Morrigan Jonathan King (e reading malayalam books TXT) 📖

crimson fall spewed forth from her stomach. The gods took shelter, but Abel, too stunned to move, got splattered in dragon blood.

“Ugh, not again,” he groaned, slinging the hot, foul fluid off as best he could, and wiped his eyes clear.

And that’s when he saw the dragon falling straight for him.

Abel dropped Fragarach and dove sideways as the Caorthannach plummeted to earth. The ground shook. Gravestones cracked beneath her bulk. Dust rose, and when it cleared, the dragon was gone. In her place were two figures.

One was something between human and dragon, naked and contorted, with green wrinkled skin, long clawed fingers that clutched at her gaping stomach, and red eyes that darted about, asking for mercy. That must be Cora, Abel thought. Is that what she really looks like?

But he didn’t have time to wonder. The other figure stood up, and even covered in blood and bile, she was all too familiar.

“Morrigan!” Abel ran to her and threw his arms around her. “I thought I’d lost you this time.”

“Nah,” said Morrigan. “Just taking the battle to a different front.”

“Glad to see you alive, dear heart,” said Brigid, hugging them both despite the blood that rubbed off on her overalls.

Mac joined in the group hug, crushing them all in his arms. “They’re all dead or gone, lass. You’re safe.”

Morrigan pulled away. “Not quite.” She picked up her sword and turned to the Cora creature, or the Caorthannach, or whatever it was.

Cora looked up at her, burning eyes round. She opened her mouth, and blood dripped from her lips. “I … love … you…” she choked out.

Morrigan’s body turned rigid, her breathing fast. Her eyes burned with a green fire that Abel had never seen before. With a scream of pure rage, Morrigan drove the blade of her sword through Cora’s face. Again. And again. And again and again and again, until the skull beneath was in shards and the features were pulp. And still she stabbed and stabbed and hacked and screamed until her energy was spent, until her voice ran raw and the sword dropped from her hands and she fell to her knees.

Abel felt cold. That kind of rage, of pure hatred … seeing it come from someone he loved, it scared him more than all the dragons and vampires and headless horsemen in the world. Even the gods looked disturbed. This wasn’t battle. It wasn’t even execution. It was the worst kind of retribution.

When silence and stillness fell at last, Abel took a tentative step forward and put a hand on Morrigan’s shoulder. She looked up at him, and the fire was gone, extinguished by tears.

“It’s over,” she croaked. She shook beneath his hand. “It’s finally over.”

Abel wrapped her in his arms and held her close as the tightness faded from her muscles, as the struggle of two hundred years finally ended and she could relax once more, and she wept from exhaustion and joy and a million other emotions he couldn’t identify and she likely couldn’t either. And he cried too, cried for the girl she could have been if Cora had never entered her life, for new beginnings, for the second chance his father never got to live out.

Morrigan’s sobs turned to laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Abel asked.

“Why is it always this way?” Morrigan said. “You and me, covered in blood.”

Abel chuckled. “That’s the kind of dates we go on, I guess.”

They helped each other up, and Morrigan took his hand. “Come on. I’ve got something I want to show you. We’ll be right back,” she added to Mac and Brigid.

“Take your time,” said Mac. “Nothing to fear now, is there?”

Morrigan led Abel through the graveyard, stopping by the Dullahan’s discarded biker clothing. “I thought I heard that thing say something during the fight, right before I sliced my way free.”

“That was me,” said Abel. “I used Fragarach to make him say Cora’s real name, so she’d die.”

Morrigan smiled. “Not bad. But I’m still taking credit for the kill.” She picked up the leather jacket and slipped it over her bloodstained clothes. “I’m also taking this. Battle trophy. And I like the way it looks on me.”

As she studied the fit of the jacket, Abel wandered over to the grave where the Dearg-Due was buried and kneeled by the fresh-packed dirt. Nothing stirred underneath, but he knew she was still there, and he guessed she was still listening.

“I was wrong,” he whispered into the earth. “He would still love you, even now.”

“Friend of yours?” Morrigan asked, coming up behind him.

“Enemy,” said Abel. “But I figured I should say my goodbyes.”

Morrigan pulled him to his feet, keeping hold of his hand. “My thoughts exactly.” She led him to the crypt where the Sluagh had emerged and disappeared again. Her free hand touched the rusted-shut door, and it swung open at her touch, revealing only darkness inside. “Hold tight.”

They stepped inside, and the world dropped out from beneath them.

31

When Abel’s stomach found its way back into place and he could see clearly again, he found his surroundings uncomfortably familiar.

“This is the Rest Stop of the Afterlife,” he said, gazing around at the projection-screen mist.

Morrigan squinted at the image and then nodded. “It’s a lot of things, but to you, yeah, that’s exactly what it is.”

“I’m not dead again, am I?”

Morrigan laughed. “No, I brought you here alive this time. Sort of ‘Take Your Boyfriend to Work Day.’”

“Shouldn’t you rest?” Abel asked. “That was some battle you just went through. You’ve got to be exhausted.”

“I’ll rest when all the people who died on my watch, the people she robbed of their rightful eternity, are resting too.” Morrigan marched toward the rest area. “I made a promise long ago, and I intend to keep it.”

As they approached the building, though, they heard raised voices and the smack of fists and feet on flesh. Morrigan raced through the sliding doors to see a mob crowded around someone on the ground, attacking the victim with all the hatred they could muster.

“Get