Her bravado was utter shit. Lucan saw it. Felt it. Wanted to get underneath it to reach the fragile woman underneath who seemed to think she was somehow too damaged for him or somehow not good enough. Impatience chafed him, but he swallowed it down. She needed time to heal, his attention, and the certainty he would be there, no matter what. No way could he convince her of all that in a day or two.
“The first component to undoing Merlin’s spell is someone from his bloodline.” As Ice stood to his full height, wrapped his arm more tightly around his mate, and glared across the room, Bram calmed the big warrior immediately. “I’ll take that. There’s no need for Sabelle to be involved.” As Ice relaxed back at his mate’s side, the lovely blonde witch nudged his shoulder with a scowl.
Olivia grabbed Merlin’s book. “The next component is trickier. The blood of someone from Nimue’s line.”
“Nimue? Who is that?” Duke asked. “Sometimes, I bloody hate that I didn’t grow up magical. Sorry I’m so far behind.”
Bram sent him a grim smile. “Nimue is otherwise known as Viviene. Most commonly known as The Lady of the Lake, the witch who was Merlin’s student and lover, who eventually tricked him into his tomb. Finding someone of her ancient bloodline will be difficult.”
Tabitha shoved herself up from the sofa, her swelling belly more pronounced every day as Raiden’s youngling grew within her. “I think I can help there. My father, before he was killed, updated a document filled with magickind’s most sacred bloodlines, including Nimue’s. He didn’t publish it, so we have an advantage there. Morganna won’t know where to look.” She gestured to a thick, yellowing book her mate currently held on his lap. “I’m glad you told me to bring this, Olivia. Keep talking. I’ll continue looking. My father handwrote most of this, but I think I’ve nearly figured it out.”
The Doomsday Brethren’s leader smiled her way, then Raiden helped her back to her seat. Before anyone could even resume speaking, the crafty redhead was flipping pages again, the paper occasionally scraping against her protruding belly.
“While she looks for that, I’ll tell you about the last requirement of Merlin’s to release the potion,” Olivia continued. “There’s a reference here to the second washerwoman. Whatever that is, we must have one of those.”
Lucan frowned. “What does that mean?”
“A banshee,” Anka whispered fearfully from the back of the room. And no wonder, the nomadic women who roamed the earth washing the bloody clothes of those about to die, singing the death wail, were feared by all.
He spun his head around to stare at his former mate. She hadn’t spoken a word since this meeting began. Why give voice to her thoughts now? And how did she know the answer?
“Anka is right,” Bram said. “But not just any banshee. I remember Merlin telling me that there are three types: the maiden, the mother, and the crone. This is where the spell gets difficult. In addition to the blood of someone from Merlin and Nimue’s lines, we need the second generation in a banshee line, so one who is also a mother. She wards off the spirits guarding the potion.”
“What?” Lucan completely lost his patience. “Is that even possible? Weren’t the banshees obliterated hundreds of years ago? The few who weren’t killed by the paranoid Council idiots ended their own lives, rather than endure public execution. I’ve heard rumors that a few still exist…but I would never have stopped Anka’s training for this meeting if I’d known you were basically looking for the impossible.”
“Sounds like the equivalent of an Elvis sighting to us humans,” Sydney piped up.
Bram shot her a disapproving glare. “It’s improbable, Lucan, but not impossible. We must keep looking or we’ll never be rid of Morganna.”
Into the momentary silence, Tabitha gasped, going utterly white. “I found Nimue’s bloodline!”
“Well?” Bram prompted impatiently.
“Lucan’s right. This isn’t possible.”
“Supposedly opening Morganna’s tomb and resurrecting her was impossible, too, but here we are dealing with the bitch. So tell us. Who do we know that’s a descendant of Nimue?”
“There is only one living member of the line.” She placed a trembling hand over her belly, Raiden wrapped his fingers around hers, giving a soft squeeze of comfort. “It’s Mathias. To end Morganna, we’re going to have to undertake a dangerous hunt for a banshee…and make a deal with the devil.”
Chapter Six
Anka fidgeted. Lucan’s watchful gaze never strayed. She schooled her face impassively as talk of teaming up with Mathias and capturing a banshee continued. Her heart froze up, failing to beat for long minutes. Oh, God. She didn’t want to dance with the devil. Facing him again would be hard enough, but being his partner would be impossible. But Mathias wasn’t her only worry.
For Anka’s entire childhood, her mother had harangued her daily about keeping their deadly bloodline a secret. Don’t trust anyone, girl. And definitely don’t ever sing.
If people knew the truth, she could be hunted, incarcerated, killed. Every day, she thanked their Creator that being a blend of other species didn’t reflect on a magical signature. Banshee camps weren’t that distant a memory, historically speaking. Hunted by paranoid witches and wizards in their remote banshee villages, the women had been captured en masse for centuries and dragged away from all civilization. Their mouths were always magically sewn shut forever. Often, they were slaughtered. Entire generations of banshees perished together. Her grandmother had given her life so that her mother could escape such a camp. Eventually, her mother had mated with a wizard, kept her secret to the grave, and made Anka promise to do the same. And in the century she’d been mated to Lucan, she had never once given him any reason to suspect just what blood ran in her veins.
But now…she hesitated. Would telling her friends her secret help them end Morganna, so they could ultimately turn their focus on Mathias again? She wanted that bastard gone so badly, would give anything to see the scum who’d torn apart her life defeated and dead. She’d risk exposing herself, seeing horror and pity on the faces of all she’d called friends for centuries. She’d even risk being ostracized for the rest of her life. But if she spoke now, Lucan would forever know that she was as inferior as she felt. He’d never touch her again. And maybe that was better for him.
No. That was definitely better for him.
Anka opened her mouth. Then she closed it. After keeping a secret like this from Lucan for over a century, if she revealed it now, he would feel completely betrayed. The thought of hurting him more stabbed her like a physical ache. And ultimately, revealing her tainted bloodline could do nothing to help them retrieve Morganna’s potion simply because, while banshee blood ran through her veins, she wasn’t a second washerwoman. She wasn’t a mother. Not that she and Lucan hadn’t tried in all their years together to conceive. It hurt to, once again, be useless.
“Do you have something to add, Anka?” Bram asked from across the room.
“No.” She avoided looking at anyone.
Unless she could be helpful to the cause, this shame was hers—and hers alone—to bear.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Lucan. He watched her with a slight frown wrinkling his brow, as if trying to figure her out. He wanted inside her head. She didn’t dare let him. Later, she’d worry about how much she’d inadvertently revealed today or why he’d changed from the tender mate she’d known to the delicious alpha male who’d made her knees go weak with nothing more than a firm tone. He hadn’t mentioned her bruises again, but she’d wondered what he must be thinking. Was he revolted…or curious? Did he want to try that with her?