours. What are you feeling out there?”

“That’s the problem. I can’t put my finger on it.” He exhaled quietly. “It doesn’t feel normal.”

“Who could it be?” There was a gentle probe in her voice and he knew that she hadn’t meant for the question to sting, but it did all the same.

He shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. I really don’t.” His lips thinned, his fingers tightening around the edge of the wall. “I don’t remember everything, Sif. A lot, yeah, but not…not everything.”

For a few moments, there was only silence before she edged closer to him, wrapped one arm around his waist and squeezed gently. Thordin stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, exhaling a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“From what I’ve seen, it’s enough.” She pressed her lips to the corner of his jaw, then his ear.

“Try harder,” she whispered. “It’ll come to you.”

After another squeeze, she released him, returning to sharpening the blade across her knees. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart.

Head in the game, Thordin. Head in the fucking game. Concentrate.

Thunder rolled, closer now. The clouds piled on top of each other, then curled back, the squall line well-defined and but moving slowly, still at least a dozen miles out, still over the water.

Concentrate.

There was moisture on the wind; he could taste it mingling with the faint scent of salt—unusual, to be certain, this far inland.

“Wait,” he whispered, standing slowly, balancing. “Wait.”

“What is it?”

“No. No, it can’t be.”

“Thordin.”

He groped for her arm, his hand shaking. Sif stiffened, wrapping her hand over his. Her tone gentled.

“Who is it?” she asked in a whisper.

“The dead have come again,” he breathed, pointing at the shadow walking in the distance, the leading edge of the massive storm trailing behind him like a cloak flapping in the wind. “Anhur walks again.”

“But you killed him,” Sif breathed, her fingers tightening. “You killed him centuries ago.”

“Apparently not enough to stick.” Thordin swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. He felt cold. “Get the others. Warn them.”

“You go.”

“No. No, this fight is mine—will be mine.”

She jerked him down into a crouch, meeting his gaze fiercely. “That doesn’t fly when it’s Phelan saying it and it’s sure as hell not going to fly when you’re saying it, not after the stunt you pulled with the lindwyrm. This is our fight, Thordin—all of us together. I’ve lost you once and then nearly once again. I don’t intend to lose you for good. I refuse to let that happen.”

He swallowed bile, momentarily losing himself in her blue-eyed gaze, reading the fear and the pain that lurked beneath the steel.

“Right,” he whispered. “All right.”

“Go warn them. Tell them what they need to do. I’ll be here, waiting. Go.”

Thordin sucked in a deep breath and pressed his mouth over hers, stealing a kiss that he hoped would give him more strength than he suspected he had—would give him the strength he would need for the coming battle. Sif wrapped one arm around his neck and held him there for a few extra heartbeats, then released him.

“We will have our eternity this time,” she whispered.

Mutely, he nodded. She released him and gave him a gentle shove.

“Now hurry. If he’s here, Menhit can’t be far behind, now can she?”

A shiver shot down his spine. “No. No, she won’t be.”

He dropped off the wall and took off at a dead run toward the center of the settlement to raise the alarm even as Sif set aside the blade and readied her bow.

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Thirteen – 04

Posted on June 21, 2017 by Erin M. Klitzke

[This post is from Hecate’s point of view.]

There were a few people clustered by the fire—Marin was there with baby Lin, Neve, Phelan, a smiling and laughing heavier-set woman with dark hair and a baby in a sling across her chest, and a dark-haired man with a flame buried in his eyes bouncing another infant. The unfamiliar woman with the baby paused, falling silent and staring at her as she approached the fire.

Hecate swallowed hard. The woman reached over and nudged Marin.

“Mar.”

Marin looked up and smiled, coming to her feet quickly and crossing the last dozen paces between the cluster by the fire and Hecate. She gave Hecate a one-armed hug, her son cradled in her other arm. “You’re up! Are you feeling better?”

“Better is a relative term,” Hecate said quietly, still managing to smile. “I heard the thunder and couldn’t get back to sleep.”

“Oh. Yeah, it looks like there’s a storm rolling in off the lake.” Marin wrapped her arm around Hecate’s shoulders and started to gently guide her toward the fire. “Come on, sit down. We have some hot water on. Coffee, tea, or hot chocolate?”

“Coffee would be great,” she admitted, trying to calm her hammering heart. Coffee is probably the last thing I need to settle down, but I’d rather have that than my other options. “It’s been a while.”

Since the morning we left. Since we came here to help them. I don’t even know that I got to have a sip before we made the decision to leave.

Marin brought her to a seat by the fire. J.T. trailed quietly behind, a sentinel, a guardian. Hecate stared at her knees as she slowly sat down, trying to ignore the pain from her wound and the intensity of the gazes being shot in her direction from Neve and the man with the fire in his eyes. Phelan wasn’t staring, though, and she wasn’t sure what to make of that.

I spent so long trying to get my hands on him for reasons even I didn’t fully understand. I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that he can’t stand to look at me. I put him through all kinds of hell, him and his cousin. That wasn’t fair of me.

“Are you really going to stay?”

She glanced up toward Neve’s voice, her stomach twisting at the gentleness of her voice. There had been no accusation in the question, only curiosity, and Hecate was shocked to see that there wasn’t hate in the other woman’s gaze—even though Neve had as much reason to hate her as Phelan did, if not more.

I went after her brother. I went after her lover. I went after her cousin. Almost every man she’s loved in her life, I turned into a target. It doesn’t matter that I barely knew what I was doing. I still did it.

Hecate took an uneven breath. “I’d like to,” she said quietly, struggling to meet Neve’s gaze and finding that it hurt too much, that the guilt of past crimes was too much. She looked away, stared into the fire. “Matt belongs here. I—I hope that someday, I’ll belong here, too.”

Marin came over and pressed a mug into her hands. Hecate gave her a small, weak smile and Marin smiled back, settling down next to her. Hecate raised the mug slightly, inhaling the scent of hot, strong coffee.

Somehow, it soothed the ragged edges—maybe because somewhere along the line, she’d started to associate the scent with Matt, with quiet mornings after quiet nights when she’d finally started to feel safe again.

Neve sighed softly and shook her head. “It’s not going to be easy,” she said quietly. “Not everyone’s going to really understand. I’m still trying to really understand.”

“I’m sorry for what I did,” Hecate said, looking up from her mug. “For all of it. I—I know that maybe it wasn’t all me, but enough of it was me that I should take responsibility for it.”

“You had no control over how much they twisted you up, or the shit hand you got dealt.” Phelan looked up from his hands and startled, Hecate met his gaze. Pain flickered through his eyes and she sucked in a sharp little breath. “I don’t blame you for any of it, Hecate. How can I?”

“Because I did it. Because—because it was this body, even if—even if—”

Marin laid a hand on her arm and Hecate went quiet, swallowing hard. She glanced sidelong and Marin’s fingers tightened slightly. Tears started to gather in her eyes and Hecate bit her lip.

Then Phelan was there, crouching in front of her. She had to force herself to meet his eyes and found that there was no anger there, only sympathy. “Ériu told me,” he whispered. “Cíar could never love a bad person and I know he loved you. I should be the one begging your forgiveness because you two never should have spent the balance of his life apart.”

Her throat was too tight. Words wouldn’t come.

I don’t deserve his apologies. What happened then wasn’t his fault.

But it wasn’t mine, either.

Hecate slowly set down her coffee mug. Phelan shook his head slightly.

“As for me, I probably deserved half of what you threw at me anyway—maybe not for anything I did to you, but you know. Karma.”

She started at him for a long moment. One corner of his mouth quirked upwards in a rueful smile. Hecate covered her mouth with one hand, shaking her head.

Karma, he says.

She leaned forward to hug him and he let her. As her arms closed around him, she began to laugh, shaking her head again.

“Karma’s a bitch,” she managed to say, hanging on tightly as Phelan squeezed her.

“She certainly is,” he agreed, giving her one last squeeze before drawing back. “Even though you never needed it, you have my forgiveness—for all of it. Do I have yours?”

Her cheeks were wet. She reached up to wipe away the tears, mopping at them with her fingers and the heels of her hands. “Of course. Always.”

Phelan nodded. He squeezed her hands, then stood up and made his way back over to his spot next to the fire.

Marin’s arm slid around her shoulders and Hecate looked toward her.

The two women shared a smile and Hecate reached for her coffee cup.

Maybe this won’t be as hard as I thought.

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Thirteen – 03

Posted on June 19, 2017 by Erin M. Klitzke

[This post is from Hecate’s point of view.]

J.T. stared at her, his eyes widening slightly and his jaw slack, for a few seconds before he shook himself slightly. “Are you sure?”

“Why does everyone always ask that?” Hecate choked on a weak, almost desperate laugh, hugging her arms across her belly as he helped her straighten. “Yes, I’m sure. I wouldn’t be out here if I wasn’t sure.”

In truth, she was more than a little terrified, but facing her fear would do her more good than hiding for the rest of her life would.

“All right, all right.” J.T. slowly let go of her arm, studying her as if trying to make sure she was steady enough on her feet to make it. “I just—I wanted to make sure that you were up to it.”

“As up to it as I’ll get in the near future, I think.” She managed a wan smile and patted his arm. “Thank you, though. For caring enough to ask and for helping Matt the way you have been—and me.”

J.T. smiled crookedly and shrugged. “It’s nothing. In part, figured it was better me than Jac and honestly, I can’t tell you that I wasn’t a little curious. Between talking to Ériu and watching Matt with…well…with anyone of the opposite sex over the years I’ve known him, I figured there had to be something about you on more than a couple levels.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Good, because if you didn’t, it’d get really awkward.” J.T. shoved his hands into his pockets. “C’mon. I’ll walk out there with you.”

“What are you, my bodyguard now?”

“Something like that, anyway.”

“I’m sure Matt will appreciate it.”

J.T. snorted humorlessly. “Probably more than you realize.”

A shiver shot through her and she tried to ignore it, instead falling into step with J.T. He let her set the pace and together, they made their way out toward the main cookfire, where she could hear voices chattering and laughing. Her stomach flipped over onto itself.

You can do this.

You’re stronger than you know.

You have to do this and there’s no time like right now.

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Thirteen – 02

Posted on June 16, 2017 by Erin M. Klitzke

[This post is from Hecate’s point of view.]

She found a few knit dresses in the drawer, neatly rolled and lined up along one side of the drawer alongside his tee shirts. Hecate couldn’t be sure if they were his doing or someone else’s—Marin seemed likely, though J.T. was also an outside possibility—but she appreciated the gesture just the same. Ignoring the pain from her wound, she undressed, risking only one glance at the bandage taped over her stitches.

It was soaked with blood in a line as wide as her thumb, almost from top to bottom. She grimaced, touching it gently with a finger.

Dry, at least—for now, anyway.

She winced a little as she thought of how much it was going to hurt when J.T. changed it later, something she knew would be coming sooner rather than later. With a shake of her head, Hecate blew out a soft breath and tugged on the dress, biting her lip and glancing toward the door.

She hadn’t been through it since Matt had brought her in here—how many days had it been? She’d lost count. Had it been weeks? At least one, perhaps more.

It seemed like it was quiet outside except for the soft grumble of distant thunder, further away than she had originally thought. A shiver shot through her, heightening the chill she’d felt on waking. Something was out there.

Leviathan? Something else—someone else?

They had enemies. She had more—more even than the Wild Hunt or the Taliesin.

Hecate shoved her feet into her shoes, swallowed hard, and walked out the door. The corridor beyond was dark, empty. Her lips thinned into a fine line and she took a deep, steadying breath. Each step sent pain spiraling through her, pain she shunted aside as she limped toward the light at the far end of the corridor. Matt wouldn’t be far; he wouldn’t leave the camp without telling her first. He would know she’d worry. He couldn’t be that far away.

She could smell the rain on the wind. There was a storm coming, at the very least.

The murmur of voices reached her as she moved to the end of the corridor, accompanied by the quiet clanking of pots and pans. Her heart began to beat a little faster.

They don’t—

Was it just her imagination?

Maybe I was just dreaming. Maybe it’s just my imagination. Maybe I’m just too damned paranoid for my own good.

Powers above and below, it’s just my mind running away with me again.

“What are you doing up?”

Hecate yelped, startled at the sound of J.T.’s voice behind her. Unbalanced, she stumbled sideways, crashing into the wall, sending fresh pain shooting up and down her side. The medic cursed under his breath and reached to help her.

“Sorry. Come on, let’s get you—”

“I don’t want to go back to bed,” she said, her voice remarkably steady, surprising even herself. “I don’t. I want to go out there. I—I think I’m ready. I want to go out there and see…and see all of them.”

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Thirteen – 01

Posted on June 14, 2017 by Erin M. Klitzke

[This post is from Hecate’s point of view.]

It was rumbles of thunder in the west that woke her, though it was the chill that seized her that kept her awake. Hecate took a slow, weak breath, then another. The wound in her side burned and she clutched the blankets closer.

Who’s out there? Who’s here?

She swallowed down bile, trying to tamp down paranoia and fear. Matt wasn’t in bed, wasn’t anywhere to be seen. The lamps were out. She couldn’t hear any rain on the roof…

Pressing her lips tightly together, she waited, counting the beats of her racing heart, willing it to slow down, trying to force herself to be calm again, to not panic.

You’re safe here. It’s okay. You’re safe here.

But something was here—or coming, at the very least.

It was close.

Slowly, painfully, she sat up. Beads of sweat were collecting at her brow, sliding down the back of her neck. Her muscles screamed, ribbons of pain wrapping around her midsection and squeezing, tendrils snaking up and down her back and down her hip into her leg.

You are stronger than any pain you might endure in this life.

The memory made her throat tighten. She could still hear his voice echoing in her ears, still see his face, pale and bruised, feel his hands on her face, calloused and cold. She wondered if Matt could remember moments like that. It didn’t matter if he did, but sometimes she wondered.

Cíar had been the first man she’d ever loved. Matthew Astoris was the second—and, she hoped, the one she would live out the rest of her days with. Two men, one soul.

The mate of her soul, tattered and shriveled though it was.

“Be strong,” she whispered to herself, fingers curling around the edge of the mattress. “You can do this. Just be strong.”

After another few heartbeats, she stood up from the bed, gasping at the pain that shot up her leg as she shifted her weight from the bed to her feet. She leaned against the edge of the frame for a moment, swallowing more bile.

He got a bigger piece of me than I thought.

Swallowing hard and biting her lip, she straightened again, limping to the dresser tucked into the corner near the door. She didn’t know if there would be clothes for her in any of the drawers, but it would be worth checking before limping outside in only a nightshirt.

As she leaned against the dresser, it struck her that at some point, she’d actually decided that she was going to leave their room.

Will wonders never cease?

A faint sigh escaped her and she tugged the drawer open, starting to paw through it for something likely to wear—either something of his, or something tucked into the drawer for her. Either way would be fine.

No one was going to come to tell her what was out there. Matt—and Marin, she strongly suspected—would be too worried for her to do that; they wouldn’t want to frighten her or put her under more stress. She was just going to have to see it for herself.

And so she would.

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Twelve – 07

Posted on June 12, 2017 by Erin M. Klitzke

[This post is from Seamus’s point of view.]

Anselm sighed softly, crossing his arms. “They don’t know him, Seamus. They know you. You are their brother.”

Seamus shook his head. “He’s the Ridden Druid reborn. They know him.”

Anselm fell silent. His lips thinned. The silence lingered long enough that Seamus started counting the heartbeats, hearing each one echo through his head.

Bloody hellfire and ashes.

“Anselm.”

“Think about what you just said, Seamus. Then consider how many would understand and believe what you have said about Matthew.”

An explosive breath escaped his lips and Seamus closed his eyes. There was a part of him that realized that Anselm was right, that some of the Hunt would find it difficult to fathom what he knew was true, that souls that he had known in a long-forgotten yesterday had been reborn again in the world they lived in now.

And yet they can accept that some of us have lived for thousands upon thousands of years as part of an ancient group of soldiers.

He sighed.

Anselm put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “You have to be the one to explain all of this to them, Seamus. Besides, if it’s Matthew, they’ll think it’s some kind of trick, that she’s somehow ensorcelled him to say the words. It has to be you.”

“Bloody hellfire and ashes,” Seamus muttered, knuckling his eyes. “I’m trying to break free of that existence and all everything seems to be doing is sucking me back toward it.”

“Fate plays her hand carefully,” Anselm said, then smiled ruefully as he caught sight of the glare Seamus shot in his direction. “I don’t mean that she intends for you to be a part of the Hunt again, Seamus. Don’t take it that way. But we are in your blood—I fear we always will be. You don’t ride with us for as long as you did—you don’t lead for as long as you did—without a mark being left behind on your psyche and your soul.”

“I’ll talk to them,” Seamus said.

“It will help,” Anselm said.

Seamus simply nodded. Anselm squeezed his shoulder again before he turned away and headed back to the Hunt’s camp, leaving Seamus alone with his thoughts once more.

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