Chapter 8

THE MORRíGAN

I'm torn when Ciara gets in the shower.

She's got no shyness around me, and would have stripped with me in the room if I hadn't left as fast as I could.

I might not be ready to tell her that I'm not just Red, the wolf, but that means that she can't consent to show me that which I find myself curious about.

She cries. I can hear it through the indoor waterfall, and I want to whine and paw at the door until she lets me in to comfort her, but then something shifts and I can scent her arousal in the air. I back away from the bathroom door so fast that I trip over a table and almost knock some ornaments to the floor.

If Ciara's going to… no. I can't deal with that. There're no open windows, nowhere for that enticing smell to go and I need out. I need out now.

I scrabble at the door before realizing that I can't open it. Not as a wolf.

Fuck.

Shifting is not a pleasant process. It takes energy and it has been so long since I took on my humanshape that there's an element of trepidation as I take a breath.

Closing my eyes, I concentrate, focusing on who I am in my other form. It feels almost out of reach, as if the memory has been shoved into some dark, dank corner that I'd rather forget.

That shape did not always bring me joy.

The races I was forced to run, the battles and arguments I had. The betrayals. The anger. The emotions I feel in humanshape are so much more complicated than in any of my other shapes. It carries trauma with it, and I realize, as I begin shifting, that this may be why I've avoided it for so long.

I don't want to feel that way again.

Perhaps this is why I'm so drawn to Ciara, because I see in her sorrow and pain an echo of the woman I once was, before the Veil.

When I stand on two legs, I feel wobbly, like I'm not prepared for this, but the water of the shower turns off and I know that I have minutes, if not seconds, before Ciara emerges.

I lunge for the door, and realize that in order to leave, I'll have to open the bolts and locks that she spent so long diligently checking last night.

That gives me pause. I can't do that to her. I can't leave the door unlocked behind me because I know her, like I know mine own self. Ciara will think that he has found a way in.

The handle to the bathroom turns and I dive behind the couch and will myself back into my wolfshape.

I shift with less than a second to spare as she walks in and calls out for me.

"Red? Red, where are you?"

I peek sheepishly from round the couch and she is wearing nothing but a towel.

A towel.

Her red hair is damply clinging to her skin, even now slowly forming large open curls. And her skin has a damp sheen that I am trying ever so hard to ignore.

I have to ignore it. Ignore her.

I huff and retreat behind the couch.

She laughs and goes into her bedroom to get dressed, and I huff again, this time a huff of relief. Staying here with Ciara is not a choice for me; she is mine to protect, she is my duty, especially whilst that Robert is still around. But staying feels like torture.

I hadn't considered what I would be like to see her in such a state of undress, to see that skin that I long to touch and caress and…

I feel Macha whisper in my ear. Come, sister, she needs your protection. She needs your guidance. And though I know she doesn't mean it in that way, I can sense exactly what kind of guidance I would like to give Ciara.

Being a triple goddess is complicated sometimes, when you have three temperaments all whispering in your ear at once. Badb is my warrior, avenging fury, deciding who lives and who dies. Macha is all about fertility and abundance. And Nemain is a chaotic creature; wild and unpredictable. Living with three voices in my head, being one goddess and three all at once is more complicated than anyone can ever tell.

They were quiet behind the Veil, rarely coaxed into speaking without mortals to prompt their ire or inspiration, but they are all dying to be heard now. I can sense them wrestling with each other at the back of my mind.

Badb wants me to ignore any sexual pull until we've killed Robert; Macha is in full protection mode; and Nemain? Well, Nemain just wants be to do what would be the most entertaining.

She is beautiful, sister, she says, and I roll my eyes—which is an odd sensation as a wolf.

I've missed them, though. It is very strange to go from being one of four voices to silence.

It meant that I spoke to others who were also trapped behind the Veil far more than I did when we were wildling around éire. I've never had much time for some of my fellow immortals, but the fae entertained me. Aoibheall and Cliodhna, and Maeve. The thought of Maeve brings a smile to my face. Maeve would have me shift into humanshape and walk straight into Ciara's bedroom this instant.

But I won't. I can't shock Ciara like that, and as much as I'm drawn to her, Macha is right. She needs protecting, and I can't do that from in her bed.