the amulet, we have no power to bind the weapon or to get back across the void.”
“The last time she manifested, we had only three of the seven amulets. Now we have six.” He glanced at Callie and Raine. “We know the seventh exists—hell, we’ve touched it—and we are too close to end this now and send her back to death and waiting. Christ, Liam, it could be another century before I find her again.”
“What is a century to us but a blink of an eye?” Liam asked.
“It’s torture without your mate beside you,” Mal said harshly. “But you wouldn’t know that.”
Liam dragged his fingers through his hair, his eyes dark and tortured. “Do you think I don’t understand? I do. And even though it’s horrific, the truth is that a world without Christina is safe. We need the amulet first. Otherwise, with her alive, it’s a catastrophe waiting to happen. Either because the fuerie grabs her and uses her, or because she’s not strong enough to keep it down.”
“She is. I’ll make sure she is.”
“Dammit, Mal—”
“No. You listen to me. She is strong, damn strong. Even after all these years, her essence hasn’t dissipated. It’s still her in there, fully and completely. Generation after generation, she has kept the core of Christina together. Even Livia couldn’t manage that,” he added, nodding toward Callie, who nodded.
“It’s true,” Raine said. “I can feel Livia within Cal, but some of her essence is in Oliver,” he said, referring to Callie’s father. “Some probably in other ancestors, some perhaps lost to the wind.”
“That’s the way it works in this dimension,” Mal said to Liam, “and we both know it. Unless the essence is locked into form, it dissipates over time. And yet centuries have gone by without Christina having a form. Maybe she was able to keep herself together because of the weapon. Who knows? But what I do know is that she was able to fight her way back. To find her consciousness again. To draw on memories. And as far as I’m concerned, that makes her a hell of a lot stronger than you or me.”
Liam exhaled. “Tell me exactly what you’re suggesting.”
“We bring her in. We protect her. I’m with her twenty-four/seven. She starts to lose control, I’m there to absorb it.” His shoulders sagged. “Her stage name is Christina. She picked it without even knowing why. We’ve been on a hamster wheel for millennia,” Mal pressed. “We owe her this, Liam. You know we do.”
Slowly, Liam nodded. “If anything goes wrong, it will be my blade that strikes her down—and you, too, if you stand in the way. Whatever the risk. Whatever the cost.”
“I should hope so,” Mal said. “You’ve always had my back, Liam. I expect nothing less from you now.”
Chapter 7
‡
A s far as I’m concerned, Saturday mornings mean sleeping late, drinking coffee with too much cream, tuning the television to cartoons, and kicking back with the newspaper and a bit of Bugs Bunny nostalgia.
Brayden, however, sees Saturdays slightly differently.
He’s fine with the coffee and newspaper part of the equation, but as far as my best friend is concerned, Saturday morning cartoons do not mean stories filled with animated critters, Disney-fied cuteness, or Looney Tunes absurdity.
No, Brayden’s idea of Saturday silliness is the “ridiculous cartoon-like bullshit you see on all those reality shows. I mean seriously,” he says to me as he navigates through all the shows that he has recorded off cable, “this is prime mindless entertainment.”
How right he is.
We veg on the couch and channel-hop through what has to be the most extensive collection of reality television known to man.
“Do you watch nothing else?” I ask at one point, after we’ve bounced from a Real Housewives of God Only Knows Where to some new show about buying property in Alaska. Which looks pretty cool, actually, although I would never move that far north. Already I’m dreading the New York
“The last time she manifested, we had only three of the seven amulets. Now we have six.” He glanced at Callie and Raine. “We know the seventh exists—hell, we’ve touched it—and we are too close to end this now and send her back to death and waiting. Christ, Liam, it could be another century before I find her again.”
“What is a century to us but a blink of an eye?” Liam asked.
“It’s torture without your mate beside you,” Mal said harshly. “But you wouldn’t know that.”
Liam dragged his fingers through his hair, his eyes dark and tortured. “Do you think I don’t understand? I do. And even though it’s horrific, the truth is that a world without Christina is safe. We need the amulet first. Otherwise, with her alive, it’s a catastrophe waiting to happen. Either because the fuerie grabs her and uses her, or because she’s not strong enough to keep it down.”
“She is. I’ll make sure she is.”
“Dammit, Mal—”
“No. You listen to me. She is strong, damn strong. Even after all these years, her essence hasn’t dissipated. It’s still her in there, fully and completely. Generation after generation, she has kept the core of Christina together. Even Livia couldn’t manage that,” he added, nodding toward Callie, who nodded.
“It’s true,” Raine said. “I can feel Livia within Cal, but some of her essence is in Oliver,” he said, referring to Callie’s father. “Some probably in other ancestors, some perhaps lost to the wind.”
“That’s the way it works in this dimension,” Mal said to Liam, “and we both know it. Unless the essence is locked into form, it dissipates over time. And yet centuries have gone by without Christina having a form. Maybe she was able to keep herself together because of the weapon. Who knows? But what I do know is that she was able to fight her way back. To find her consciousness again. To draw on memories. And as far as I’m concerned, that makes her a hell of a lot stronger than you or me.”
Liam exhaled. “Tell me exactly what you’re suggesting.”
“We bring her in. We protect her. I’m with her twenty-four/seven. She starts to lose control, I’m there to absorb it.” His shoulders sagged. “Her stage name is Christina. She picked it without even knowing why. We’ve been on a hamster wheel for millennia,” Mal pressed. “We owe her this, Liam. You know we do.”
Slowly, Liam nodded. “If anything goes wrong, it will be my blade that strikes her down—and you, too, if you stand in the way. Whatever the risk. Whatever the cost.”
“I should hope so,” Mal said. “You’ve always had my back, Liam. I expect nothing less from you now.”
Chapter 7
‡
A s far as I’m concerned, Saturday mornings mean sleeping late, drinking coffee with too much cream, tuning the television to cartoons, and kicking back with the newspaper and a bit of Bugs Bunny nostalgia.
Brayden, however, sees Saturdays slightly differently.
He’s fine with the coffee and newspaper part of the equation, but as far as my best friend is concerned, Saturday morning cartoons do not mean stories filled with animated critters, Disney-fied cuteness, or Looney Tunes absurdity.
No, Brayden’s idea of Saturday silliness is the “ridiculous cartoon-like bullshit you see on all those reality shows. I mean seriously,” he says to me as he navigates through all the shows that he has recorded off cable, “this is prime mindless entertainment.”
How right he is.
We veg on the couch and channel-hop through what has to be the most extensive collection of reality television known to man.
“Do you watch nothing else?” I ask at one point, after we’ve bounced from a Real Housewives of God Only Knows Where to some new show about buying property in Alaska. Which looks pretty cool, actually, although I would never move that far north. Already I’m dreading the New York
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