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Arianrhod wound an obfuscation around herself. No matter what else happened today, she didn’t want the Morrigan to discover she carried a child conceived by normal means. The Battle Crow would fall on that prime piece of gossip like a starving lion devouring a corpse, and Arianrhod would be forced from the Pantheon into exile. The idea of living out the rest of eternity in Caer Sidi wasn’t even marginally appealing, nor would it be an acceptable place for her unborn son. Children needed to be socialized. Living alone with the tides and moon would stunt his potential.
She also didn’t want Angus to stumble onto their child by accident. No. That needed to be a private discussion. She’d thought of at least one possibility that included keeping the babe, but hadn’t quite worked out all the details, and she needed to before they talked.
First things first. I have to get past the Morrigan afore I can do aught else.
The sound of wingbeats grew louder. As she watched, the white dragon’s outline turned indistinct. When the shaded places around it cleared, the Morrigan cawed triumphantly just before she floated to a stop a few feet from Arianrhod and Angus. Another shimmer, and she took on one of her common guises: a crone with tangled black hair, rheumy black eyes, and a long black robe, leaning on an intricately carved staff.
“Isn’t this tender,” she smirked just before Malik landed heavily and lumbered toward them as he shifted into Rhukon. A buck naked Rhukon, who swaggered to the Morrigan’s side.
“Told you we’d see them sooner or later,” he said to the Morrigan.
“Nay, ’twas I who told you that.” Annoyance roughened the Morrigan’s words. She sent a shrewd gaze Arianrhod’s way. “What are ye doing here, sister?”
“I could ask you the same thing…sister.” The word stuck in Arianrhod’s craw, but she used it anyway.
The Morrigan threaded an arm around Rhukon’s waist. “Visiting an old friend.” Her dark eyes narrowed, and Arianrhod was grateful she’d had the foresight to erect a magical shield. “Unlike some of us, I’m not hampered by virginity.”
Arianrhod wanted to snarl that she wasn’thamperedby being a crow. Angus saved her the trouble. He inclined his head. “Nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you from the others.”
“Really?” The Morrigan preened beneath his praise, clearly not detecting its mocking nuance.
Rather than answering, Angus strode forward and held out a hand. The Morrigan clasped it, and Rhukon growled his displeasure.
The Morrigan snorted. She winked at Arianrhod, without letting go of Angus’s hand. “Men! Aye, and aren’t all beasts the same? ’Tis a comely one ye are,” she purred meeting Angus’s direct gaze. “I can be comely too.”
The air around her glistened wetly. When it cleared, she’d reverted to her medieval noblewoman guise. Long dark hair was coaxed into intricate braids, and she regarded Angus out of long-lashed dark eyes. After wetting her full lips with a pink tongue, she bent slightly so her breasts partially spilled from her tightly cut maroon gown.
“He gets to see you this way, and all I get is another dragon?” Rhukon drew his dark brows together until he looked like an angry thundercloud.
“Best watch it,” Arianrhod cut in. “Malik will punish you for statements like that.”
Smoke rolled from Rhukon’s throat. Arianrhod ducked out of the way.
Angus tugged his hand out of the Morrigan’s grip. “Do you have an infinite number of forms you can adopt?”
Her dark eyes glittered. “Aye. I can be whatever ye want. Do ye have a preference? Blondes perhaps? Redheads?”
Arianrhod addressed her next words to Rhukon, who was still hissing smoke. “’Tis been many a long year since I’ve laid eyes on Lachlan. He used to be an associate of yours. Do ye have any idea what’s become of him—or his dragon?”
An odd look flitted across Rhukon’s shoddily handsome face before he smoothed it away. At least Malik backed off because the smoke stopped. “Why would ye ask me?” Rhukon’s tone was carefully neutral.
“I’ve been asking everyone I come across,” Arianrhod countered. “Ceridwen is worried about them.”
“Pfft.” Rhukon waved a dismissive hand. “Why would she care?”
“She’s mother goddess of the world,” Arianrhod replied. “She cares about everything.”
The Morrigan hadn’t taken her gaze from Angus. To annoy her, Arianrhod stepped between them. “Been back to Inverlochy Castle since ye came crying about your distant kinswoman’s death…sister?”
“Nay. And ye?”
Arianrhod swallowed back a bitter taste. This was just the sort of sparring the Morrigan loved. Likely she’d visited Rhukon to hatch up more of whatever fueled the poison spreading through the dragon shifters’ ranks.
How to either find out more—or get rid of her?
The strategy was so obvious, Arianrhod almost laughed. Instead, she sidled to Angus and murmured. “The Morrigan seems quite taken with you. How about if ye wander off with her? Get to know one another better.”
“What a wonderful idea,” the Morrigan purred. She closed on Angus, practically pushing Arianrhod to her knees in her hurry, and wrapped a hand around his arm. “Ye heard the lady. Shall we take a stroll?”
