Twenty-five – 02

“I have nothing to offer you,” Matt said as his stomach tightened into a knot. “I fail to see why I’m such a goddamned prize.”

I just have to stall her long enough for someone to sense she’s here, or for someone to realize they haven’t seen me come back, then this problem will be solved once and for all.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure he’d end up having that kind of time.

If she came in here to lay in wait for me, there’s pretty good odds that she’s got an exit strategy, too. You don’t get to be this old, this mean, and this obsessed with certain families and bloodlines by being dumb.

He swallowed hard.

“You hope that they’ll find you before I’ve whisked you away,” the Hecate said softly. “Hope is a dangerous thing, sweet druid, but you know that, don’t you?”

“You certainly assume a lot,” he said, still somehow managing to keep his voice even. “Does that habit come with age, or just too much experience with these situations?”

“Contrary to what is apparently popular belief, I don’t often have to do this when I see someone or something I want,” she said. Her arm was still around his waist, though it somehow felt like it had drifted lower. Matt tried not to shudder again.

Shit. I hope they damned well hurry.

“But that blood has always been stubborn,” she continued, as if she hadn’t noticed—or had summarily ignored—his faint movement. “A blessing and a curse, if you ask me. Oh, I know no one has—no one here, has, in any case. But their enemies are legion and I will not let the blood that runs through you and through them and your friends pass from this earth until I’ve had my fill of it.”

Matt stiffened, confusion starting to creep in and displace fear and disgust. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I want you,” she said simply. “And I want you to want me as well, but I will take what I want even if our desires don’t match up. Goodness, sweet druid, you can’t possibly be that obtuse.”

“No,” Matt said faintly. “No, I’m not.” I was just more than a little afraid that’s what you meant.

He felt sick, stomach roiling, twisting. She was obsessed with Phelan, with Seamus—maybe even with the other one, too. “Did you want him then?”

“Who?”

His mouth was dry. “The Ridden Druid. Cíar mac Dúbhshláin.”

The Hecate was almost tender as she nuzzled his ear, the corner of his jaw. “More than the Taliesins, sweet boy. More than Seamus the Black and the Wanderer combined.”

I was afraid of that.

“What will you do if I agree to come with you?”

He couldn’t believe he’d said the words, couldn’t believe that he was about to make the offer he was, but only if the price was right.

“Willingly?”

“As willing as someone can be when they’re being held at knifepoint.” Steady. Steady. If your sacrifice means the others will be okay—

It could be worth it. It might be worth it.

Marin will hate you for it.

She’d get over it, though. She was his sister and she’d eventually understand. Eventually.

“Then I might leave them alone for a time,” the Hecate said. Her voice was somehow softer, almost kinder, all the razored edges hidden, tucked away.

It was more than a little unsettling.

“How long?”

“I don’t know.”

“I can’t—”

“How long would you stay?” Her arm—the one around his waist—was definitely wandering, moving up and down, but the grip wasn’t any looser and she still had a knife pressed to his throat—not quite tightly enough to draw blood, but he had no doubt that it would only take a slight change in pressure for her to lay his artery open.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” she said.

Her arm tightened around him and his world went black.

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