Morrigan Jonathan King (e reading malayalam books TXT) 📖

definitely like Morrigan; maybe more than that. And I’d trust any of them to save my life. But I don’t know that I trust any of them with this. Not yet. They’re friends, but they’re not family. Not like Mom.

I need to get out of here. Or I need someone to be worth staying for. Or I need … something I haven’t even thought of yet. I have to believe you’re already working on it, though. You’ve got this under control.

And now I’ll repeat that to myself until I believe it.

Thanks, God. Abel out.

19

The next few hours passed with mind-numbing lack of speed. Abel flipped through channels on the TV for a while, but it only made his brain feel fuzzier than it already was. He watched the lights buzz around the ceiling, wondering if they were electric or magical. For all he knew, they might be literal fairy lights. But he could only speculate for so long before boredom took over again.

Mac had slammed the door to his bedroom long ago, but the rest of the safe house was wide open, so Abel went exploring. There was the kitchen, of course, which he spent some time cleaning up because he might as well. There were several bedrooms besides Mac’s, functionally identical besides a portrait in one of a young red-haired man about Abel’s age dressed in tartan and armor. Past boyfriend of Morrigan? Or more likely he’s related to Brigid, since it’s her safe house. Wonder how? He spent some time in the walk-in closet finding a shirt in his size and then playing dress-up with some more bizarre accessories, including a beat-up fedora, a kilt, and a twelve-foot scarf. But even that lost its charm after a while.

The front door was right across from him as he left the closet. No one was watching. He could walk right out and no one would be the wiser. No one would come looking for him. He could be on a bus headed across the country in a matter of hours.

Instinct kicked in, and his feet carried him to the exit stairs. Then he stopped, staring down. Twelve steps. Just twelve steps down, and he’d be free again.

But he wouldn’t get to say goodbye to Morrigan.

That shouldn’t be enough to stop him, but it was. Abel spun on his heel, walked back to the couch, and plopped down face first with a groan. He was giving up his freedom for a girl. A goddess, sure, but a girl. It was absurd.

It was as natural as his heartbeat.

Besides, he’d seen Cora’s face that night. He’d heard Morrigan’s stories and he’d seen her thugs. This wasn’t the kind of woman who forgave. It was the kind of woman who would chase you across the country just for the pleasure of ripping your heart out of your chest.

Abel lay still and silent … and in the silence, he heard muffled voices. He looked up at Mac’s closed door. The sea god was the only other one here. Who was he talking to?

He tried to resist, but curiosity got the better of him. He crept to the door and gently tried the knob. It was unlocked, and he opened it just wide enough to peek through, praying the hinges wouldn’t creak.

Mac sat at a desk with his back to the door, facing a laptop computer. Abel could just see over the captain’s shoulder, where a golden-haired woman peered out from the screen. She looked middle-aged, but even through the pixilation, Abel could see a youthful glow about her.

“All these years and you can finally bring her home,” the woman said, with an even stronger Irish accent than Brigid or Mac. “Now you want to wait?”

“If only it were that simple,” said Mac. “Cora and her allies are still after us. It’s not safe to move. We have to wait until she cools off.”

“Cora or Morrigan?” the woman asked. “I remember what she’s like. She’ll be bent on vengeance, no mistake.”

Mac sighed. “It may be awhile before I can talk her out of it.”

“You won’t. She’s even more stubborn than you are. You could be there for another two hundred years.”

“If that’s what it takes,” Mac snapped, and then he sagged and massaged his temples. “Oh Fand, you know there’s nowhere I’d rather be than in your arms right now, but if I walk away now, Morrigan and the lad are both dead. I’ve lost too many people. I can’t lose anyone else.”

Fand sighed. “I know. They’re in good hands with you; I know that. But make sure you don’t lose yourself holding onto them. I love Morrigan and want her home, but I love you more.”

Mac smiled, kissed the tips of his fingers, and pressed them to the image of the woman’s lips.

“You know from my point of view you just touched something below the screen, right?”

“Feckin’ humans,” Mac swore. “If I’d invented video chat, you’d be able to interact physically with the people on the other side of the screen.”

“You can tinker with it when you get back,” said Fand.

“The day after I get back,” Mac corrected. “The first day is all about you and the kids. Give my love to Niamh and Áine, but keep the queen’s portion of it for yourself.”

“I always do.” Fand winked, and the screen went blank.

“Goodnight, Fand,” Mac whispered. Then, suddenly aware of another presence, he spun around.

“Sorry,” Abel apologized quickly, stepping into the room with his hands raised. “I shouldn’t have listened. I heard talking, and—”

“You were curious.” Mac shook his head, a tired smile on his lips. “I of all people understand that.” He nodded to the bed, and Abel took a seat.

“So the gods have families, huh?”

“Aye, this one does.” Mac’s eyes turned misty. “One I haven’t seen in the flesh for two hundred years. We kept in touch through letters, then phone calls, then emails, and now video chat. Technology’s a miracle, much as I keep thinking I can improve it.” He turned