Hellforged

Those eyes creeped me out. I looked away, at some sheep grazing far across the field.

“My ancestor Avagddu was a powerful spirit,” Pryce continued. “He was furious to find himself in the weak, helpless body of an infant. His cries were howls of rage and a hunger for the power that was rightfully his.”

“I can’t see Avagddu as a victim. Those howls created the Morfran.” And I’d seen firsthand what the Morfran could do.

“The time has come for the Morfran to reemerge.” He stated it as a fact, like the time had come for lunch. “For centuries, the Morfran has been weak. Imprisoned by your kind and kept from feeding. Its hunger is never sated, but when it cannot feed at all …” He let the thought trail off. “It’s been difficult. The condition of the Morfran is the condition of those who dwell in Uffern. We have been greatly weakened.”

And that’s a good thing. “But you’re not a demon. Only half.”

“Ah, but in that half lies all my power. I take this form in the Ordinary—that’s what we call your world—but I draw strength from Cysgod in Uffern.”

Cysgod was Welsh for “shadow”—I knew that one. “Cysgod is your shadow demon?”

“I prefer to say the greater, stronger part of me that’s not limited to this pathetic human form. Where you and I stand now, here in the Ordinary, Cysgod is no more than a shadow. But if you were to peek into Uffern, you’d see my demon side in all its glory.”

Something in his expression made me wary. “I’m not a big fan of hanging out in the demon plane.”

“Another time.” From the way he said it, he thought it was a sure thing.

“So this shadow demon of yours—Cysgod—is weak now.”

“ ‘ Weak’ is a relative term, is it not? Cysgod is exponentially stronger than any human. But no, that part of me is not at full strength. As the Morfran feeds, Cysgod will grow stronger.”

“It’s you.” I stopped and stared at him. “You sent the Destroyer into my dreams. You’re behind the Morfran attacks.”

“I’m doing what I can to bring an ancient prophecy to pass.” He ducked his head, like I’d complimented him and he was trying to be modest. “The Meibion Avagddu have waited centuries for the prophecy’s fulfillment. The first sign was the creation of your so-called zombies in Boston. They are food for the Morfran.”

They’re people, not food. I thought about T.J.’s easy grin. About how Gary’s bloodred eyes lit up at the prospect of talking Shakespeare with Juliet. About the look of determination on Sykes’s face as he turned away from freshly spilled human blood.

“This conversation is over. Reconciliation is impossible. I’ll do whatever I can to stop you.” I walked away from him, toward Maenllyd. He stuck with me.

“But cousin, you’ve already helped us. We couldn’t act until you brought the second sign to pass, binding Difethwr to yourself. When you did that, you created the bridge we needed between Uffern and the Ordinary. Since then, we’ve been gathering the Morfran and sending it to Boston to feed.”

“You can give up on that plan. I’m not letting you use me anymore.”

“It won’t be your choice.” His tone was ominous. “Soon we’ll no longer need a bridge.” Then his voice lightened again, and he sounded almost cheerful. “They’re in the book, all the signs and prophecies. Keep studying it. You’ll understand.”

Now I knew why Mab insisted that it was necessary for me to read that book. Pryce was using it like a road map. A new order rises. The Morfran emerges, and Uffern spills over its boundaries. The Brenin steps forward. He believed its prophecies pointed him toward power, that he was destined to expand Hell and become its king. My so-called cousin had serious ego issues.

“Yeah, I’ll keep studying, but only to learn how to defeat you.” And Difethwr. And the Morfran.

That made him laugh. “I’ve never understood the Cerddorion insistence on helping humans. They fostered your ancestor Taliesin, but so what? It’s proper for the weak to serve those more powerful. Yet Taliesin subverted the natural order and served humans instead. As have all the Cerddorion since.”

He grabbed my arm, yanking me a stop. His voice hissed in my ear. “Don’t you feel it’s wrong that humans run everything? They are weak, stupid herd animals, like those sheep.” He pointed at the grazing animals. “You and I, cousin, we’re descended from a goddess. We are greater, stronger. But through sheer numbers and dumb luck—and Cerddorion support—humans have unjustly seized rulership of the world.”

I shook my arm loose. “I told you, I’m not your cousin.”

“But surely you wish to be counted among the strong, the powerful. The time of weakness—the humans’ time—is passing. The Morfran’s emergence ensures that the descendants of Ceridwen finally assume their rightful place in the new world order.”

“And I suppose you’re the natural leader of this ‘new world order.’ ”

“Of course. But not myself alone.” He jumped in front of me and bowed low. “It is your destiny to share that power with me.”

This time I was the one to laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

His face was completely serious. “You cannot escape your destiny. No one can.”

“Oh, and you know my destiny?”

“Of course. Your father wasn’t the only one who received a prophecy before your birth. I did, as well.”

“Now I know you’re kidding.” I scrutinized his face. It was unlined, and his black hair was full and thick. “You couldn’t have been more than a couple of years old when I was born.”

“I’m much older than I appear. As is your aunt, by the way.”

“Don’t talk to me about Mab. I’m not interested in anything you say about her.”

“As you prefer.”

We walked in silence for several minutes. I knew he was waiting for me to ask. But I wasn’t going to. I had no intention of asking. There was no way in hell I was going to ask.

I asked anyway. “What prophecy?”

His smile was smug. “From a goddess two lines diverged, but they shall be reunited in Victory.”

“That could mean anything. I don’t see how it makes me part of your ‘new world order.’ ”

“I fail to see how it could be clearer. In you, Victory, the two lines—demi-human and demi-demon, Cerddorion and Meibion Avagddu—will become one again.”

“But—”

Pryce gestured, like he was swatting away my stupidity. “Don’t you get it? It means you’re destined to be the mother of my sons.”

I nearly tripped over my own feet. No way, no how, would I ever let Pryce touch me, let alone that way. If he wanted to hear the pitter-patter of little cloven hooves, he’d have to find someone else to beget his demon brood upon.

I turned to tell him so, and he punched me in my solar plexus.

The air whuffed out of my lungs as I doubled over. Pryce stepped back, and I twisted away. The wooden staff whooshed past my head, clipped my shoulder in a starburst of pain, and slammed into the ground.

I couldn’t get a breath.

The staff disappeared. As Pryce lifted it, I launched myself forward, head-butting him in the stomach. He grunted, staggering.

Rape. The ugly word clanged like an alarm bell in my head as I reached for the knife in my boot. He knows I’ll never give him what he wants, so he’s going to rape me.

There was no knife.

I was just taking a daytime walk, damn it. I hadn’t gone armed. Maenllyd was supposed to be safe.

My lungs started working again. I felt dizzy with the rush of oxygen, but I straightened, keeping my knees bent in a fighting stance. Pryce swung the staff at me like a club.

I jumped back, and he pressed forward, swinging the staff. His face twisted in an ugly scowl. He gave a particularly vicious swing, and as soon as the staff swept away from me, back toward his shoulder, I rushed in and smashed his knee with a stomp kick.

There was a pop. Pryce screamed and gripped his knee with one hand.

I wrenched the staff from his other hand and swung it as hard as I could, slamming it into his side. He flew sideways and hit the ground, one leg stretched out, the other bent at a weird angle.

I raised the staff to bring it down on his head. Why not? He’d tried to do it to me. The asshole wanted to rape me. I was acting in self-defense. He deserved to die. He deserved to be annihilated.

Fiery pain slashed my right arm. My demon mark glowed red.

Do it, something urged. Crack open his skull. Smash his face to a bloody pulp. Kill him. Kill him now! DO IT!

Cutting through that urging came Mab’s calm voice: You must be purely yourself.

Purity.

Shit.

It didn’t matter what Pryce deserved. The rage, the overwhelming compulsion to pound his head into a grisly mosaic—those didn’t come from me. They came from the demon mark, and I would not let that control me.

I would not kill anyone lying injured and helpless on the ground.

I hurled the staff like a javelin, as far as I could throw it. It landed among the sheep. The animals bleated and ran.

The voice clamoring for blood grew silent. My demon mark cooled, paled to pink.

At my feet, Pryce moaned. I kicked his shin, hard enough to get his attention.

He twisted his head to look at me. Sweat coated his forehead.

“If you ever try to rape me again,” I said, “I’ll kill you.”

He moaned and closed his eyes. Then he disappeared.

What the—? I stared at the place he’d lain a second ago. Something hit me hard from behind, knocking me onto my hands and knees. A vicious kick, then another, cracked my ribs. A shoe smashed into my nose. I couldn’t see, I couldn’t breathe. Pain exploded in my back, my sides, my head. I curled up, covering my head with my arms and trying to make myself too small to be a target. The attack continued, the blows kept coming, and the world dissolved into an agonizing haze of hurting, hurting, hurting. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">