purebloods, and they had not one tenth Maeve’s power.
“No. No, he didn’t break you, my dear.” Inhuman eyes probed hers delicately. “The most he managed was a bend here and there. Apparently he has forgotten that the beat of the hammer in the flame’s heart only strengthens a good blade. As to his other dubious gifts, we’ll attend to them in time.”
Miranda eyed her cautiously. “What gifts?”
“Patience, child.” She’d turned her attention to Justice, who hovered protectively at Miranda’s shoulder. “Now, as to you, my wolf . . .” Maeve’s gaze took on that ferocious intensity again as she stared deeply into his ebony eyes.
Justice shifted under her stare, and muscle rolled in his broad shoulders as if he struggled with some aggressive instinct. Being the habitual protector he was, he was probably acutely aware that this lethal being stood a foot and a half shorter than he did. She was also female and at least old enough to be his mother. Most likely she was a great deal older than that. All of which added up to someone he could not take a swing at, though from the look on his face, he didn’t care for her aggressive gaze.
Miranda suddenly remembered Daliya’s prophecy:
She waits in her forge for the hero wolf to come for Merlin’s Blade. Then will the Hunter Prince be free—then will he rule in bloody vengeance or bend his knee to his spirit’s feral king
.
But what the fuck did all that
mean
?
“Ahhh,” Maeve breathed. “You’re no weak one, are you? But how will it end? That depends on just how strong you really are.” She turned away. “Come to my forge at midnight on the morrow,” she added to Miranda, as Conal fell in behind her, like a courtier attending a queen. “The moon will be high and full then. A good time for such doings.”
“But I have no idea where your forge is,” Miranda protested.
“I just told you, child.” With a wave of a ringed hand, the Sidhe goddess crouched beside the woman’s mangled corpse. “And now, you poor child, let’s see what you have to say.” With that, she touched a blunt finger to the pool of cold blood.
Maeve’s eyes drifted closed, as she swayed over the corpse. “She was Vela Greer, a waitress at Mr. Pizza there round the corner.”
Miranda straightened and shot a look at Justice. Maeve spoke with a voice that was suddenly completely different from the low Celtic music of a moment earlier. Her voice was higher now, her accent a slow Southern drawl. A chill skated down Miranda’s spine at the uncomfortable conviction she was hearing the voice of a dead woman.
“She’d just finished her shift and wanted to get home to her babies,” Maeve continued. “Mama was watchin’ them, and she didn’t like to impose too long.” Her lip curled, and her voice took on a deadly hiss. “That’s when Warlock’s Beast came outta the dark like somethin’ out of a horror movie. Vela’s last thought was of her two babies, Carlos and Nala. Only three and four, brown-eyed darlin’s. Vela’ll never see them grow up, and they won’t have a mama anymore. ’Cause of that
bastard
.”
The Sidhe stood, all but leaping to her feet as she broke the magical connection she’d formed with the blood. She turned away, blinking tears from her iridescent eyes.
The goddess cries
, Miranda thought, discovering some comfort in the idea.
You’re more human than I’d thought.
Conal frowned. “What will become of her children?”
Maeve shrugged and turned to pace a circle around the splattered puddle of drying blood, head down, concentrating on whatever message she drew from it. Her voice was back to normal now. “Their fathers have moved on to other women. And in any case, neither of them is suitable for the task. It will have to be Vela’s mother, Charlene.” Her eyes slid out of focus for a moment. “She worries why her daughter is late, when she’d have normally been home an hour past.” Maeve shook herself and looked up at Conal.
“No. No, he didn’t break you, my dear.” Inhuman eyes probed hers delicately. “The most he managed was a bend here and there. Apparently he has forgotten that the beat of the hammer in the flame’s heart only strengthens a good blade. As to his other dubious gifts, we’ll attend to them in time.”
Miranda eyed her cautiously. “What gifts?”
“Patience, child.” She’d turned her attention to Justice, who hovered protectively at Miranda’s shoulder. “Now, as to you, my wolf . . .” Maeve’s gaze took on that ferocious intensity again as she stared deeply into his ebony eyes.
Justice shifted under her stare, and muscle rolled in his broad shoulders as if he struggled with some aggressive instinct. Being the habitual protector he was, he was probably acutely aware that this lethal being stood a foot and a half shorter than he did. She was also female and at least old enough to be his mother. Most likely she was a great deal older than that. All of which added up to someone he could not take a swing at, though from the look on his face, he didn’t care for her aggressive gaze.
Miranda suddenly remembered Daliya’s prophecy:
She waits in her forge for the hero wolf to come for Merlin’s Blade. Then will the Hunter Prince be free—then will he rule in bloody vengeance or bend his knee to his spirit’s feral king
.
But what the fuck did all that
mean
?
“Ahhh,” Maeve breathed. “You’re no weak one, are you? But how will it end? That depends on just how strong you really are.” She turned away. “Come to my forge at midnight on the morrow,” she added to Miranda, as Conal fell in behind her, like a courtier attending a queen. “The moon will be high and full then. A good time for such doings.”
“But I have no idea where your forge is,” Miranda protested.
“I just told you, child.” With a wave of a ringed hand, the Sidhe goddess crouched beside the woman’s mangled corpse. “And now, you poor child, let’s see what you have to say.” With that, she touched a blunt finger to the pool of cold blood.
Maeve’s eyes drifted closed, as she swayed over the corpse. “She was Vela Greer, a waitress at Mr. Pizza there round the corner.”
Miranda straightened and shot a look at Justice. Maeve spoke with a voice that was suddenly completely different from the low Celtic music of a moment earlier. Her voice was higher now, her accent a slow Southern drawl. A chill skated down Miranda’s spine at the uncomfortable conviction she was hearing the voice of a dead woman.
“She’d just finished her shift and wanted to get home to her babies,” Maeve continued. “Mama was watchin’ them, and she didn’t like to impose too long.” Her lip curled, and her voice took on a deadly hiss. “That’s when Warlock’s Beast came outta the dark like somethin’ out of a horror movie. Vela’s last thought was of her two babies, Carlos and Nala. Only three and four, brown-eyed darlin’s. Vela’ll never see them grow up, and they won’t have a mama anymore. ’Cause of that
bastard
.”
The Sidhe stood, all but leaping to her feet as she broke the magical connection she’d formed with the blood. She turned away, blinking tears from her iridescent eyes.
The goddess cries
, Miranda thought, discovering some comfort in the idea.
You’re more human than I’d thought.
Conal frowned. “What will become of her children?”
Maeve shrugged and turned to pace a circle around the splattered puddle of drying blood, head down, concentrating on whatever message she drew from it. Her voice was back to normal now. “Their fathers have moved on to other women. And in any case, neither of them is suitable for the task. It will have to be Vela’s mother, Charlene.” Her eyes slid out of focus for a moment. “She worries why her daughter is late, when she’d have normally been home an hour past.” Maeve shook herself and looked up at Conal.
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