Desires

Prologue Slicing through the air with deadly accuracy the silver dagger was plucked from its course. Dagda tossed it to the ground as the tiny tree sprite—its intended victim—scrambled to hide behind him. “I want it dead!” Morrigan screamed as she searched for another dagger. “Morrigan, it is with me that you are angry; stop trying to kill my sprites.” “You are right,” she raged and threw her next dagger straight at his head. He batted it away like an annoying insect then whispered to the sprite to hide herself and the others until Morrigan was gone. “You know, my Phantom Queen; the part of you that is the Goddess of Uncontrollable Lust I truly enjoy—truly. But the part of you that is the Goddess of Killing Rage—not so much. Although you are good in my bed furs, you are not that good. There is not a snow sprite’s chance in the Underworld that I will give you the staff with power over life and death.” He laughed at the mere thought. “You are a Battle Goddess, and I am not a fool. If I were to gift it to you, we would be up to our sword belts in dead mortals. My beloved daughter, Brighid cares for the mortals, and they worship her. By gifting the staff to her, I know it will be used in a benevolent manner.” Rage reddened her face as Morrigan stormed around the room looking for something Dagda loved so she could destroy it. She would have loved to have gotten her hands on a few of those tree sprites. “Yes, yes…I know she is so loved. I get it, but I care little. Dagda, you know I am the best you have ever had in your furs. You gave her those Leannan Sidhe to inspire her pet mortals to be creative and write sonnets in her honor. You even gave her an heir of her own among them. You have given her enough. You owe me this Dagda. I have given you more pleasure than you deserve, yet I ask for so little in return.” Dagda settled into the over-abundant cushions on the dais readjusting the tunic that barely covered his legendary manhood. “Morrigan, I can have any goddess I want—in fact I have—multiple times. While you may be more…uninhibited…than the others; you are not the best—not even close and I do not owe you anything.” “You will regret you have denied me Dagda—of that you can be certain.” Morrigan stormed from the room. Badhe, Crow Goddess of Battle met her in the hall. “What vexes you sister? Did you get the staff?” “I will have that staff, and I will destroy what Dagda cherishes most—his daughter. That smug bastard…let us see just how great he is after she is dead.” She continued on down the hall. “Badhe, collect Amadan then join me, we have work to do.” “Sister, you cannot kill Brighid, Dagda would never allow such a thing to happen.” “He may be able to prevent it here in this realm, but once she is in the mortal realm she is as good as dead.” “Dagda gave her the Leannan Sidhe to look after her precious mortals so that he may keep her safely within this realm.” “Yes and what do you think she will do once we start killing them all? If we control those that keep her flame—she will return to the mortal realm to save them and then I will kill her. Once the staff is in my possession, we will see the mortal realm bathed in the blood of battle. Now go, find Amadan and return to my chambers. It is time we, once again, visit the world of mortals. I am going to invade a few mortal dreams and find one to do my bidding.” Badhe gave a short bow to Morrigan before she had headed back down the hall. Morrigan tossed her raven black hair over her shoulder. She was not a Goddess to be trifled with; Dagda would regret his insult to her for all of eternity. Her desire to rip the still beating heart from Brighid’s chest was only matched by her desire to see the Mortal Realm blanketed in blood. As always, the Goddess of Uncontrollable Lust would get what she desired…she would stake her immortal soul on it. Chapter One Ancient Ireland Late Bronze Age Cool and crisp, the autumn air signaled the change of the seasons. Rushing water broke the silence of the night as the River Boyne swirled around the bend. Tendrils of mist reached across the land as if to ensnare the unsuspecting and drag them into the Otherworld. Fallen leaves lie around the base of their near skeletal trees, remnants of their summer magnificence. The last of the day’s rain drops gently fell upon them, their soft patter drowned by the sound of the river. Illuminated in the glow of the full moon, the Irish countryside appeared serene—a deceptive ruse to hide the danger that was not seen until it was too late. A wise man would not have been found out on this night, when the veil that separated the inhabitants of this world from those of the Otherworld was at its thinnest. He would have been huddled in his home, the fire stoked against the terrors of the night as he waited the safety that comes with the rising sun. For the Blood Moon will rise on this night of Samhain. An ancient evil was seething in the Otherworld. A scorned Battle Goddess has been seeking vengeance, and desires to leave the mortal world in a deluge of blood in her search for retribution.