The Becoming Trilogy Box Set (Books 1-3) (100 page)

‘You do understand me, don’t
you Doc?’ Connal interrupted his thoughts. ‘When the sinking ship doesn’t have
enough lifeboats, it’s women and children first. I’ll get you the
Skil
,
and you won’t stand in MacTire’s way when it comes to Ash.’

‘She’ll hate you for it.’

‘At least she’ll be alive.’

Yeah, that's what he'd told
himself about Liath, Madden thought, and look where it had gotten them. Almost
on cue, Liath cried out and her body folded into itself, as though gripped by a
sudden spasm of pain. Her hand snapped up from the bed and locked around
Madden's wrist in a death-grip.

'Does she need more
eitr
to see her through the night?' Connal offered, but the strain was visible
around his eyes.

'Thanks,' he said, reaching
for his medical bag, 'but I think I have enough left to tide her over.'

The reality was that since
they'd moved her back to the DeMorgan house in the city, Liath was needing more
and more of the drug with every passing day, higher doses and more frequently,
just to maintain any semblance of sanity.

Her mother had been easily
convinced she needed admission for detox. Why wouldn’t she, with so many
stories splashed across the media about the street-drug corrupting the youth of
Dublin? She’d actually thanked Madden when he dropped her off at her home with
Josh. If she’d known the true danger he’d put them all in … Well, at least
Doyle was out of the picture, but Liath was another story.

He'd taken to mixing the
eitr
with sedatives, trying to eke out what little he had to make it last. Ash's
bite had worn off within a day of her leaving. Connal volunteered, reluctantly,
and thankfully Madden was able to spare them both the pain of his actually
biting her. He'd managed to cobble together a makeshift apparatus to collect
Connal's
eitr
. Not unlike milking snake venom, really, except it
required sexual arousal. Connal had manned up to do the needful without
complaint, they'd even laughed about it when Madden tossed him a copy Wildlife
magazine to help get himself off. But Madden knew what Connal would never say:
the strain of Ash's absence was chewing him up inside. Asking him again would
be a last resort. He'd just have to make do with what he had.

Loading the syringe with a cocktail of sedatives and
muscle relaxants and just a few precious drops of the pearlescent
eitr
,
Madden straightened Liath's elbow and prepared to help her back to sleep.
Connal closed the door quietly on his way out. One way or another, will the
full moon tomorrow night, they were all about to be put out of their collective
misery.¶

Another set of stairs that
led nowhere.

Yet more marble columns
stretched skyward, embraced by the ubiquitous vines. When the sun set, they
bloomed, exposing dazzling violet flowers that filled the air with the scent of
death.

Exhausted, Ash leaned against
one of them, only to be pricked by its invisible thorns.

This is hell,
she thought. She pushed off from the pillar and padded
across the grass to sit by a secluded pool of water.

Morrígan was hell, a trap
made to look like heaven. Her legs ached from mounting yet another stone
staircase, one amongst thousands that climbed to the vaulted ceilings, always
promising a way out, but ultimately bringing her to a dead-end.

Just like her options.

She’d explored the length and
breadth of the sparkling, cathedral-like space, yet never managed to find her
way back to the lake she’d crawled through. Other ones, sure, like this one:
smaller and shallower and as turquoise as the precious stone, but not the right
lake, not the exit.

Sleep eluded her as the days
and nights ticked by, with no way to warn Connal or Mac about the trap her
grandmother was setting for them. They’d be slaughtered. Even if the Morrígan
failed to close the conduits, she’d set the raveners upon them and the wolves
would be decimated. That was her back up plan, her army.

Spinning a blade of emerald
grass in her fingers, Ash dangled her aching legs in the cool water and looked
up to watch the creatures soaring overhead. In flight, they seemed almost
graceful, until one darted down from the thick branches of the vines, sending
the girls below shrieking and scattering. Those poor girls. They started out
beautiful, like mute swans, yet every time Ash saw them, their features became
less and less human. Their wings were growing too, black, leathery membranes
replacing the white feathers, slowly, insidiously transforming them from angels
into monsters.

This place had a way of
sucking the humanity from your veins, and boy could Ash relate, because, with
every passing day, the Morrígan’s bargain began to look sweeter.

They were all screwed.
Whichever way she turned it, things ended with them dead, unless she trusted
this goddess who was proving to be every bit the snake Connal warned her she
was.

Her grandmother had given her
an out: for the bargain price of colluding in the death of an entire race, she,
and the people she cared about most in the world, could walk away from this
with their lives. Ash exhaled and kicked at the water, staring down at the
bottom of the small pool. Desperation had her bargaining with herself.
They
killed your mother. They tortured Connal. They kidnapped you and tried to kill
you. Maybe they deserve to die.
There had been a time, not so long ago,
when she’d have welcomed their extermination.

Back when she didn’t know
them.

Back when they were just
animals to her.

Back when she had her
emotions locked away.

They’d been her nightmare for
so long and now she had the chance for normality she’d longed for. She could be
just a girl again, without the threat of monsters. Settle in one place, raise a
family.

God … What would Connal be like
human? Would he even want her at the end of it all? So many questions, but
there were no answers to be found in the glistening water. Her mind could spit
up no remedies to her situation, it only daydreamed of what could be.

Round and round she went, coming
at it from every direction, peeling back morals and inspecting each aspect in
the light. Ultimately, she was trapped, and it was all her own doing. If she’d
listened to Connal, maybe they could have figured another way, but … no. It had
been the only way. To even get close to a god willing to shed a blood for the
cause, she’d had to come, and now she faced the decision of her life, of all
their lives, alone. To save the ones she loved, the devil was going to have to
walk the earth.

Connal kept one eye on the
window as he dressed for the night ahead. On the street below, the Paddy’s Day
celebrations had been in full-swing for hours: a marching, dancing sea of
revellers and street entertainers filling the streets of Dublin with Celtic
drum-beats and songs that transported him back to times long past. The purple
cast to the sky, heralding sunset, blended with the earthy reds, greens and
golden hues of the thinning crowd.

The theme of the parade was
fitting. Papier maché replicas of the Ireland’s ancient heroes: Gods,
Fomorians, Saints and men alike, bowed like giants from their floats in
stylised re-enactments of their legendary feats. Amongst the pipe and drum
bands and baton-twirlers and the clowns, mythical beasts loomed over the great
procession as it moved in waves through the town. MacTire had instructed the
thegn
well. A band of drunk, lecherous men dressed like Vikings would hardly draw
more than amused glances amidst all this pageantry. He doubted even in
wolf-form they’d be seen as more than a curiosity. People these days were so
spoiled with CGI, they’d become almost nonchalant about that degree of realism.

Connal gripped the curtain
and twitched it aside, scanning the crowd, looking for her in every face. His
free hand went instinctively to her pendant at his throat. The clock was
running down and she had not returned. Knutr said the Morrígan held Ash’s
mother prisoner in her realm for centuries. Was that her fate? After everything
they’d fought for? No chance to even say goodbye. He fisted the drape until the
blood drained from his knuckles.

She would be alive, at
least
.

He tried to console himself,
and yet somehow the thought of her living out eternity with the Morrígan was
even more unpalatable than the prospect of her mating MacTire after he was
gone. How the wheel had turned in just a few, short months.

‘You ready?’ Connal turned to
see Madden’s head pop round the door. If he’d knocked, he hadn’t heard.

‘Yeah, almost,’ he nodded,
letting the curtain fall back into place and doing up the fly of his black
jeans as he turned from the window. He snatched a dark t-shirt from the end of
the bed and tugged it over his head.

Gods alive, it smelled of
her.

He bunched the fabric in his
hands and closed his eyes, inhaling her deep. He knew Madden was standing
there, watching and waiting, but for a long moment he just couldn’t bear to let
go.

The doctor cleared his
throat. ‘You need a minute, my friend?’ he asked.

‘No,’ he replied huskily,
pulling the shirt down over his abs. It was torn at the neck, but he’d kept the
thing, partly because it was a band shirt for the Rough-handed Angels’ first
gig together, but mostly because it was the one Ash ripped off his body the
first night they met. Maybe it would bring him luck. The Gods knew he needed
it. ‘I’m good to go,’ he said. He raked his fingers through the mess of his
growing-out hair and he was done. Looking over Madden’s impeccably groomed
appearance he scratched at his stubble and had an afterthought that maybe he
should have shaved for the occasion, but fuck it, those bastards weren’t worth
the irritation of the beard rash. He was hard pushed in that moment to even
remember what he was fighting MacTire for.

‘Liath?’ Connal asked,
raising a questioning brow to the doctor. They’d decided they should bring her
along to the spectacle, just in case the
Skil
proved useable, but Madden
had his doubts about getting her on her feet, let alone containing her reaction
to being in the presence of a hundred wolves, all packing a primed mouthful of
her favourite drug.

‘I think she’ll be okay,’ he
said. ‘I dosed her with enough antipsychotic to subdue a horse. She’s a little
stiff, and out of it, but she can walk. Meeting you should be a good trial
run.’ He sounded apologetic and grief-stricken in the same breath.

‘Well then,’ Connal smiled a
half-smile, ‘let’s get the meet and greet over with, shall we?’

Biker boots tapping out a
beat on the polished wood, he followed the doc down the staircase of the
DeMorgan house. Liath was perched at the edge of the red velvet sofa, dressed
in jeans, trainers and a dark twin-set. Not her usual style. The doc must have
dressed her, he thought. Madden hadn’t been kidding when he said she was out of
it. There was no spark of recognition in her glassy eyes as he took her by the
elbow and walked her towards Connal.

‘Liath, this is your friend
Connal,’ he said.

Her gait was stiff and jerky,
almost robotic. ‘Camal?’ she slurred, looking to Madden, confused.