Christina Phillips - [Forbidden 01] (43 page)

“The Morrigan is concerned about you, my son.”

Aeron placed a second bowl on the altar, by the torch signifying Earth. “There are two things I want you to know, Druantia.” It was as if he spoke of the weather. “Firstly, I’m not your son. And secondly, I don’t and never have given a fuck what the Morrigan thinks.”

Carys’s breath hitched in horrified disbelief, and as Morwyn pressed against her back in clear terror, she took the other woman’s hand, the handle of her dagger clasped between them.

Druantia pushed herself from the altar and stepped toward Aeron. “The Morrigan chose you when you were but a child. The vision she gave you allowed you to be welcomed into our hallowed circle, to be—”

“The Morrigan?” He laughed as if he thought Druantia’s words genuinely amusing. “That bitch gave me nothing. She plunged me into a bloodied vision and left me there, not caring if I survived or died. And I would have died, Druantia, if Gwydion hadn’t pulled me from the carnage.”

Carys knew of Aeron’s childhood vision, but where did the magician god come into it? She’d never before heard of Gwydion involving himself in such matters—yet
he
was the one who’d saved Aeron?

“Gwydion?” Druantia’s shock was clear. “You’ve never before spoken of that, Aeron.”

Aeron gave another of his chilling smiles. “Of course not. It was a secret between me and the god of illusion. Because before he pulled me out, Gwydion showed me the end of that vision. The end that, as you’ll see, I have also never shared with you.”

Druantia straightened. Carys knew how such an action pained her, and yet she stood tall and proud and forced Aeron to make eye contact. “Share it with me now.”

He laughed again, as if the queen’s command delighted him. “I intend to. I’ve waited for this moment for too many years. But now the time is upon us.” He advanced toward Druantia. “The time when all the fucking goddesses will be crushed into dust, when your precious matrilineal heritage will be wiped from the memories of mankind.”

“No.” Druantia’s voice was whispery, as if Aeron’s words shook her to the core of her being. Pain carved through Carys’s heart at the stricken look on her face, and Morwyn gave a strangled gasp of escalating terror.

“Yes. My vision, thrust upon me on the longest day twenty-five years ago, is finally coming to pass.” He gripped Druantia’s arm. “It all ends with you, Druantia. Gwydion showed me how it must be. For my lineage to survive, yours must end.”

Maximus pulled from her grasp and strode through the mouth, but before she could drag him back to safety, Aeron flung back the wrap hanging from his waist and brandished a Roman gladius.

Carys pushed Morwyn back and ran after Maximus, heart ricocheting as a terrible certainty drenched her. As if in slow motion, she saw Aeron plunge the gladius into Druantia, saw scarlet blood, saw Maximus wrench Aeron back, saw Druantia crumple onto the ground.

Maximus flung Aeron onto the ground, and vertigo rushed through his head, causing him to reel. The poison was still in his system, tainting his blood, weakening his muscles, but he could sooner cut off his right hand than stand by and watch a defenseless old woman murdered.

Even if she was a Druid
.

Mars take him, he was surrounded by cursed Druids, standing in the heart of the Druid enclave he and his compatriots had been searching for, for seven fruitless months.

Aeron, half naked and daubed with strange blue markings, regained his balance within the blink of an eye, and his own gladius mocked him in the hands of Rome’s bitterest enemy.

From the corner of his eye he saw Carys and Morwyn kneeling by Druantia, but kept his focus on Aeron, who had a mad gleam in his eerie, soulless eyes.

“Sweet Goddess, you’ve killed our queen.” Morwyn sounded on the verge of hysterics.

“She’s not dead.” Carys—
his Carys
, a fucking Druid, and the one thing he’d refused to allow his mind to dwell upon whenever he’d wondered about her strange Celtic ways—pulled her embroidered bag over her head.

“You won’t save her.” Aeron didn’t take his gaze from him as he spoke to Carys. “Don’t even try. Otherwise I’ll prolong this Roman’s death agony until you beg me to mercifully end his miserable existence.”

Unbelievably, Carys hesitated. Maximus gritted his teeth. “Do what you can for her. This Druid bastard is drawing his last breaths.”

In his peripheral vision he saw Carys trying to stem the blood, feverishly pulling strange packages and wraps from her mysterious bag. But the wound was deep; the woman was ancient. She had no hope of surviving.

“I thought the Morrigan wanted you to lead us into the new future, Carys.” Druantia’s hoarse whisper hovered in the blood-drenched air. “It’s what she foresaw the night of your conception. But I was wrong, my child. The Great Goddess herself was wrong.”

“Don’t speak.” Carys tenderly cradled the old woman’s cheek. “Conserve your strength.”

Her aged fingers clutched Carys’s arm. “She saw your light in the darkness.
But it wasn’t for her
.” She coughed wetly, and from the corner of his eye Maximus saw the scarlet stain her lips and chin.

“What’s possessed you, Aeron?” Morwyn said as she cradled Druantia’s head on her lap. “You’ll die for this outrage. You’ll—”

Aeron tossed the gladius from hand to hand, his eyes never leaving Maximus’s. “Our queen murdered by Roman scum, by Roman sword. When I have his head, I’ll be invincible to my people.”

Maximus tightened his grip on the puny dagger. It was no match for his gladius. And he was no match for any man in his current weakened state.

Carys rose to her feet. Blood stained her gown and hands, and despite wanting to thrust his dagger through her heart for lying to him, for not telling him what she truly was, his own heart twisted with the absolute knowledge that he would sooner drive the dagger into his own chest than allow any harm to befall her.

“You treacherous murderer.” Her voice shook. He had the insane urge to go to her, comfort her, to reassure her all would be well.

He remained where he was, focused on the male Druid.

“We’ll string your steaming guts up for the crows, you filthy bastard.”

With the speed of lightning, Aeron pinned Carys against his body, the tip of the gladius against her throat. Maximus tensed, and rage flooded his system, injecting new strength into his limbs, into his muscles. Aeron flicked his dagger a glance and sneered, as if the weapon was too insignificant to seriously acknowledge.

“Morwyn, take the bowl from the altar and catch fresh blood from Druantia.”

“Don’t do it.” Carys’s command was cut off as Aeron increased the pressure around her neck, and pressed the blade against her flesh. Scarlet bloomed.

An iced calm bathed Maximus’s mind, channeling the rage into purpose as years of arduous training came to the fore.

“You’re no longer a princess of Cymru, whore,” Aeron said. “Keep my counsel and you keep your life. But no longer will you have the status of my lover. You’ll be my slave.”

A shaft of revulsion pierced his military discipline. This creature was Carys’s ex-lover?

He would doubly enjoy the moment he took the cretin’s life.

A shaking Morwyn obeyed Aeron’s command and placed the bowl, with Druantia’s blood, back on the heathen stone altar. Aeron relieved Carys of the gem-encrusted daggers at her waist before thrusting her aside with such force she lay gasping on the ground.

“A fitting sacrifice.” Aeron indicated the barbaric display on the stone with a wave of his hand. “Blood of a Roman to rid my land of your plague, and blood of the last direct descendant of a redundant goddess to wipe out the cursed matriarchy.”

Maximus tore one of the flaming torches from its mortise, and satisfaction flared at the surge of anger that flashed across Aeron’s features.

“You don’t have my blood, Druid.”

Aeron snatched up another torch and poised it over the bowl in the center. “I do have your blood, Roman. Caught from the clasp of your cursed brooch.”

His missing fibula
. A chill slithered along his spine, but he allowed no emotion to show on his face. “A mere drop. It means nothing.”

“How do you think you found your way through the sacred spiral, Roman? You can’t see it, you can’t feel it, and yet you weren’t deterred from the area as all but Druids are.”

Another chill attacked his marrow as comprehension dawned. The spiral was the powerful magic that distorted the forest, confused his cartographers. The spiral was the reason the Druids had been able to conceal their presence from their conquerors, despite being under their very noses.

“Aeron.” Carys staggered to her feet, her face scratched and bleeding from where she’d fallen against broken stones. “No.”

Maximus didn’t know what she was talking about, but whatever it was appeared to terrify her.

Aeron lowered the torch toward the bowl. “Tell your lover to replace the sacred flame, Carys. You know what will happen if he doesn’t.”

“The fuck I’ll replace it.” He wiped the sweat from his eyes with his biceps. Gods, it was hot. Was this part of the heathen ceremony this madman planned?

Aeron dipped the torch lower, and Carys flung herself to her knees, clinging to his naked calf. “Please stop, Aeron.”

Rage pumped through Maximus, a sweltering counterpoint to his scorching flesh. “Get up, Carys.” It was an order. How dare she beg anything from this Druid?

The torch hovered inside the rim of the bowl. Where the fuck was all the air? He could scarcely draw enough breath to fill his lungs.

“Are you begging me, Carys?” The words were soft. Infuriated, Maximus lunged forward, and yet only managed to sway on his feet as acrid smoke filled his chest.

But there was no fire
. Sweat dripped into his eyes, drenched his body, but still he couldn’t move, could scarcely think, yet all the while his skin burned as if jabbed with a thousand candles.

“Yes.” Her voice was strong, sure. “I’ll replace the torch for you, if you replace yours.”

Aeron gave a short laugh. “You must learn your new place, Carys. Slaves don’t make bargains with their masters. If you want to save this Roman from frying, then you must show due respect.”

Carys shot him an agonized glance before returning her attention to Aeron. “I do respect you.” She didn’t sound convincing.

Maximus expelled a breath that seared his lungs and rasped his throat. Jupiter, he felt as if he was being roasted alive.

A dread suspicion sliced through his brain. He shot a glance to the torch dipping inside the bowl, and his guts roiled. The Druid possessed his blood. And was using his heathen magic to burn him alive.

“Let me see how much you want to save this Roman.” Aeron waved the gladius beneath Carys’s chin. “Strip naked and beg me for mercy.”

“Wh-what?”

Maximus staggered forward, lurched against the stone altar. “Don’t do it, Carys.” Every word seared flesh from his throat.

Aeron’s gaze fixed on Carys’s upturned face. “Remove your gown.” Lust dripped from every syllable. “Unbind your hair. Grovel at my feet, you worthless bitch. Or watch him burn.”

Maximus concentrated all his energy on moving forward, while he focused on the mad Druid whose attention was still fixed on Carys.

She wouldn’t subjugate herself so, but he had no intention of letting this farce continue. He’d crush Aeron, not only for what he was but for what he was doing to Carys.

“Aeron.” Morwyn touched his arm, then flinched back as if the contact repelled. “Even if you escape the wrath of our people, you’ll never be able to hide from the retribution of the gods.”

“Hide?” For a fleeting moment he glanced at Morwyn before returning his silver gaze back to Carys. “This is my destiny. Why should I hide from gods whose power fades beside the one true force of Annwyn?”