He gave her a defeated smile. “And unfortunately, the Earth needs both light and darkness to thrive.”
She started to reply but found she could not argue, and he slid his fingers up under her hair to cup her face. She froze, unable to pull away from his adoring gaze.
“Goodnight, Morrigan,” he whispered, running his thumb gently along the line of her jaw as if wishing it was his lips. Then he withdrew, disappearing before either of them could make a decision they would regret.
“Goodnight, Lucius,” she sighed, and headed back to her room.
CHAPTER 5
THE REBEL
lucius
“I just remember her,” he shrugged. “At the risk of sounding like a dreadful romantic, my first memory is seeing eyes as blue as the sky. Then she was gone, like a bolt of lightning that lands right in front of you only to disappear and resurface miles away. She was always running, always hiding. I was intrigued by her immediately, but I never saw much of her until the humans decided to make us their gods of death, forcing us to be together.” He looked away, as if lost in thoughts of regret. “Do not misunderstand, I wanted her all the time, but I was filled with rage that transcended all else. It was hard to appreciate anything when I was so blinded by hatred. Even still, I tried.”
Lucius saw himself as Set, remembering what it was like to be driven by unbridled toxicity as he stormed into the Egyptian palace, a blaze of fury. “Where is she?” he demanded as soon as he saw Osiris, who sat on his throne as if waiting for him to arrive. As much as he tried to be at peace with his brother, the mere sight of Osiris sent him into a state. He couldn’t stand the way he looked down at him, even though they were equals, how he was hailed as the Great One, the beloved Osiris, while he was left behind in the shadows. Seeing him now when he was already incensed did not help.
“You need to leave her be,” Osiris told him, rising to his feet.
Lucius scoffed, incredulous at the thought. “How dare you tell me how I should behave with my wife.”
Osiris put up both his hands as a signal of peace. “Calm yourself, brother. I know you both have been quarreling, the entire Earth has been in an uproar because of it. You are gods—you affect the humans when you argue. You both created a storm so intense, it flooded a nearby valley—set trees on fire.”
“I could care less about the humans!” Lucius spat. “I want my wife back.”
The twins suddenly appeared from behind where Osiris stood. Lucius lunged for Nephthys, but Osiris swiftly blocked him. “She does not want to return with you. You must give her time.”
Lucius shook with anger, imagining what it would be like to tear his brother limb from limb. “You do not get to speak for her.”
“Set, please,” Isis’s soft voice broke through. “Just leave her be for a while. I am sure she will return in time.”
He managed to find Nephthys’s eyes between the bodies blocking him from her, but the icy blue orbs were cold and unforgiving. She did not speak, her arms crossed in front of her as she looked away.
Maybe she did just need to calm down, he convinced himself. “I will be back in one day,” he growled at Isis and Osiris as he marched out.
“Lucius,” Libraean interrupted.
He blinked, snapping out of the memory to see that he’d lit one of the gas lamps completely on fire. He hurried to put it out, sheepishly turning back to the now apprehensive creature sitting across from him. “Perhaps we should discuss something else.”
Libraean nodded without hesitation, straightening his glasses as he cleared his throat. “I have enough of the beginning filled in that we can move past it,” he agreed.
“You spoke to Morrigan?”
“Yes,” he replied, hesitantly, as he turned the pages in Lucius’s book. “But what I would like to learn more about is the time between your first days in the realm of Tartarus until you rose up as Lucius the immortal blood drinker. Those make up the bulk of the blank pages in your memoirs.”
“Ah,” Lucius settled back down in his seat. “I think I can handle speaking about that time in my life.” He closed his eyes, unwilling to divulge everything, but letting his mind decide where to begin. There it was—Ireland. ANCIENT IRELAND, 200 BC
He awoke with a start.
Immediately, he reached up to feel his face, his fingertips meeting a prickle of a beard spread along his cheeks. A breeze colder than he’d remembered from his last time on Earth came through the opening of the shabby tent he found himself in. The sound of men conversing drifted in with the smell of freshly dampened dirt and meat cooking over a campfire. He took a moment to let everything sink in. He’d done it—he had taken over the body of a human.
He lifted up his fur blanket to see pale muscular legs dusted with freckles, his shirt streaked with mud and grime. The clothes the man had fought in were hanging up to dry, and underneath them, a variety of weapons and boots were laid sloppily across the earth.
A soldier appeared at the opening of his tent, speaking to him in Gaelic. Lucius tried to focus on the language he’d thoroughly studied but never spoke, realizing the man was telling him there was food ready if he was hungry. He grunted his thanks, observing his voice was now low and graveled. He waited until the man disappeared before rising from his sleeping area and throwing on the clothes. He shivered, realizing the fur he had slept under doubled as a cloak. He grabbed it, as well as the man’s sword, before strapping his boots to his feet and withdrawing from his tent.
Although the night was crisp, the many fires crackling around him brought warmth to the camp; some of the men rested in tents, others content to sleep under the stars. They seemed to be enjoying their moment of rest, letting him know the battle recently fought had been won. No one questioned him as he made his way past, heading towards the black woods that hummed not far behind camp. The moon was dark, but the sky was filled with stars, casting their glow onto the barren tree branches. This world was much different than he remembered—the wind robbed of heat, the incessant buzz of mosquitos replaced by the low, throaty hoot of owls, the ground soft and covered in green. He understood why she’d chosen to live there, it was magnificent.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the total darkness as he entered the woods, finding a tree stump to sit on. He slowed down his thoughts, closing his eyes and imagining her, just like he’d summoned Cerberus so many eons ago, focusing on her eyes and the feel of her hair.
“I was wondering when you’d summon me.”
Her voice was unmistakable, causing him to jump to his feet. But the woman standing behind him was not the lithe, almond-skinned Nephthys he remembered. Instead, a woman stood before him, petite but rippled with muscle, her pale skin interrupted by dark blue tattoos. Her jet-black hair was short and wild, contained only by the diadem of corvid bones that lay across her forehead. She was dressed in a tunic that had been split into two, revealing her ribs and hip bones, an angry spear in her fist and a black bird perched on her shoulder. She was scowling at him but, in that moment, all the anger he’d felt towards her melted away as he looked into her eyes—for they were the same radiant blue as his wife’s.
“You’ll be needing to do more than just stare, Cuhullin, if you want my help,” she said coldly, reminding Lucius that she was seeing a Celtic warrior, not him.
“Forgive me,” Lucius stammered, hoping he wasn’t stumbling over the language. “What must I do to earn your favor?”
She snorted. “You do not need my favor. You were so confident in your own strength before, why petition me now? Have you lost faith in yourself?”
“Perhaps,” Lucius said carefully. He hadn’t realized the body he’d chosen to invade would be a warrior that she disliked, and he deeply regretted the oversight. “I had a vision that I should summon you and ask for your forgiveness,” he lied.
“I will bestow my blessings as I see fit,” she told him. “Not because you suddenly want to repent for the slight made against me.”
Lucius tried another approach. “Where is Daghda, your husband?”
Her face darkened. “Daghda no longer has interest in war.”
