Page 43 of Tangled Threads Of Fate

I’d wrapped her in my beast, warmed her body with mine, and by the time Teron made it into the room, she’d stopped trembling. That hadn’t stopped him from ordering Tryp and Erus into town to collect medical equipment.

Néit had tried to gently pull her off me, but she’d clung to my body like a barnacle, even though she was unconscious.Eventually, he’d stepped back, looking heartbroken. I was glad she hadn’t been awake to see that expression. I might have only spent an hour in her presence, but even I could tell she thought the sun shone out of this guy’s ass.

So Teron had taken her vitals, and they’d left her there, sleeping on my chest. I hadn’t been able to go back to sleep, but those five hours when she’d slumbered soundly in my arms had been the most peaceful rest I’d had in centuries. She’d soothed the beast, and that feeling of contentment buried itself into my chest, wrapping around my soul.

I should be scared. What if she was another trap? Instead, I felt at peace. If she was a carefully laid assassin, then at least I would die happy.

Back in the present, our fearless leader waspissed.

“Snap out of it,” Demke barked at me in our native language. It was long forgotten by the humans of today. Not even scholars could decipher its written form. “She has bewitched you.”

I shrugged. “Not on purpose, Dem.”

Once upon a time, I would have called him my King. But those days were centuries gone, and now, he may be a God, but we all sat on the same pedestal, equally cast aside and forgotten. It was no pedestal at all, really.

He frowned at me, then shifted his focus back to the woman in question. Her cheeks were still a little pink.Good.She’d been far too pale earlier.

She met Demke’s furious gaze with her own, which was ballsy. People had supplicated themselves at his feet for centuries, rather than meet his eyes. But not this little firecracker; she met and held them like she was the Goddess, only a slight wince telling me that he was still “bright” to her.

“What did you mean by bonded?”

Demke sighed, and I noticed he was looking old. Not physically old—none of us would ever look older than latetwenties, but the weight in his eyes felt heavy. “I think that perhaps the lights you are seeing are the threads of fate.”

I hissed a sound that wasn’t even remotely human. The threads of fate? That wasn’t… “How?” I gasped.

Everyone looked shell-shocked. Even Wren’s protector looked like he’d been suckerpunched.

Only Teron didn’t seem surprised. “I’d wondered if that was what it was. You’ve confirmed?”

Demke shook his head. “No, not really. But with the evidence presented, it seems almost irrefutable, don’t you think?”

Wren waved a hand. “Okay, now for the human in the room? What the fuck are the threads of fate? And what does that have to do with Milo?”

I got the expression on Demke’s face now. The last few turns of the Ouroboros had not ended well for us, or those we loved. We’d been forced out of our world and relegated beyond the annals of history, right into pits of obscurity.

I’d seen three turns of the Ouroboros, and had no wish to see another.

But here she was, the tiny little catalyst, and something inside me reared its head. An urge I hadn’t had in so long. The urge toprotect.

“The threads of fate affect us all. They weave the patterns of history, of mortality, of our kind. They come from a power higher than any God or Goddess, and they are gifted and taken away at their whim. The current wielders of the threads of fate are the Moirai. Humans know them as The Fates. The Maiden, The Mother, The Crone.”

“Bitch One, Bitch Two, and Bitch Three would have been better titles,” Tryp grumbled, and I had to agree. They’d screwed us hard in their time holding power.

“Before Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos, there were the Norns from the Norse Pantheon. Before them, there was another trio.And another before them. Every time the snake bites its tail, the higher power resows the ability to weave the threads of fate, and the old Fates lose their powers.”

Wren had gone pale, her hand reaching out toward Néit, and I tried to push down the jealousy. She might’ve unintentionally needed me, but she relied on him. There was no cause for this feeling of envy in my chest.

He came to her, of course, sitting on the couch beside her, pulling her tightly to his body like he could protect her from Demke’s words. “What are you saying?” she breathed.

Demke looked like he was giving her the worst news, and in a way, he was. “I believe you are carrying the three new weavers. The Fates. I think that’s why you’re being attacked. The Greek Mythics are trying to hunt you down to preserve their power for a little longer, and to do so, they need the new Fates out of the way. By killing off the new weavers before they are born, the power gets reseeded by the higher power again and again. Because until the new Fates are born into the world and take their first breaths, the ability to see and weave the threads remains mostly with the old Fates.”

“Unless those old Fates die,” Teron added, his eyes filled with heavy meaning.

I breathed through my teeth.Fuck. Fucking fuck.It was the best word invented in the last five hundred years, and encapsulated my feelings about this moment perfectly.

It was a death sentence for this human. A death sentence for her babies. The power of the Greek Mythics was that there were so many of them. Polytheistic religions were always harder to topple than the monolithic ones, and those fuckers did it best, running roughshod over every religion and adapting it to their own, until they also fell out of favor two thousand years ago.

However, there were enough believers around that they’d maintained some of their power, including the ability to weavefate. They held enough sway through recent history that it had taken this long for the Ouroboros to reach the end.

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