All thanks to Jaden.
“One drop is as good as total.”
He winced. Of course it was. He should know that by now. “Then give him to me. I’ll raise him.”
Her eyes flared with angry passion. “I’d sooner cut his throat the moment he’s born.”
“Then you are planning to keep him?”
She shook her head. “I’m planning to put him where you’ll never find him. Hopefully, he’ll be mortal and will die quickly after his birth. If not … I’ll take care of it.”
He glared at her. “That is your son you’re speaking of!”
“What would you have me do? Suckle it on the milk of a goddess? To what purpose? To strengthen it?”
Those words cut him to the quick. “Brigid …” He moved to touch her.
She quickly stepped away and raked him with a bitter hatred that scorched his soul. “Never touch me again. Go to Noir and tell him you have failed. Neither of you will ever take possession of this child.”
And with that, she was gone.
Brigid returned to her chambers as her fear and loathing warred with the love she felt for both the demon who’d seduced her and the child he’d given her.
How could she have been so foolish? But then that was Thorn’s greatest power. The ability to deceive and to make his enemies trust him when they shouldn’t.
Aye, he was a dodgy bastard. And she’d been so lonely these years since her husband had been slain. Her grief had made her weak. And she’d longed for comfort and companionship.
There for a time, she’d thought Thorn the most perfect man ever born, and he’d eased the constant agony in her heart. Had filled her days and nights with such great happiness.
Until she’d learned who and what Thorn really was.
Who he served.
Noir. The oldest, darkest primal power of evil. The essence of the worst of all kind. Closing her eyes, she placed her hand over her stomach where her son was barely the size of a bean.
“In your heart, you will have the ability to do the greatest of good.”
Or the worst of all evil.
“What troubles you, daughter?”
She turned at the melodic sound of her mother’s voice. In the form of a maiden, the Mórrígan was as beautiful as always.
Her raven dark hair was braided around her head in an intricate pattern.
Before she could stop herself, she ran to her mother and held her close. “What have I done?”
“What we’ve all done at times. You followed your heart, and it led you somewhere you didn’t want to go.” Her mother placed her hand to Brigid’s stomach. “Breathe, daughter. All will be right.”
“Do you know that, or do you believe that?”
“Is there a difference? We make our own truth with what we believe.”
Brigid scowled at her. “As spoken by the goddess of fate?”
“Who better to know the truth?”
She was right, and Brigid loathed her for that. “No one can ever know who his father is.”
