Page 8

Chapter 8

Hero’s Journey

Fenric

F enric enjoyed sitting on Cian’s lap.

Especially with drama unfolding around them. Cian’s lap was an oasis of calm in a sea of stress, anger, some fear, and a wash of nerves, a pungent combination that filled the library and told Fenric just how chaotic it was to be part of a clan where people cared about each other.

People were arguing quietly in small groups, while the others Angel had earmarked for the rescue—resurrection?—mission to get Constantine’s sire got up and left. Fenric was highly intrigued and was eager to see what happened.

“Are they always like this?” Fenric asked, rolling onto his side and looking back at Cian, tail thwacking a steady beat on Cian’s thigh.

“Sometimes they’re louder,” Cian replied in an even tone, not at all bothered by the drama. “Shall we prepare?”

Fenric didn’t have time to reply before Cian picked him up in one arm and stood, carrying him from the library and back the way they came, through the kitchen and out into the garden.

“Do you need anything from where you’re staying?” Cian asked.

“I got a room at an inn a few miles away and I don’t need anything. I’ve got my gear on me any time I leave my room.”

“Weapons, then?” Cian asked, heading down the path to the conservatory, holding Fenric in one arm while idly scratching the top of Fenric’s head with his free hand. It felt wonderful. Fenric purred in approval. He loved it when Cian pet him.

“I’ve got everything I need. Wouldn’t say no to something to eat though.”

“We’ll eat before we go,” Cian assured him. “I need to change into my leathers. We have time before we go—Connie needs to accumulate the energy to get us there.”

“Why not use the underhill?” Fenric asked as they entered the conservatory and headed for the benches and the huge trunk set to the side. Cian set him gently on the bench nearest the trunk before kneeling in front of it and opening the top.

“That may be the better option—it’ll keep Constans from overexerting himself before trying to wake his sire,” Cian said. He reached inside the trunk and pulled out a stack of form-fitting leather armor in a smokey, dark gray.

Battle armor.

Fenric walked to the end of the bench and peered down into the trunk. He saw nothing, of course, just a black void that Cian put his hands into to pull out what he needed. The blackness of the void rippled like oil but without the pearly rainbow sheen—it was a nothingness that held everything it was given.

A trunk full of ether. It allowed the twins to carry more than the trunk’s normal size and volume would otherwise allow, and it was similar to the field of ether that surrounded the bodies of sidhe, both High Court and cait-sidhe, allowing them to carry items in their personal fields of ether.

The trunk was old, old sidhe magic. Magic that changed matter into energy, and then back again. Not all that different from the magic Fenric used to change size and shape.

Where Rory wore older clothing from a time long past, Cian appeared to favor modern clothing.

Except for his armor.

Cian set aside his armor on another bench and stood, stripping off his t-shirt as he did, and tossing it to the bench. Fenric sat attentively and watched, still as a statue, as Cian stripped down to a pair of black boxer briefs and black socks. Cian was lean, built with long, defined muscles like a dancer, skin with a faint shimmer of moon dust over golden marble. His boxer briefs were tight, hugging an impressive bulge and clinging to lean thighs. His legs were as defined as his torso, long and elegant, and where others might look awkward in socks pulled high on a muscled calf, he looked sexy and dangerous.

Fenric approved, purring at the display of skin and muscle.

Cian sent him a curious glance, but didn’t pause in his movements. Sorting through the stack of armor and gear, he pulled a dark-gray silk tunic out and then pulled it over his head and tied the laces on each side, tightening the tunic to his muscled frame.

He pulled on silk shorts that fell to his knees, in the same gray as the tunic, and then over the silk, Cian pulled on padded leather pants with buckles for attaching pieces of his armor. The pants were a dark-gray leather as well, the moss green of his hair contrasting with the gray and making the green appear richer, with more depth.

Over the silk tunic Cian strapped on a molded leather breastplate, the gray leather shaped in flowing lines reminiscent of fierce wind and sharp mountain peaks that would deflect edged weapons away from his core, and spaulders that covered his shoulders too, etched in runes and ancient words of power.

The hauberk, chausses, spaulders, braces, and knee-high boots were all made of thick, molded, and carved leather pieces that were etched in runes as well, and buckled together around Cian in a simple leather harness that looked far more complicated than it was—and the end result was devastating.

Last to be put on were two scabbards hanging from his waist and attached with leather harnesses to his thighs, and from the ether Cian pulled twin silver daggers, twirling them in his hands, checking the weight and balance before glancing over each blade to look for damage. Satisfied, Cian slid the daggers in the thigh sheaths and he then double-checked all the straps and buckles holding his armor in place.

Cian was remarkably beautiful, especially when decked out for battle.

His long, moss-green hair flowed down his back, pushed back behind his ears, and Fenric found himself entranced as Cian gathered up his hair and began braiding a section of hair near his crown, pulling the strands back away from his face.

Rory and Daniel appeared out of the lush greenery, both men dressed in armor similar to Cian’s. They must have gotten ready elsewhere. Rory was dressed in gray leather identical to Cian’s in color, but the designs on the molded and carved leathers reminded Fenric of plants, vines, and flowers, though the runes were the same. Daniel was wearing plain leather armor, though it too was a dark gray, with hints of blue around the edges of the leather, the heavy stitching a dark blue as well. The former human appeared to be uncomfortable, tugging a bit at the bracers on his forearms.

“Little brother, stop fussing,” Cian gently chided as Rory came over to Cian and the trunk. Rory knelt long enough to swipe a hand through the swirling blackness, coming out with a handful of silver and leather ties and small clasps with semi-precious gems. “The armor is meant to keep you safe. You’ll get used to it soon enough.”

Rory took over the braiding for Cian, braiding the hair back and along the side of his head, keeping the hair from his face, using the myriad clasps and ties to create a simple, yet lush design that made Fenric want to touch the beautiful tresses.

Rory’s identical green hair was already tied back in a single long braided tail that flowed down his back, silver ties at the nape of his neck and at the end of the tail to keep it neat.

The entire conservatory smelled of damp stone, rich, warm earth, growing green things, and flowers, and a bit of smoke from the brazier, but underneath all that was a persistent scent of lilacs and honeysuckle. It stirred memories of long nights spent talking in front of a fire in a sea of tents, surrounded by numerous fae peoples as they prepared to run from the British army.

Cian smelled of lilacs, and Rory, honeysuckle. Whether it was natural or perfume Fenric couldn’t tell, but he didn’t care—they both smelled amazing, though Fenric preferred the cool, sharp sweetness of the lilacs. He preferred everything about Cian, frankly.

Rory put the finishing touches on Cian’s hair—only one braid, and it collected hair from the right side of his head and braided it back from his face, a thick tail falling past his shoulders, glittering with gems and silver.

“Won’t the gems catch the light in the dark?” Daniel asked. “It looks great regardless.”

“Thank you, little brother,” Cian replied, squeezing Rory’s hand in thanks before going to the brazier. “The gems and ties were bespelled in their crafting—I can dampen them as needed so I don’t glitter like a star in the night sky, giving away our position.”

“Did you make them?” Daniel asked, eyes wide and curious.

“I did,” Cian replied with a small smile and he held a hand over the fire. The flames grew smaller, the coals dying, and then it was out, a puff of smoke rising from the brazier.

Cian had pulled the air away from the fire, suffocating it. Fast and simple.

Rory flicked his hand and in it appeared his sword in its scabbard, leather harness swaying. Daniel promptly went to his husband and helped Rory attach the sword to his back for an over-the-shoulder draw.

Cian had his phone out, texting. “I’ve offered use of the underhill to take us as far as possible,” he said. “I won’t use it in combat, but we should be in and out without the Council being aware of us.” He paused, then read a return text. “They’ve accepted. Good. We’ll depart from the library.”

Cian

Cian waited in the library with his twin, Daniel, and Fenric in his cat form at his feet, waiting for the rest of the Salvatore Clan to get themselves sorted out for departure.

And for the sun to set in Armenia.

Cian checked the time on his phone, and saw it was close enough, and he nudged Rory with his elbow. Time to go, brother. Let them follow.

So impatient, Rory replied with a slightly exasperated tone. Exasperated and fond, a frequent tone from Rory. Wait for Connie.

Cian sighed quietly but remained where he was, eyeing the chattering group as they said their goodbyes.

Ricon Dumond was armed to the teeth, two swords on his back over both shoulders, and a long knife on one thigh. He wore leather and linen, a mix of dark brown and beige, and rugged leather boots up to his knees. He waited silently with Connie, arms crossed, idly observing the occupants of the room. He was over a thousand years old, a decent age for a vampire, though still quite young by Cian’s standards.

The boy, Leandro, was standing with his fathers beside the main door of the library, Ashwin and Ignacio bracing him on either side. The boy appeared worried, and he stole a glance at Cian, who arched a brow at the youngling.

Taking that as an invitation, Leandro left his fathers’ sides and hurried across the library, weaving through the assorted Salvatore clan members. He came to a stop in front of Cian. The boy was wearing a t-shirt with a cartoon dragon on it with a knight in black armor astride its back, the knight and dragon both waving rainbow flags. Cian smiled, and Leandro grinned up at him.

“Do you like my shirt?” Leandro asked in his sweet English accent.

“It’s very cool,” Cian replied, painfully aware he’d never said those words aloud in his long life. A first time for everything.

Leandro grinned up at him again, full of smiles, and then gasped as dramatically as any child when presented with an adorable animal. “A kitty!”

Cian made to step in but Leandro surprised him and instead of grabbing at Fenric, he sat on his rear right in front of the cat-sidhe and held out a hand. “Hello, kitty. I’m Leandro.”

Fenric leaned forward and sniffed before stepping toward the boy and rubbing his chin over Leandro’s hand. “Hello, Leandro. I’m Fenric.”

Leandro’s eyes went wide, gasping again. “You can talk!”

“So can you!” Fenric replied, though not as meanly as he could have, instead matching the boy’s tone.

Leandro, to his credit, didn’t get upset at the teasing, but laughed, the sound drawing attention from most of the people in the library. Turning heads and smiles broke the underlying tension in the room from the upcoming journey.

Fenric allowed himself to be petted and scratched for a long moment before retreating between Cian’s feet and sitting again. Cian reached down and held a hand out to Leandro, helping the boy to his feet.

“Are you going on the mission?” Leandro asked seriously.

“I am.”

“Oh,” Leandro frowned, then asked, “Is Eroch going too?”

Eroch was sitting beside Angel, the young dragon leaning on his brood-father as Angel spoke to Simeon and Constantine.

“Eroch is remaining here. You’ll need to keep him company,” Cian replied, making sure to keep a straight face. “He’ll be missing us, so you’ll need to keep him distracted.”

“I can do that,” Leandro replied with a very serious expression on his face. “I’ll take care of him.”

“Good.”

Leandro bit his lip. “Will you come back?”

Cian met the boy’s worried gaze. “We will be back. Maybe not for several hours, but we will be back.”

“Okay,” Leandro sighed. He darted forward and hugged Cian around the waist, arms tight. “Be careful.”

Cian, after a second, reached down and hugged the boy back, squeezing a bit until he felt Leandro let go. He straightened, and the boy beamed up at him, eyes suspiciously bright, and he then ran off back across the library to his fathers. Ashwin hugged his son, who clung to his vampire father, face pressed to his chest.

Constantine nodded to Angel and Simeon, and left the necromancer and his Elder behind and went to his mate. Ricon nodded goodbye to Angel and Simeon and headed for the arch.

Isaac clung to Constantine, and Cian turned away from the emotional goodbye, mindful of Fenric at his feet, and went to the archway that stood in the library hearth.

Rory and Daniel went to say their goodbyes. Cian and Fenric entered the temple, where a settee and a large armchair awaited them a few feet past the entrance. Cian sat on the settee, facing the arch, and waited. Fenric leapt onto the seat of the armchair, and circled a few times before curling up in a little ball of black fur.

“They part as if they’ll never see each other again,” Fenric observed quietly, eyes nearly shut, tail flicking slowly.

“They are a family, and at war,” Cian observed. “Goodbyes are important.”

“Are you not family?” Fenric asked.

Daniel and Ricon entered the temple through the arch, and Daniel answered. “Yes he is, but no one wants to overstep with Cian.” Daniel frowned at Cian and crossed his arms, Ricon appearing amused at the banter. “The others wish you luck and Angel wants you to listen to Constans.”

Cian dipped his head in acknowledgment. “I shall behave.”

Ricon laughed quietly, shaking his head.

Daniel eyed him with suspicion.

As he should.