The Becoming Trilogy Box Set (Books 1-3) (104 page)

‘Shall I summon the
raveners?’ The Morrígan couldn’t have sounded more gleeful if she tried.

‘No,’ Ash said through her
tears. ‘No, let me do it. I want to be the one.’

Dual howls of anguish rose to
haunt the air behind her, but she couldn’t look at them.

Scrubbing her cheeks dry, she
stepped up to her grandmother with the wolf tight to her heels. ‘You had your
blood vengeance against Elatha. Surely I deserve mine too,' she said with steel
in her voice.

Her grandmother crooned, her
hands fluttering around Ash’s face as she drew her close. ‘Finally, you see the
light. I knew, once your body was rid of that creature, you would come home to
me.’

‘May I?’ Ash’s fingers curled
around the Morrígan’s in a silent request for her to hand over the blade. It
was still wet with her blood.

After what seemed an
eternity, the goddess’ hand relaxed, relinquishing the hilt.

‘It’s so beautiful, for
something so deadly.’ Ash murmured, turning the blade over in the torchlight.
The runes flickered. ‘Just like you,’ she said. You are beautiful too-’

The Morrígan started to
smile.

‘-it’s just that you’re so
very ugly, on the inside.’

Ash drew back her arm and
plunged the blade straight into the Morrígan’s chest. The smile that had been
blooming on her face melted into pained shock and disbelief but Ash didn’t
stop. Bearing down, she ripped out the dagger and drove it in again. She
couldn’t be sure of the exact anatomy of the heart, but she was damn sure not
going to miss it, or they’d all be dead. ‘This is for my mother,’ she stabbed
her punctuation in, ‘for refusing her help when she needed it most, and for me,
for turning me into a pawn in your sick little plan.’ This time she buried the
thing to the hilt. ‘And this is for everything you made Connal suffer.’

The Morrígan fell to her
knees, spewing that black ichor through her lips. ‘What have you done? Stupid
girl. Stupid.’

Her red wolf growled and
snapped at the fabric of her grandmother’s robe, trapping the other woman to
the ground when she tried to rise, and Ash bore down on the blade embedded in
her chest.

‘Holy shit, Ash. You stabbed
her. You really did it.’ Mac’s breath warmed her ear as he knelt beside her.
Connal pressed close to her other shoulder, until she was walled-in by their
strength. Mac had spoken, but Ash raised her eyes to Connal when she replied.

‘I told you to have a little
faith, didn’t I? Restrain her, will you. This isn’t finished.’

Both men moved to grab the
Morrígan’s arms, securing her.

‘You,’ she spat at Connal and
her black spittle spattered his face. ‘You’re nothing but a whore. You’ll never
be anything but my dog whore. Did he tell you how he degraded himself for my
favours?’ She sneered at Ash, lips black. Her ugly was truly coming out.

‘He was never yours,’ Ash
struck the sneer right off her face and yanked the knife around viciously.
‘You, above all, should know that you can never own another's soul, let alone
take it by force.’

Her grandmother’s avian
screeches heralded the raveners replies, their black wings blocking out the
moon as they swarmed into the midst of the wolves with gnashing beaks and
curved talons. The wolves roared their answers, shifting on the spot to launch
themselves at the careening birds. Ash laughed. The raveners weren’t doing so
well. Like bats whose sonar had been jammed, they were crash-landing, weakened,
no doubt, by the fact that their maker was pinned and dying. By tying them to
her, she’d clipped their wings.

‘You think you’ve defeated
me?’ the Morrígan shrieked. ‘My curse will kill them all, and when it does, I
will be reborn. I will come for you, Bitch, and the vengeance I wreak on you
will be written in legend.’

The threat took the last of
whatever was keeping the Morrígan alive and she crumpled, the black of her
blood a dark stain spreading around her, her chest nothing but an empty cavity
now, if there had ever really been a heart there. Ash made herself stay until
she was sure the goddess wouldn’t rise. She curled her arm around her wolf’s
neck. The beast staggered a little and its head hung low. It was true, then.
Apart, they would not both survive.

All around her, the other
wolves were growling, a cacophony of war that died out on a soft breeze. She
looked up at the abrupt silence. Injured, confused and naked as they shifted
back, the men were watching the gruesome sight of the raveners breaking apart.
Like burning papier mâché idols, their ashes scattered to the wind.

‘Fuck her. I’ll die happy,’
Mac growled, getting to his feet, ‘knowing she got what was coming to her.’

Ash laughed softly and rose,
with the
Skil
still glowing in her hand. ‘I have a theory about the
curse, something she let slip in Morrígan, about the Fomorians being imprisoned
by their own fear.’

Holding the knife, Ash guided
her lame wolf to the frozen lake, her voice low and coaxing, She stroked its
pelt through her fingers and prayed her theory was right. Dropping a kiss to the
russet muzzle, Ash held the blade to the animal’s throat.

Out of the corner of her eye,
she saw Mac skid towards her, his hands raised. ‘No! You can’t spill wolf-blood
on the lake, Ash, or it’s the end of the world,’ he warned.

Tyr rushed forward.

Connal intercepted him,
planting a palm squarely in the centre of the younger male's chest. 'Stand
down,' he growled.

'She doesn't know what she's
doing!' Tyr pressed. 'She must be stopped. This is insanity.'

The rest of MacTire’s
skuldalid
crowded forward and, when he spoke, Connal addressed them all.

'No. She knows exactly what
she's doing, and she's doing it for you. Now as your rightful King, I command
you to stand the fuck down, or so help me, I will make you.'

A collective growl rumbled
through the men.

'Do as your king says, Boy.'
It was Fite who spoke.

'I don't understand.' Tyr's
eyes shot from Fite to MacTire. The defeated king turned away. ‘You’re prepared
to risk all humanity on a theory?’ Tyr shouted.

‘Yes,’ Ash shouted back, ‘I
am. The only Armageddon the Morrígan predicted was your freedom. Don’t you see?
All along, you’ve possessed the ability to free yourselves. She’s kept you
imprisoned by your own fear.’

‘Ash,’ Connal called to her,
but his eyes never left the threat of the men. ‘When you opened the conduits,
the curse was broken, but it didn’t last.’

‘That’s because we didn’t
have this,’ she said, brandishing the blade. Its light was already beginning to
dull. ‘It’s now or never, pup,’ she breathed to the wolf’s fur, cradling its
head. ‘Forgive me.’

She sliced the blade across
its throat and held the wilder part of herself as it bled onto the lake. Just
as the Morrígan’s blood had locked the lake up, the fresh red spill caused
fractures, long and deep, cracking across the black surface with thunderous
booms. Ash scrabbled up, dragging the bleeding wolf off the crumbling lake to
the safety of the ground. She hauled the wolf into her lap and held it close as
the red fog billowed from the thawing crevices. Clouds and clouds of it
coloured the air above the lake, swirling and dancing, seeming to take shape.
Later, they’d wonder if it was some form of collective hallucination, but she
wasn’t alone in witnessing the face of Elatha take form in the red mist,
looking just as he had when she’d seen his likeness carved into the Temple of
the Masters.

Ash’s lips curled slightly
when the apparition finally dispersed.

I got it right,
she thought.

Her vision was cut off by the
breadth of strong shoulders and her smile widened, barely getting in the breath
she needed to speak before she was tackled into Connal’s arms, his lips a
searing heat on her temple.

‘You did it, Ash. You killed
her. You broke the curse. Oh God, I really thought I’d lost you.’ His lips
trailed down her cheek, his arms tightening to the point that breathing became
hard and she laughed, palming the scruffy bristle of his cheek tenderly.

‘Thought I’d flipped over to
the dark side, huh?’

‘She can … could be, very
persuasive. I ...’

Ash pressed a finger to
Connal’s mouth. ‘I don’t need to know, Big Bad. We both did what we had to do.’
Her eyes dropped to her wolf in her lap, running the soft fur under her
fingers. ‘Will you still want me, now I’m just a girl?’

He cradled her face and
tipped her chin to take her mouth in a rough kiss that made her entire body
relax. ‘Are you kidding me? I’d want you if you were a three-headed, herpetic,
hairless mole-rat, with wings.'

Ash laughed. 'You do say the
sweetest things.'
But speaking of mole-rats
... 'Oh crap. I forgot about
Doyle.'

'He's dead Ash.'

She looked at him,
questioning.

'The curse got him.'

'Thank God.'
Or should
that be Goddess?
Something positive had come from the Morrígan's hatred
after all.

The thud of footsteps alerted
them to an approach and Ash let her hand fall from Connal’s face at the sight
of Mac, his dark eyes sad, his expression forlorn.

'I don't suppose there's any
of that mojo left in the
Skil
for me?' he said quietly.

Her heart turned over at
those words.

Oh.
Ash held the knife up. The blade was dull as ever,
stained but no longer glowing.

'I'm so sorry, Mac. I forgot
about the bond.' She brushed her finger against the two crescents on her palm
almost absently, the gesture an unconscious recognition of their connection.

'It's okay,’ he said
resignedly. ‘We were all a little preoccupied with exterminating the
hell-bitch.'

'Mac, I ...’ She trailed off,
glancing up at Connal. Awkward didn’t begin to cover it.

‘Why don’t I leave you two
alone.’ Pushing up from his tangle around her and the wolf, Connal walked a
good distance before she could continue, pulling the King down beside her.

Ash fiddled with a graze on
her hand, thinking her words over before she spoke. No matter what she said,
anything other than an admittance of her love was going to break his heart.
‘Mac, you're an incredible person.’
Well, that was a lame start.
‘You're
strong and loyal and you're drop-dead gorgeous,’ she waved her hand up and down
him and smiled when his lips twitched. ‘Any girl would kill for even one night
with you.’ She took a breath and made herself meet his eyes. ‘I know the
Fomorian way is to share mates, but that’s just not
my
way.’

‘You’re a one man kind of
girl.’ He nodded slowly and reached out to push a curl of hair away from her
neck. The black lock twined around his fingers and the smile that shaped his
lips made her throat tight.

‘Yeah,’ she breathed. ‘It
wouldn’t be fair to any of us.’

The King sighed and sat back
from her. ‘My brother is a lucky guy, you know.’

‘You deserve better than me.’

‘You mean I deserve somebody
who loves me back.’ Ash looked away from him. The blunt statement struck a lash
over her heart, but he was right.

‘I’m sorry, Mac-’

A throat cleared behind them
and they both jerked around to see Fite. Ash’s words fizzled up as he walked
closer.

'I owe you an apology,
DeMorgan.' He bowed before her, his hand extended. 'I was wrong about you.'

'I don’t blame you.’ She took
his hand in hers, only noting the black blood spattering her skin when his
fingers smeared it. ‘You had good reason. The Morrígan was using me against you
all along. I just didn’t know it.’ Ash offered him an apologetic smile and let
go of his hand. ‘How's the untame doing?'

'Not good. Her back is
broken.’

‘Won’t she heal?’ Ash
frowned. They could survive anything but a beheading.

‘She will, but her spine has
been deformed. It will heal in that position and she'll never walk again. It
will be a mercy to finish her.'

'I know someone who might be
able to help,' Connal said, striding over. He caught her look and shrugged.
Of course he’d been eavesdropping.
'A vet.'

'You know I can't take her to
any human veterinarian.'

Connal nodded. 'She's not
just any human. She's a Flannery.'

'One of the hound-breeders?'
Fite cocked his head.

'Yeah. Sadhbh can be trusted.
I could have her take a look at Cara’s spine?'

‘I … ah … thank you.’

Connal’s massive shoulders
shrugged. ‘You and that untame saved my life back there. I won’t forget it.’

‘My Lord,’ Fite bowed low.

‘I’m not your Lord,’ Connal
laughed. ‘MacTire is still very much your king and commander.’

‘But you -’ Fite’s brows
knitted his confusion.

‘I needed to get your
attention in a tense situation.’

Ash’s amusement at the
awkward reconciliations spilled out in a soft laugh and all three men looked at
her in concern as her laughter escalated into hiccups. She waved Connal off
when he reached for her, breathing through the passing hysteria. The evening’s
events had just landed on her and her head was scrambling to recognise the
implications. They were actually
free
. A hiccup got trapped in her
throat and she was still coughing when the red fog bred three new figures.
These ones were no apparitions, though. They stalked through the groups of
naked Fomorians and Ash groaned. The brush of a mohawk put Gov a head higher
than most of the wolves. Clad in blue plaid pants and his leather skirt, he
couldn’t really be mistaken for anyone else. The Three Dé Dána walked like they
owned everything, and more than a few wolves were bristling as they passed by.