Their joy. And every other emotion that went with it. For humiliating her, for treating her like she was nothing, she would take from them. For lording their power over her, she would trap them in Otherworld. She’d instill in them the belief that if they were to leave, their home wouldn’t survive. They thought so highly of themselves, it wouldn’t take much of a spell to convince them that Otherworld’s very essence depended upon their presence. And with the gods stuck in Otherworld, she would truly be the only intermediary between gods and mortals. A true gutuatri, one who spoke to gods.

She would be the only one to speak to the gods. And then only if she chose. The most powerful Druid to ever live.

All with a single spell. And yet she was not stupid. One didn’t rise to the heights that she had by being stupid. No. She could not cast a spell upon the gods. For the only ones who could cast a spell upon the gods were the gods themselves. So she would make them cast a spell upon themselves.

Druantia watched as the festivities reached a fevered pitch, as the wine and food and music went to the gods’ heads. She watched as the Dryads began to disrobe, to dance and touch and kiss the gods. Until the clearing floor and the forest beyond were covered in bodies rolling and sweating and rutting—until every earthly pleasure that could be had created such a wealth of emotion and joy and lust in the gods that it became a physical thing that swirled upon the air.

A thing that she could manipulate into something darker and to her purposes. When it reached such heights that it became magic worthy of the spell, she reached into her bag and withdrew a hare, that most sacred animal to their people. Never should one harm a hare.

Without a glance, she dragged a knife across its throat until blood sprayed onto the ground and onto the nearest god, rutting atop a Dryad.

The energy changed. From lust and joy to dark and dire. The god rose up and tore the Dryad limb from limb, his passion and rage contagious. The other gods followed suit, until the clearing ran red with Dryad blood.

Druantia watched as their joy and rage turned to nothing. To motion, not emotion. The blood of the Dryads soaking the ground, a sacrifice that sealed the spell. When they all lay dead, Dryad, Druid, and mortal—all except her and the gods—the night went silent.

As if in a trance, the gods looked into the sky and around at each other. But they saw nothing. Nor did they remember. Not the party, not their past. Not ever feeling emotion. One by one, the

y disappeared to return to Otherworld.

Druantia stood in the clearing, panting and exhilarated, as the blood of the Dryads soaked into the ground and the bones grew into great oak trees that created a canopy over the forest floor. They drank up the blood and sprouted leaves. A dark forest formed, imbued with the memory and the emotion and the life force of the gods.

It flowed into Druantia, imbuing her with power such as she had never known. Into herself she took the immortality of gods. Their emotion, their passion, their joy all became hers. They would live in Otherworld, continue on with their duties and their titles. Yet for Camulos victory would become hollow, for Scathach prophecy would become rote, for Carlin the night of Samhain would become dull. As it would be for all the gods, because they had dared to cast her aside.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Highlands of Scotland, Present Day

“Pull over,” Ana said. “I think I see it.”

Cam pulled the car to a stop on a gravel patch at the side of the road. Ana climbed out, shivering under the cloudy sky in the chill winter wind. They were in a valley with mountains sweeping up on either side of them. Snowflakes fluttered around them as dusk turned the white mountains gray.

“Do you think that’s it?” Ana asked, pointing to a small cottage nestled in the deepest part of the valley. Fiona had called back a few hours ago with the supposed location of Logan Laufeyson and they’d set out immediately, driving into the Highlands.

Cam walked to her side of the car and peered into the distance.

“Could be,” Cam said, turning to meet her eyes. “Fits the description and location, so it’s—”

Ana jerked when she felt the familiar rubber-band snap of another god appearing from Otherworld. She spun in tandem with Cam and drew her bow. Silence. Snow fell more thickly, obscuring her vision.

Suddenly, a boar broke over the top of a nearby hill and charged them. Ana aimed and fired. The boar fell, but another had appeared in its place. Within seconds, there were a dozen. She fired off arrows as fast as she could.

“Cernowain,” Cam said as he flung a dagger at a boar and felled it.

“But where?” She downed another boar, but more had appeared. She couldn’t see Cernowain anywhere. Were there other gods as well? She blinked snow out of her eyes and fired again.

Cam sprinted to retrieve his dagger and flung it again. His invisibility to the other gods gave them an advantage, and for now, they were just barely holding off the—

Ana screamed as arms grasped her from behind. Her bow clattered to the ground as the grip tightened. She struggled, fighting the pull from the aether that tore at her insides. He was trying to aetherwalk with her! She’d be dragged back to Otherworld.

The arms dropped her and she stumbled to her knees. She jerked around to see Cam throw Cernowain onto his back. The god’s brown cloak fluttered in the wind.

“What is this magic?” he bellowed.

Of course. He couldn’t see Cam. When he surged to his feet, Cam punched him so hard in the face that he flew backwards.

“How did you find me?” she yelled. Had the boar spies found them during the storm in Inverness? Would Cernowain really have sent the boars into the city?

“I had help,” Cernowain ground out through broken teeth as he started toward her, eyes darting for the unseen threat. “You’re coming back.”

Tags: Linsey Hall The Mythean Arcana Paranormal
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