Smoke curls behind my eyelids when I blink. Not real smoke - memory-smoke, battlefield ash clinging to armor made from raven feathers. My armor. Not mine. His.
The vision slams into me like a blade between the ribs.
A woman with Brigid’s face stands atop a mound of corpses, a crown of bones gleaming wet. The Raven King’s hands—my hands, but thicker, scarred—reach for her. Their mouths meet over a dead man’s shield. Her fingers dig into his throat hard enough to bruise. The kiss tastes like copper and conquest.
“You see?” The Raven King’s voice grates through my skull.“This is what you deny us. What we were. What we are.”
Brigid’s body presses against mine in the present. The Morrigan’s lips brush my jaw, then my mouth.“Let him rise. Let us love.”
My fingers tighten on her waist. The Raven King surges forward, hungry. His desire crashes over me, his instinctual hunger merging with my own until I can no longer tell where he ends and I begin. My skin burns, every nerve ending on fire.
Our lips meet in a bruising clash. It's not gentle or loving, but uninhibited and desperate, centuries of longing unleashed. Her teeth scrape my lower lip, drawing blood. The coppery taste mingles on our tongues as I plunge deeper, devouring her mouth.
My hands roam Brigid's body, now possessed by the Morrigan. I cup her breasts roughly, feeling her nipples harden beneath my palms. She arches into me, a low moan escaping her throat. Her nails rake down my back, leaving trails of fire in their wake.
I’m vaguely aware of Lochan stepping towards me, his blade out. My palm flattens against his sternum instead, shoving him back with enough force to make him stumble.
We break apart, panting. The Morrigan's eyes flash with triumph and lust. "Yes," she hisses. "Let go. Give in to us."
Then I see it. The briefest of flashes. A plea for help, in the Brigid’s eyes. It’s gone in an instant. But it’s enough. I push the Raven King’s memories back. I push him back.
“Fuck your divine prophecy.” Blood drips from my lip.“I’d rather let that asshole kill me.” I nod in Lochan’s direction.
The Morrigan stumbles. Brigid’s stolen face twists.
Lochan barks a laugh behind me.“That’s it, Marius. Piss off the death goddess. Solid strategy.”
The Raven King howls through my nervous system, claws scrabbling at the cage of my ribs. He shows me more—a bedchamber draped in shadows, the Morrigan laughing as she pins his wrists with silk chains. A twilight grove where they carved their initials into each other’s thighs with daggers. Centuries of obsession distilled into perfect, fucked-up clarity.
I dig fingernails into my palms until the skin splits.“You’re pathetic,” I spit, unsure who I’m addressing.“Both of you. Grabbing at children because you’re too weak to rot alone.”
Brigid’s eyes flicker again. Just a tremor, but I catch it—the barest flutter of lashes. The Morrigan grabs her own wrist, nails drawing blood.
“Enough.” The goddess’s voice shakes the warehouse walls.“Your defiance is tedious. I’ll peel your mind apart joint by—”
“Little bird.”
The nickname slips out, whispered, unplanned.
Brigid’s head snaps sideways like I slapped her. The Morrigan’s snarl cuts off mid-word.
“That’s right.” I step into her space, heedless of the dark energy crackling around us. My thumb swipes the blood staining her lips, Brigid’s lips. My blood.
Brigid’s mouth moves. Not the Morrigan’s sneer. Hers. A choked sound emerges, half sob, half scream. The goddess reels back like I shoved a stake through her chest.
“You—” Her stolen voice cracks. Shadows boil up from the concrete floor, tendrils lashing at my ankles.“Impudent maggot. You think pet names unravel eons? Change fate?”
The Raven King surges against my spine in a silent roar. His rage permeates my bones. He wants to carve through muscle and sinew, puppet my limbs into embracing her. I let him push. Let him strain. Then slam the mental gates shut.
Lochan’s knife presses cold against my lower back. A reminder. A promise.
The Raven King claws at my diaphragm. She is ours, he snarls inside my skull. Ours to claim.
I swipe sweat from my eyes. Lochan’s blade bites deeper. Good. Keeps me sharp.“You’re nothing but ghosts.”
The Morrigan freezes. Brigid’s gray eyes widen—panic. A twitch. A fracture.
Tiernan coughs wetly from the corner.“Is now a bad time to suggest exorcism?”
