Free Untold Tales by Sabrina Flynn Page B

the calm after the storm.
    “I see your mind is working again.” He felt her lips curve.
    “Not for very long.” To emphasize his words, he gripped a handful of sumptuous flesh and rolled onto his side, taking her with him. Her head dropped to his bicep and she stared into his eyes. Green met blue; like the sea and the land watching each other, breathing the same air.
    “Moonlight,” she said softly, brushing the unruly hair from his eyes. “There is always power in the moon’s light. I can step from one pool to the next.”
    “Like a teleportation rune,” he surmised.
    “Something like that, yes.” There was a knowing glint in her eyes. “Trees too.”
    “I’ve seen the Scarecrow do that.”
    “Once upon a time, in another age, you could do the same with stone.”
    A flash of pain stabbed his temple and he winced.
    “I’m sorry, my love,” she soothed, brushing the spot as if the pain were her own, which it was—what one felt, the other sensed. “I won’t mention such things.”
    “I’ll not be coddled,” he growled.
    “You let Morigan tend to you,” she retorted.
    “She healed me.” He narrowed his eyes. “Are you jealous? She and I haven’t been Oathbound for near a century.”
    “Yet her bed is not unfamiliar to you.” Yasine toyed with one of the braids in his beard. He opened his mouth, but fell silent at a twinkle in her eye “Why would I be jealous of a woman who has taken three Oaths with you? A woman who has born your children? How can I feel anything but gratitude towards Morigan, who loves and cares for you when I cannot?”
    For Oenghus, who had spent the majority of this life in ignorance, the long separation was not as keen, but he could feel the ache in the Sylph’s heart.
    “I like Morigan,” she smiled. “I always have. She is one of my favored in this realm and one of the few who has put up with you. Not an easy feat.”
    “It’s my cock.”
    She laughed, a musical, wonderful sound that bridged the years. Oenghus let himself remember the last time he had heard her laugh, and his heart ached. As he had that day, in another Age, of another name, he never wanted to let her go—never wanted to leave their bed. With mist in his eyes, he cupped her face, tracing the curve of her ears, and she nuzzled her forehead against his beard. His chest shuddered with control.
    “You know I can’t stay in this realm long,” she breathed, lips brushing his skin, her tears mingling with his. “As you said, every day is a risk.”
    “Then why risk yourself at all?”
    “I’ve told you.”
    “A child—yes, and nothing else.”
    “Do you remember the first time you spoke to me?”
    For her, he spoke the words of another; the dead god whose spirit resided in his flesh. “ I am the lightning, I am the crag and the rocks and the raging storms. I am the sea and its roar. ”
    When his voice grew gruff with pain, she finished for him, “ I am passion and fire, and everything you cannot control. ” Her fingers brushed through his hair, soothing the pain in his heart. “Your spirit is worn, my love. Although formidable, you are but a shadow of what you once were. And yet, still, after all these Ages, from one life to the next, I cannot tame you.”
    Oenghus untangled himself from her embrace, and sat up. “But you come and you tell me not to act—to stand aside. You ask the impossible,” he snarled.
    He felt her rise. A gentle hand touched his back, as light as a feather’s brush on his recent injuries. “I do not ask it for myself, Oenghus. I ask it for our child. I have made many mistakes. The more I try to interfere, the more I fight the Void, the worse it becomes. You were not here for the Shattering—for our daughter’s death.” He cocked his head, as if the tilt would dislodge a memory. But the veil remained. “Your spirit was greatly damaged after your fight with Karbonek. I feared you would not return, and you did not, for many, many long years.” Though he did not