“Whatever ’tis canna be so bad as all that.”
“Not bad so much as farfetched. My da was…odd. Touched by the fae. He spun fanciful tales, got lost in prophecies, and never quite found a place for himself in the real world. If it weren’t for our coven, we’d probably have been reduced to taking public handouts.”
“Where is he now?” Lachlan asked.
“I don’t know. He left the coven and Ireland once I was done with school. I got a job with a software design company and relocated to Inverness not long after he disappeared.”
Mauvreen had approached without him realizing it. “Your daddy was a dreamer,” she said. “He lived in his visions, but he could foretell the future and sometimes even change it a bit if he caught something in time. The blood of the Old Ones flowed in him. He never could stand modern life. All those radio waves from wireless routers and phones made his head ache. He just sort of faded away, maybe to where the Celts go when they need to find respite.”
“Aye, the Dreaming .” Britta straightened, and turned so she faced Mauvreen. “Do ye know who his mother was?”
The witch nodded curtly. “I do, but it’s Johnny’s call what to say. Even after thirty-five years—”
“Thirty-seven,” he muttered.
Mauvreen shrugged. “Little enough difference. You’re a man now. You were shamed by your father’s oddities as a youth, and you never truly believed the story of your conception and birth, yet they’re true.”
“How could you possibly know?” Jonathan asked. He’d always sidestepped Mauvreen when she wanted to talk about his origins. Maybe he should have been more aggressive about picking her brain.
“I was there when she brought you to him once you’d been weaned.” A soft smile wreathed her face. “I’d never seen Angus quite so happy. He always wanted a son, but selecting a woman, and maintaining a marriage, felt beyond him.”
“If ye doona tell me, I’ll pluck it from your mind,” Britta said, her voice sharp.
Mauvreen bristled. Jonathan felt her sheathe herself in power. “Try it, dragon shifter. Some secrets are sacred. Either he will tell you, or not.” She turned her whiskey-colored gaze on him. “Your call, Jonathan James Shea.”
He squared his shoulders. Maybe the time had come after all. He glanced from Britta to Lachlan to the blonde, Lachlan’s mate. Though she hadn’t said anything, she watched him intently. He opened his mouth, shut it again, and took a shaky breath. “This isn’t going to get any easier. I may as well just spit it out. Arianrhod. My mother was Arianrhod. According to my da, she lay with him in one of his visions. He never truly believed he’d bedded a goddess until she showed up three years later with a toddler in tow.”
Britta inhaled noisily. Lachlan cleared his throat. Jonathan felt like an idiot. They didn’t believe him, and he didn’t blame them. Who could possibly accept such a tale? “Maybe we could talk about something else,” he mumbled. “Like crafting a battle strategy so the Morrigan doesn’t catch us unaware again.”
“Aye, we need to do that, too, but this willna take but a moment.” Lachlan closed on him from one side; Britta twisted in his arms. Each placed a hand on his head.
Jonathan girded himself for blasts of power, but the dragon shifters were gentle. Power crept into him, tentative, exploring. It felt respectful. A look flowed from Britta to Lachlan. They removed their hands. She smiled broadly, stepped away, and faced him. “Aye, ’tis true.”
“See.” Mauvreen hooked an arm through his. “Told you.”
Confusion swept through him, tying his stomach into knots. “All right. Fine. But this doesn’t change a thing.”
Mauvreen looked down her nose, and he understood. Knowing for sure what and who he was changed everything.
•●•
No wonder I feel so attracted to him. He’s one of the gods, or he could be if he let himself believe in his power. Britta trained her
“Not bad so much as farfetched. My da was…odd. Touched by the fae. He spun fanciful tales, got lost in prophecies, and never quite found a place for himself in the real world. If it weren’t for our coven, we’d probably have been reduced to taking public handouts.”
“Where is he now?” Lachlan asked.
“I don’t know. He left the coven and Ireland once I was done with school. I got a job with a software design company and relocated to Inverness not long after he disappeared.”
Mauvreen had approached without him realizing it. “Your daddy was a dreamer,” she said. “He lived in his visions, but he could foretell the future and sometimes even change it a bit if he caught something in time. The blood of the Old Ones flowed in him. He never could stand modern life. All those radio waves from wireless routers and phones made his head ache. He just sort of faded away, maybe to where the Celts go when they need to find respite.”
“Aye, the Dreaming .” Britta straightened, and turned so she faced Mauvreen. “Do ye know who his mother was?”
The witch nodded curtly. “I do, but it’s Johnny’s call what to say. Even after thirty-five years—”
“Thirty-seven,” he muttered.
Mauvreen shrugged. “Little enough difference. You’re a man now. You were shamed by your father’s oddities as a youth, and you never truly believed the story of your conception and birth, yet they’re true.”
“How could you possibly know?” Jonathan asked. He’d always sidestepped Mauvreen when she wanted to talk about his origins. Maybe he should have been more aggressive about picking her brain.
“I was there when she brought you to him once you’d been weaned.” A soft smile wreathed her face. “I’d never seen Angus quite so happy. He always wanted a son, but selecting a woman, and maintaining a marriage, felt beyond him.”
“If ye doona tell me, I’ll pluck it from your mind,” Britta said, her voice sharp.
Mauvreen bristled. Jonathan felt her sheathe herself in power. “Try it, dragon shifter. Some secrets are sacred. Either he will tell you, or not.” She turned her whiskey-colored gaze on him. “Your call, Jonathan James Shea.”
He squared his shoulders. Maybe the time had come after all. He glanced from Britta to Lachlan to the blonde, Lachlan’s mate. Though she hadn’t said anything, she watched him intently. He opened his mouth, shut it again, and took a shaky breath. “This isn’t going to get any easier. I may as well just spit it out. Arianrhod. My mother was Arianrhod. According to my da, she lay with him in one of his visions. He never truly believed he’d bedded a goddess until she showed up three years later with a toddler in tow.”
Britta inhaled noisily. Lachlan cleared his throat. Jonathan felt like an idiot. They didn’t believe him, and he didn’t blame them. Who could possibly accept such a tale? “Maybe we could talk about something else,” he mumbled. “Like crafting a battle strategy so the Morrigan doesn’t catch us unaware again.”
“Aye, we need to do that, too, but this willna take but a moment.” Lachlan closed on him from one side; Britta twisted in his arms. Each placed a hand on his head.
Jonathan girded himself for blasts of power, but the dragon shifters were gentle. Power crept into him, tentative, exploring. It felt respectful. A look flowed from Britta to Lachlan. They removed their hands. She smiled broadly, stepped away, and faced him. “Aye, ’tis true.”
“See.” Mauvreen hooked an arm through his. “Told you.”
Confusion swept through him, tying his stomach into knots. “All right. Fine. But this doesn’t change a thing.”
Mauvreen looked down her nose, and he understood. Knowing for sure what and who he was changed everything.
•●•
No wonder I feel so attracted to him. He’s one of the gods, or he could be if he let himself believe in his power. Britta trained her
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