Page 46 of Tasteful Anarchy and Tangled Auras
I hear his voice carry. “I’ve always wanted to fuck a nymph.” He leers at her as he continues. “I’m going to make this last as long as I can. I want to hear you beg.”
My face is hot but I will not let my rage overtake me. I slip closer to Jack and Sciemle. Adi is totally ignoring the Leprechaun’s taunts. I need to focus on Jack, but I notice that Sciemle is entranced. I realize something I should have before: Sciemle is nymph-struck. Damn, I could have used that to my advantage years ago.
“Just as upon the Hill of Tara, tonight, under the moon and witnessed, I call down the Goddess to bless this king.”
The Leprechaun puffs up in pride. As the red-haired male strips off his pants, his cock is hard and pointing at my mate, though he’s only human sized. He stumbles a bit and pulls a small knife from his pants. “I like my sex with blood.”
I look at Jack. He’s shocked. That the Leprechaun is able to get it up, perhaps? Red caps like their fucking to involve bleeding, too, so I don’t think the knife is what he’s reacting to.
And then, several things happen at once. Filib, the idiot, looks directly at me. The Leprechaun pulls Adi against his body, cross-handing a small slice under her breast. Sciemle moans, and a loud snap emerges from the woods.
It’s immediately chaos. I see Ossy jump towards Adi at the exact moment that the Leprechaun drops the small blade and smacks his hand up between Adi’s legs, but Jack has followed Filib’s look to me and is roaring. Filib is looking to the woods, and the joint-eater is writhing on the ground, forgotten. I hearthe sounds of distant fighting coming as I draw my sword to defend myself.
“You fucking pussy! You ambushed us!” Jack roars. Our swords clang together and I feel it in my shoulder blades. The red cap is a solid nine feet of muscle. I cannot directly overpower him, and I had never intended to face him head-on. I feint and then roll, trying to get some sort of advantage.
In my periphery, a white kelpie, in its horse form, is snapping and snarling at Ossy. It’s between him and the ring stones. Shit. Their backup is eclipsing our backup. My attention snaps back as a glancing blow from Jack—one that I barely manage to deflect—draws blood on my left arm. “Good,” Jack growls. “My cap is in need of refreshing. I fucking love the blood of traitors.”
An eerie light has filled the ring stones. The Goddess has not actually arrived, has she? I blink. It’s unthinkable. I try to get a good look but end up retreating, Jack’s bulk in between me and the stones. Jack swings furiously. If I don’t get an upper hand soon, he can simply use brute force to defeat me. Where is Ossy? Has he gotten inside the stones? The sounds of battle from the woods intensifies. We have lost control of the situation.
Adelaide
FUCK, FUCK, FUCK. Ican tell things have gone sideways, but I’m not sure why. This bastard has just bled me from a surface wound on my ribs and he has his hand between my legs when I feel the Goddess arrive.
There goesthatpart of the plan. I guess I’ll be completing this ritual since Aine has seen fit to come down to bless it. My mates will be livid, to see me borne to the ground by this male, rutting me to “water the fields” and to earn his kingdom’s safety, security, and blessing for a year. This ritual is sacred, and ifAine has deemed to show herself, which I had truly doubted she would, Iwillcomplete it properly.
I hear Ossy yell Bryn’s name. I freeze at the obvious fear in his voice. My head swivels. Which of my mates is in trouble? The Leprechaun presses me to the ground. Why do the sounds of battle surround me? The plan was for Bryn to surreptitiously take out Jack, Sciemle to die from the bladderblade-seasoned bread, and finally for Ossy to take out the Leprechaun, with me delaying the non-Goddess-blessed-ritual until then.
The voice that comes from everywhere is soft with a humorous but hard edge. “Child. Though you are notmychild.” She sniffs deeply and lets loose a husky chortle. “Then again, maybe you are, little bird.”
Time has slowed. The repugnant male between my thighs is seemingly frozen.
My face turns towards a tall woman with black hair, haloed in dusk. She wears bracers and a sword over her back. I see the mists swirl, shaping a sleeveless black gown.
I gasp. It’s not Aine.
It’s not my gentle summer Goddess, her blonde hair and laughing face.
No, this is the Morrigan. I’ve never been blessed to see her before. The Goddess of righteous wrath, the Goddess of war, the Goddess of destiny. A shape-shifter.
“Did you think I would leave one of your blessings to be ravaged by an unhonorable human inside my stones?” She chuckles as she squats next to me. “No, you don’t need my sister’s blessing, child. You need mine.” And with that, she disappears into a haze.
I am suddenly imbued with power. Her next words come gently, in my ear, disembodied. “Be strong, be ruthless, Adelaide ferch Elspeth. You will need it in the coming times.”
My mother’s name rings in my head, and my hand wraps around the hilt of my athame. I would never have dared to use my ceremonial blade to kill someone, let alone inside a set of stones, on a full moon. But here we are, and the Morrigan wants retribution. The crops grow just as well from blood as from seed.
And then abruptly time returns to normal.
Absolute animus consumes me as I realize this male’s fingers are inside me and I’m spread on the ground before him as an offering. The fury burns everything inside me to a crisp. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt. The Morrigan’s battle rage, not Aine’s sweet pleasurable acceptance of being a vessel.
Nothing exists except for my blade and the flesh it needs to be plunged into. My fingers twitch and I wrench the athame out of its sheath, twist the blade deftly, and slit the male’s throat. Blood sprays me and I revel in it. The warmth of it heats my wrath even more. I shove his large body off me with more strength than I should possess and climb to my feet.
The first thing I see is Ossy. There is a white kelpie dead or dying at his feet as a roan kelpie snaps at him. It lands a bite and twists its head, ripping an apple of flesh from his arm just above his vambraces.
Other kelpies are on the edge of the forest, fighting with the selkies that joined us at Sean’s urging. The selkies are fighting desperately, trying to avoid being overwhelmed.
No. I don’t think so. This is unacceptable. I stride forward, deftly dodging a bite—and ignoring Ossy’s warning—to step inside the roan waterhorse’s reach and cut his throat. I smile as his blood is added to the splatter on my body.
I turn, outrage burning in my eyes. Bryn is facing me, on one knee, blade held by both hands over his head and locked with another blade. The huge muscular red cap is bearing down on him.
