Jan Delima - Celtic Moon

Matthew had always, always been kind to her.

However, on a matter that concerned a world she knew little about, it was not a difficult decision to give her trust to the only person who had more invested in her son’s welfare other than herself.

“It was a gift,” she said, relying on her most valued asset— honesty . “From my employer. He gave it to me this morning. He told me not to open it until I arrived here.” She held up her hand, showing him the cut on her palm. “I had no idea this was a weapon until I tried to get it off.”

Dylan reached out and grabbed her hand, examining the fresh cuts. “Is that who you were calling earlier?”

“You were watching me on the porch?” Sophie fumed at his narrowed expression. Of course he’d been watching her. There were probably others out there now, still watching. “Yes,” she confirmed, “I was calling Matthew.” Dylan glowered at her. “And you need to direct your anger elsewhere because I’ve done nothing intentionally dishonest. I had no idea Matthew was a part of”—she waved her hand around in a frantic gesture—“of this! Of your world! I’m here for our son. I would do nothing to harm him, or those who would protect him.”

“I’m not angry with you, woman! I’m . . .” Dylan sighed, running his hands over his face. His chest rose and fell on several pronounced breaths that slowly evened out. “Truth be told, I find I’m hard-pressed to hold my anger . . . when I can still taste you on my tongue.” A slight grin tugged at his lips at her annoyed gasp. “What was your Matthew’s explanation when you called?”

“I didn’t speak with him,” she clipped. “His recording’s been changed. I left two messages.”

He searched her face, trying, she supposed, to discern honesty over deceit. He must have come to a satisfactory conclusion because his stance relaxed. “It needs blood.”

Surely she hadn’t heard him correctly . . . “Excuse me?”

Dylan reached out to snag the head of the serpent, but the instant his hand touched metal with aggressive intent it was repelled—and Sophie sucked in her breath as currents of energy screamed through her nerves, pulses of heat from her stomach to her fingertips.

“What the hell was that?” she asked through clenched teeth.

“I don’t know.” Dylan stared down at his hand, flexing his fingers. “I’ve never touched the serpent before.”

“It didn’t like it,” she said, elevating the object to an anthropomorphic status.

“It allows you to touch it.” If it hadn’t been laced with concern, his accusation would have annoyed her.

“I know. I’m wearing the thing,” she pointed out. “I just don’t know how to get it off.”

His lips thinned at her sarcasm. “There should be a latch just between the serpent’s eyes . . . a feeding source. It needs blood to release.”

“You’re serious?” At his glare, she tentatively felt around the serpent’s head, tensed for another shock. When nothing happened, she stroked her thumb between its clear-jeweled eyes, and felt a sharp catch. “I found something. Now what do I do?”

“Feed it your blood.”

Feed it my blood. “Yeah . . . okay ,” she coached herself, and then again, “okay,” as if repeating the word would somehow make it so.

Like pulling off a bandage, swift and sure, she impaled her thumb on the protruding latch, and then inhaled a shaking breath as currents once again coursed through her veins, only this time they were warm, comforting , a nurturing sensation, as if nursing a child. “Okay . . . that’s really weird.”

A growl came from Dylan as he reached out.

“Don’t touch me,” she warned, sensing if he did so the warmth would turn to pain.

He pulled back, letting his hand drop to his side, fisted in frustration.

Feeling both awed and repelled, she watched as twin diamonds slowly turned burgundy. The clasp released with a soft click as the serpent opened its mouth and fell from her waist in a tangled heap about her feet.

She stepped over the crumpled metal. “How did you know?”

“I know its owner,” he said in a quiet voice. “What does your Matthew look like?”

Sophie walked over to the counter and found a roll of paper towels, tore off a section, and wrapped it around her throbbing thumb. “Will you go after him?”

“If Matthew is who I think he is, your concern is unwarranted. He would look like he’s in his young twenties. Blond hair. A woman once likened the color of his eyes to that of a robin’s egg.”

“You know him then?” Her eyes narrowed. “Is he a friend of yours?”

Dylan snorted. “Your Matthew has no friends that I’m aware of.”

She had another thought. “Is he your enemy?”

He didn’t answer immediately, giving the question ample consideration. “No. But he isn’t a man who gives gifts without expecting something in return.”

His evasive answers tried her patience. “What are you not telling me?”

“There are things at play here that you have yet to understand.”

“Nothing has changed here, has it?” She bent down to retrieve the serpent from the floor. The weapon had been given to her and she fully intended to keep it. Dylan watched her gently coil the serpent in her hands, glaring as she went through the motions unaffected. “I’m still being watched . . . and you’re still keeping secrets.”

“Sophie . . .” Dylan stilled her with a hand on her arm as she turned toward the bedroom. “Are you truly ready to know everything? Do you think you can handle the truth?”

She rolled her arm out of his grasp. “Keep me in darkness and the only thing I want to do is run.”

His jaw clenched. “What do you want to know?”

“You can start by telling me who Matthew is to you.”

His lips pressed in a thin line. She turned her back on his silence and walked to the bedroom, cautious as she placed the serpent back in the golden box. Dylan allowed her to go, watching her from the hallway.

He was pacing when she returned, his movements sharp as he stopped to stand in front of her. “I know him as Taliesin.” His tone was blunt, spoken like a challenge, as if he dared her to doubt him. “He is the son of Ceridwen. And he is the reason I exist.”

“Ceridwen?” She tried to keep the skepticism from her voice but failed. “As in the Pagan goddess of Celtic mythology?”

His lips tilted upward, mocking. “You’d be surprised what walks among us that most humans believe to be myth.”

Ah, no, she wouldn’t.

“I believe in God,” Sophie said, compelled by doubt, or perhaps guilt, to profess her faith.

He gave a weary sigh. “As do many of my kind. There are those among us who were alive when the world went dark on the death of your Christian God’s son. There are those among us who feel we are indeed the forsaken children of the underworld.”

“I don’t believe that.” Sophie shook her head. “Joshua is your son. And he is not a child of the underworld. He is everything wonderful and good.”

He smiled at her, as if her conviction had soothed some unseen hurt. “Then use whatever name makes you more comfortable . . . God, Buddha, Mother Earth, Great Spirit, Gici Niwaskw, Brahman . . . Allah . Good and evil, heaven and hell, earth and the otherworld . . . I have come to understand that we are the pawns of a much higher existence. And all that’s different between us and humans is that our kind has been given a greater awareness of the other side.”

Sophie took a deep breath, able to accept that explanation without forsaking her own beliefs. “And you think Matthew is this Taliesin?”

Dylan nodded toward the box that sat on her bureau, its carvings visible through the doorway like a gilded affirmation. “He is the only person I’ve seen wearing that weapon. And it would explain a great deal . . .” His voice trailed off. “I have always wondered why I could never find you.”