Betrayals
Page 3
“We’ll work on the language,” Ricky continued. “I’m wondering if that’s why they don’t care which side you pick—because they aren’t Welsh fae. As for the Cn Annwn being distracted … I honestly can’t imagine your situation would distract them so much they’d shirk their duties. I think they’re having trouble catching this guy. Which opens another avenue of investigation. Before all that, though, you need to tell Gabriel. Loop him in. Pronto. Otherwise …”
He’ll feel slighted.
He already feels slighted.
One would think Ricky’d be happy that I was spending less time with Gabriel. But even before we knew the parts we played in our ancient drama, I would tell him Gabriel had crashed at my place and he’d only joke that the couch must be more comfortable than it seemed. I’d asked him once, point-blank, if my friendship with Gabriel bothered him.
“You were friends with him before you met me,” Ricky had said.
“I wouldn’t exactly say friends …”
“You were. And I won’t interfere with that, because that’s how this all goes to shit, Liv. Arawn and Gwynn and Matilda. When they make Matilda choose, everything goes wrong, for all of them, and we aren’t going to do that. It is what it is. I understand that.”
“It is what it is? What does that mean?”
He’d shrugged and changed the subject.
I checked my watch. “It’s late.”
“It’s not even midnight. You know he’s up, Liv.”
“It can wait.” I got to my feet. “We’re supposed to be at the club tonight to socialize, and it’ll look bad if we’re hanging out back here.”
He opened his mouth, and I knew he was going to push me to call Gabriel, so I picked up the pace and was out the door before he could say another word.
CHAPTER TWO
The choice the fae girl mentioned was one I’d been putting off because, as I’d told her, I had absolutely no idea which side I would choose. Until six months ago, I would have laughed my ass off at the very thought of such a choice, so obviously straight out of a fairy tale. Which it was, quite literally.
I was the living embodiment of Matilda of the Hunt. Matilda of the Night. Mallt-y-nos. In Welsh myth, Matilda was a noble-woman who refused to give up her love of the hunt, even for her bridegroom, and so was cursed to ride with the Cn Annwn—the Wild Hunt—forever.
In reality, Matilda was a dynes hysbys—a cunning woman or witch—born with blood from both the Huntsmen and Tylwyth Teg, the Welsh fae. The two kingdoms shared the girl, who’d grown up friends with the princes of both, Arawn and Gwynn ap Nudd. To avoid conflict, the young men had agreed not to court her. Arawn kept his word. Gwynn did not. In the fallout, the two made a deal. If Matilda went to Arawn on her wedding day, she’d be his, and the world of the fae closed to her forever. If she stayed with Gwynn, the world of the Hunt would close instead. Of course, neither told Matilda about the pact.
The night before her wedding, Matilda left for one last hunt with her old friend, Arawn. As she saw the gates to the fae world close, she raced back, only to be consumed by the fiery abyss. Unable to save her, both young men blamed themselves and each other, and their worlds had been at odds ever since.
The story doesn’t end there. There was no end, no satisfactory conclusion. So the cycle keeps repeating. New players are born to take over the roles—not reincarnations, but humans from the proper bloodline and with memories of those distant ancestors. Whichever side possesses Matilda will win the battle for survival. Each has its champion: Arawn and Gwynn, who are supposed to woo her to their side. Ricky is Arawn. And Gwynn in this particular round? That would be Gabriel.
So that’s the story, and the direction our lives are supposed to take. The champions do battle for the hand of the maiden, and the winning side takes all, gaining the most precious gift for the fae: the power to survive in the modern world.
A nice story … for someone else.
We’ve decided we don’t particularly like our roles. Gabriel isn’t the jealous and treacherous Gwynn. Ricky isn’t the reckless and impetuous Arawn. And I’m sure as hell not the hapless and helpless Matilda.
We’ve told the Cn Annwn and Tylwyth Teg to back the hell off or they’re going to make enemies of all three of us. That’s how we can stand against them: by sticking together as the original three could not.
The two sides haven’t abandoned their hopes. They can’t, because their continued existence depends on my eventual choice. As civilization consumes nature and pollutes the elements, the fae lose the natural energy they need to survive. Having a Matilda cleanses their land. But I don’t have enough mojo to go around—hence the need to choose. The Tylwyth Teg and Cn Annwn had given me half a year to come to terms with both my role and my powers. I had two months left. Then the battle was set to begin.
Except now someone was trying to change the timetable.
Ricky and I were heading out to spend the night in my Cainsville apartment. We left the clubhouse at one. I was on the back of Ricky’s bike, enjoying the buzz from three shots of Scotch and the vibrations from the Harley’s motor, my fingers slipping around Ricky and up his thighs, his chuckle rippling through me.
He pointed to the countryside whipping past and then at the road ahead. Asking if I wanted to pull over or keep going. I tapped his leg, which meant it was up to him. He gunned the bike and then moved my hand further down his thigh. In other words, if I was okay with not stopping for sex right away, he’d take a little more of what I’d started.
He’ll feel slighted.
He already feels slighted.
One would think Ricky’d be happy that I was spending less time with Gabriel. But even before we knew the parts we played in our ancient drama, I would tell him Gabriel had crashed at my place and he’d only joke that the couch must be more comfortable than it seemed. I’d asked him once, point-blank, if my friendship with Gabriel bothered him.
“You were friends with him before you met me,” Ricky had said.
“I wouldn’t exactly say friends …”
“You were. And I won’t interfere with that, because that’s how this all goes to shit, Liv. Arawn and Gwynn and Matilda. When they make Matilda choose, everything goes wrong, for all of them, and we aren’t going to do that. It is what it is. I understand that.”
“It is what it is? What does that mean?”
He’d shrugged and changed the subject.
I checked my watch. “It’s late.”
“It’s not even midnight. You know he’s up, Liv.”
“It can wait.” I got to my feet. “We’re supposed to be at the club tonight to socialize, and it’ll look bad if we’re hanging out back here.”
He opened his mouth, and I knew he was going to push me to call Gabriel, so I picked up the pace and was out the door before he could say another word.
CHAPTER TWO
The choice the fae girl mentioned was one I’d been putting off because, as I’d told her, I had absolutely no idea which side I would choose. Until six months ago, I would have laughed my ass off at the very thought of such a choice, so obviously straight out of a fairy tale. Which it was, quite literally.
I was the living embodiment of Matilda of the Hunt. Matilda of the Night. Mallt-y-nos. In Welsh myth, Matilda was a noble-woman who refused to give up her love of the hunt, even for her bridegroom, and so was cursed to ride with the Cn Annwn—the Wild Hunt—forever.
In reality, Matilda was a dynes hysbys—a cunning woman or witch—born with blood from both the Huntsmen and Tylwyth Teg, the Welsh fae. The two kingdoms shared the girl, who’d grown up friends with the princes of both, Arawn and Gwynn ap Nudd. To avoid conflict, the young men had agreed not to court her. Arawn kept his word. Gwynn did not. In the fallout, the two made a deal. If Matilda went to Arawn on her wedding day, she’d be his, and the world of the fae closed to her forever. If she stayed with Gwynn, the world of the Hunt would close instead. Of course, neither told Matilda about the pact.
The night before her wedding, Matilda left for one last hunt with her old friend, Arawn. As she saw the gates to the fae world close, she raced back, only to be consumed by the fiery abyss. Unable to save her, both young men blamed themselves and each other, and their worlds had been at odds ever since.
The story doesn’t end there. There was no end, no satisfactory conclusion. So the cycle keeps repeating. New players are born to take over the roles—not reincarnations, but humans from the proper bloodline and with memories of those distant ancestors. Whichever side possesses Matilda will win the battle for survival. Each has its champion: Arawn and Gwynn, who are supposed to woo her to their side. Ricky is Arawn. And Gwynn in this particular round? That would be Gabriel.
So that’s the story, and the direction our lives are supposed to take. The champions do battle for the hand of the maiden, and the winning side takes all, gaining the most precious gift for the fae: the power to survive in the modern world.
A nice story … for someone else.
We’ve decided we don’t particularly like our roles. Gabriel isn’t the jealous and treacherous Gwynn. Ricky isn’t the reckless and impetuous Arawn. And I’m sure as hell not the hapless and helpless Matilda.
We’ve told the Cn Annwn and Tylwyth Teg to back the hell off or they’re going to make enemies of all three of us. That’s how we can stand against them: by sticking together as the original three could not.
The two sides haven’t abandoned their hopes. They can’t, because their continued existence depends on my eventual choice. As civilization consumes nature and pollutes the elements, the fae lose the natural energy they need to survive. Having a Matilda cleanses their land. But I don’t have enough mojo to go around—hence the need to choose. The Tylwyth Teg and Cn Annwn had given me half a year to come to terms with both my role and my powers. I had two months left. Then the battle was set to begin.
Except now someone was trying to change the timetable.
Ricky and I were heading out to spend the night in my Cainsville apartment. We left the clubhouse at one. I was on the back of Ricky’s bike, enjoying the buzz from three shots of Scotch and the vibrations from the Harley’s motor, my fingers slipping around Ricky and up his thighs, his chuckle rippling through me.
He pointed to the countryside whipping past and then at the road ahead. Asking if I wanted to pull over or keep going. I tapped his leg, which meant it was up to him. He gunned the bike and then moved my hand further down his thigh. In other words, if I was okay with not stopping for sex right away, he’d take a little more of what I’d started.
