“And I didn’t tread mine. I should have stayed in Otherworld, served my time.” His eyes met hers, intensity shining within. “If we don’t find Logan Laufeyson, I’ll take your place.”
“No, Cam—”
“I care for you, damn it. I’ll not leave you to the fate I should have saved you from. After the half-life I’ve lead, after the fate I consigned you to in Otherworld, I don’t deserve you. The least I can do is save you from the fate I doomed you to.”
“This fate did save me. Otherwise, I’d be like my family right now.” The thought of them sent a pang of pain through her chest. So old now, but still there. Their shadows haunted both Otherworld and her heart.
“And you’ll have earth back, no matter how it has to happen,” he said.
“No, Cam. I’ve grown pretty fond of you, too.” Understatement of the century. “Ditch me now and I don’t know what I’ll do.”
He yanked her to him and kissed her hard, the press of his lips against hers making her head spin. The thought made her shudder. He’d be trapped in Otherworld, allowed to escape only a few times a year for an hour here or there. But it could be her fate.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Highlands of Celtic Scotland, 634 BC
Long before Camulos met Andrasta
Anticipation sang through Druantia’s veins as she watched her disciples, the lesser Druids, prepare for the feast ahead. They laid out fruits and wine, turned great haunches of meat on spits, and hung the sacred mistletoe from oaks surrounding the clearing. Spirits were high, for such a party had never before been thrown in the mortal world.
The sun would set within the hour, and then the gods would arrive. She shivered with excitement. But not with nerves. No, there was no reason to be afraid, for they would never anticipate what she had planned. Not a mere servant such as herself, she thought bitterly.
“High Priestess, the nymphs are here,” Alban said from behind her.
Finally, they’d arrived. Druantia turned to see a bevy of beautiful young women and men. Tree nymphs, specifically of oak trees, called Dryads. And as such, they were under her direction. They came because their presence was requested. They’d do as she commanded because she willed it.
“The gods will be joining us for our great feast this eve,” she said to them. She gestured to the food and wine behind her and glanced at the bodies of the beautiful Dryads. “We will welcome them to the earth, to taste of our bounty. Tonight there will be revelry such as they have never known.”
And they would come. All of them. For the gods never could resist a pleasure. Ruled by their emotions, they were. Joy, greed, pride, jealousy.
Tonight they would see all that she was capable of.
“Go now.” She gestured to the clearing. “For they will be here soon, and we must be ready to welcome them.”
The Dryads nodded, though not all their faces showed pleasure at the idea of what was to come. No matter. They would do as she commanded, because as the gods had control over her, she had control over the Dryads.
When the last rays of the sun sank behind the horizon, the first god arrived from Otherworld. Cernowain, along with his boar. Before long, dozens of gods littered the clearing. Then three hundred of them, perhaps more. All the Celtic gods, even the ones worshiped by people from lands far away across the sea.
They drank and ate and sang and caroused. Wine flowed as freely as rain, the scent of roasted meat filled the air, and the sound of revelry rang through the night.
“You make amends.” The deep voice from behind sent a chill down her spine. Her hands and face stiffened to iron, but she forced herself to breathe deeply. To soften her features into repentance and docility.
She turned to face Camulos. “But of course, god of war. For you are great and wise, and I wish for you to partake of all that the earth has to offer you.”
He nodded, drank from the mug of wine, and surveyed the revelry. The energy in the air had grown frantic, joyous and sultry. It affected even her.
“There are many pleasures to be had in our woods,” Druantia said. She pointed to a tree, under which sat a Dryad who wasn’t carousing as she should be. “There, she waits for you.”
Camulos grinned, arrogant as ever, and walked off toward the Dryad, a pale thing with shining blond hair. Quite pretty, as they all were.
With something dark boiling in her chest, Druantia watched him go. When he walked off into the forest with the Dryad, she turned to survey the rest of the festivities.
Clothes had scattered, wine and food spilled all over the tables set in the clearing, and gods and Dryads danced to music played by a band of mortals from her village. A select few of the lesser Druids were here to see to the occasion. No doubt they thought she was actually making amends with the feast.
She smiled. And waited. And watched. And as the dark grew deeper and the night grew later, the revelry became frantic and frenzied and wild. The energy that swirled in the air from the gods’ joy was palpable, throbbing to the beat of the drums that played faster and faster.
They took such joy in this night. Such joy in their godhood, in their power. They loved and laughed and raged and fought. Were ruled by emotion, lived by it. So she would take from them that which they loved most.