“What the fuck do you think happened in there?” Saint asked me quietly as we moved out of the small room.
I gave a low whistle as I looked at the carnage on the warehouse’s former showroom floor. Pieces and parts of the Wardens were littered around the room. A couple hands over there, an arm over here. A head, an ear. Two thighs, but not a matching pair, at the far side.
“What the fuck?” I breathed.
“Your Scarlet is a deadly warrior. The Wardens were not here to help you or warn you about the Beast. They were here to kill Scarlet. She was supposed to rise up and become the Blood Queen of the Fae,” Oliver said.
“Why the fuck didn’t you just say that? Why come in with them? Why align yourselves with them if you knew they were going to try to hurt us?” Saint said as he pushed me and Kiema to the side.
Between one breath and the next, Ten erupted from his body in a shower of green-gold sparks. The huge dragon leaned down and got in Oliver’s face. “Speak, god, now before I incinerate the body you wear while you inhabit it.”
Oliver tipped his head back, one dark blue-black eyebrow arched high. “I do not owe any of you answers. The only one I do is currently indisposed. I’m here as a favor to Hellion. I play no sides as the games of men do not concern me.”
Ten eased down, blew a plume of smoke into Oliver’s face. “How old are you?”
“More than you’ve been a twinkle in the eye of your mother.”
Ten snorted. “I’ve never heard of you. I have, however, heard of your creator, if you indeed carry the Power of Death inside you. Hela was your creator, yes?”
Oliver jerked back slightly. “How old are you, dragon?”
“Well into my ten thousands, pup. Do not condescend to me. While you were created, these men and women have been born and ascended into their powers. You know nothing of their struggles or victories. You would do well to remember that.” Another shower of green-gold sparks and Saint was in his human form again.
“Why would that matter to you as a created being?” Saint asked before Oliver could say anything.
For the first time since meeting him, Oliver looked a little nonplussed. But even in his gobsmacked state, he didn’t say anything.
“Because those who are born and ascend into their powers do not have a limit to what can be achieved with those powers. It’s all a giant spin of the luck wheel, isn’t it, Death?” Kord said as he strode through the bloody mess.
“Where the fuck have you been?” I asked as I adjusted Kiema in my arms.
“Switching back from the owl took forever. By the time I was back in human form, I had to go back and find something important.” He tapped his head. “Seems our resident Reaper wasn’t exactly telling the truth about the prophecy we’re operating under. Are you?” Kord tipped his blue-black head to the side. His shoulders dropped ever so slightly as he rocked to the balls of his feet.
I pulled back, wanting to get Kiema out of the way if a fight broke out. Just my luck, someone would slip and fall in the blood, crash into me and I’d drop Kiema on her ass.
“Careful, Keeper. Do not think to play in the games of gods.” Oliver turned to face Kord fully.
“Then you shouldn’t have bet against me and mine.” Mumbling under his breath, Kord made some odd signs with his fingers.
Oliver’s eyes widened as terror washed over his face. “No! You leave her unprotected if you send me there.”
“Better than you being here when we don’t know if we can trust you,” Kord said after he finished his mumbling. With a gentle snap of Kord’s fingers, Oliver’s face melted away like hot wax down the side of a candle. The rest of his body followed suit until he was a fleshy puddle on the floor.
“What the fuck, man?” Saint said after Oliver’s puddle stopped hissing and spitting.
“We should have been so fucking lucky to be under the Amaranthanak prophecy. But no. We’re under the fucking Raven of the Nights prophecy.” He glowered darkly at the room around us, kicked at one of the limbs near his feet.
“Yes, that seems quite awful,” Saint said. His tone was light, careful.
Kord’s expression lightened. He gave a hoarse chuckle. “Sorry. I know you don’t understand. Let’s get everyone home, cleaned up, and fed. I’ll explain over dinner.”
Chapter 11 – Lukas
“Good, luv?” I asked Atlas as he finished washing his hands for what had to be the millionth time after getting back to the warehouse.
He nodded, not even bothering to look at me. His shoulders were trembling and small shoots of water sprang up from the sink at different intervals.
I waited him out. One of the few things I’d learned about this enigmatic man, over and above the fact that he was a seriously good kisser, was that his love for his brothers and family was the solid core of him. I’d watched in helpless horror as the realization that he’d been unable to save Xander’s life had washed over him back in that slaughterhouse.
He turned from the sink, his head still down, his eyes closed tight. He shook his head. Still not bothering to look up at me.
I walked over to him, careful not to get too close to invading his personal space. “Need some touch or rather not?”
He nodded. The first tear splashed to the floor between my feet.
I had him in my arms before the next could fall.
His arms clenched around me as silent sobs shook his muscular body. “Oh Gaia, Lukas. I almost lost him. He was right there, I knew what was wrong, but there was nothing I could do. Not one single fucking thing.”
I said nothing. There was no false hope or fake platitude to make the grief any better. To lessen his suffering, even though his brother was still alive. I knew what it meant to let the terror run its course so that you could file it mentally and move on. If not, this would be a place where Atlas got stuck. And that was something I was unwilling to let happen.
I hugged him tighter as the rest of his emotions came pouring out of him. The fear, the anger, the grief made a wretched stew to swallow, but my man managed with the same tenacity he did everything else.
I waited until he quieted. Until I didn’t fear his bones shaking him so hard that he fell to the ground. When he sagged against me, I petted his hair, running my hands through the white-blond strands. “Even if you did nothing else, you kept him alive so that Kiema could cure him magically. It was a magical wound, Atlas. You saved his body so that Kiema could save his soul.”
He shuddered against me, gave me one last squeeze, before standing straight.
I rested my hands on his shoulders, peered into his dear face. Keeping my gaze steady on his, I asked him again, “Good, luv?”
This time, his gaze glued to mine, he gave me a slight smile and said, “I will be.” He leaned forward, brushed his lips to mine. “Thank you.”
“Any time.”
This time, I slid my mouth over his. Just as both of us were sinking into the kiss, the intimacy, he stiffened and pulled back.
I recognized the slightly fuzzy look in his eyes. “Mind call?”
His gaze sharpened as he looked up. He winced. “Yes. Apparently Kord needs to give us a massive information download.” He began patting his pockets.