Reign of the Sons : (Rise of the Sons Book 3), page 1
Reign of the Sons
JD Mitchell
Contents
Title Page
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
ONE YEAR LATER
Books In This Series
About The Author
CHAPTER 1
Given the chance to save her sister from death, Ali would wreck the world all over again. Without hesitation, she’d hand over the key to the Otherworld gate and release terrible creatures into Ireland, just as she’d done eight months ago.
Except Ali couldn’t rewrite history.
Jessica was dead.
Her friends explained the natural process to grief—denial, anger, bargaining, and depression, before finally, acceptance—encouraging Ali to allow herself time to heal. But Ali wallowed firmly in bitterness. An acute rage focused on herself and one other, Dub. Foolishly, she’d trusted Dub to spare Jessica’s life. Instead, he disregarded his word, and let Ali watch Jessica die. There would be no attainment of a fifth stage, no acceptance of reality.
No—Ali would find and kill Dub.
Eight months had passed since she vowed to end his life, and the Tuatha de Danann were no closer to finding him. Dub remained far from reach. Not that anyone would stop her if she’d sought him on her own—a notion still under consideration. However, Dub proved near impossible to locate. Intelligence was often days behind, with Dub and his infamous brother, Dother, disappearing like a dying wind.
Which left Ali with two outlets to channel her anger—daily training, and a strong desire for penance—to restore what she broke. Unfortunately, what she broke was proving irreparable.
Eight months ago, when the Otherworld gate shattered, chaos spread across Ireland, followed by Europe, and eventually other continents. The humans were ill-equipped to combat the story book creatures which go ‘bump in the night.’ To complicate matters, the sudden appearance of two supernatural races—the Tuatha de Danann and the Fomorians—dominated the world news cycle. Caught on camera, the world witnessed a centuries-old skirmish unfold live on television. Couple that with the appearance of mythological beasts, it left the world on edge.
A mess Ali had served up to Dub on a silver platter.
Dub, the a-hole she foolishly trusted. The treacherous confidant who coerced Ali into unlocking the gate. The reason she’d spent the last two hours in this miserable heat, hunting redcaps in the woods.
Snap.
Leigh peered over his shoulder at Ali.
She grimaced, pointing at the broken branch under her boot and mouthing the word ‘sorry’ before gesturing for him to continue.
With a shake of his head, Leigh once again crept through the dark foliage.
Ali followed, the cool night air a welcome relief from the muggy afternoon, except now she dealt with bugs. Over the last thirty minutes, she’d been a snack to half the mosquitoes of Ireland. A pinch in her arm startled her, and she slapped the buzzing insect, earning another glare from Leigh.
Oops.
Ahead of them, a low growl gurgled.
Leigh held up his fist, and they stopped as Ali strained to listen.
She summoned magic, her hands tingling as she drew the warm threads into her fingertips. Taking a deep breath, she took a step forward, pushing aside the branches of a leafy bush.
A slain deer lay in a clearing, its throat slashed, thick blood painting the grass. Standing over the kill was a tiny old man, no taller than two feet. A redcap. Talon-like fingers gripped its hat, swirling the fabric in the dense gore before placing the blood-soaked cap upon its grisly white hair.
Ali’s breath hitched as the redcap glanced skyward, sniffing the air.
Crap on a cracker—they weren’t downwind. A rookie mistake.
With the speed of a striking cobra, it spun, its fire-colored eyes landing on her. The redcap hissed, baring its fanged teeth as it reached for its pikestaff.
She summoned gaoth, the familiar pressure of tepid air circling her hands. Gathering the threads of the spell, she thrust two concentrated orbs toward the creature, knocking it backward before its grimy fingers gripped its weapon. The redcap slammed into the deer’s carcass, flinging bloody mud in every direction as it scrambled to stand.
Leigh rounded on the redcap, releasing a sizzling bolt of electricity into its head. The electric charge knocked the redcap unconscious—she hoped. Uncertain, Ali commanded the air surrounding the pikestaff, and it sailed toward her. She caught the blunt end, the polished wood cool against her fingers as she inspected the long triangular nails at the lethal end.
“They’re stealing better materials,” Ali said. “These are masonry nails.”
“Maybe a construction site is nearby?” Leigh asked, glancing around. He flipped the redcap to its stomach before binding its hands with plastic handcuffs. “It smells awful.”
Ali caught a whiff of rotten eggs and gagged. She placed her shirt over her nose and reached for the redcap’s feet. “Why do they always reek of dead skunk?”
“Let’s just get it to the van.” Leigh hoisted the redcap by its armpits.
They carefully navigated the woods, Leigh burdened with most of the redcaps’ weight because of their vast height differential. At 6’6, he was a foot taller than her, and definitely stronger. A skill which came in handy at times like this. At least they were only a quarter mile from the van. Last week they carried a redcap two miles uphill. Ali not only smelled of rotting roadkill by the end of the night, but her arms were rubber.
When they arrived at the van ten minutes later, Leigh gripped the rear hatch and flung it open. The dome light spilled outside, casting them both in a pale-yellow glow as they tossed the unconscious redcap inside like a sack of rocks.
“That one was heavy,” Leigh said, catching his breath.
Ali eyed him as he leaned against the van, his tone body slumping against the metal frame. Sweat dripped from the top of his bald head across his tattooed eyebrows before sliding down his chin. It’d been over a year since alopecia took his hair—back before they met, and the Sons appeared. Though Leigh no longer seemed concerned. Five months ago, he showed up with realistic tattoos, and hadn’t uttered a word since. Somedays, Ali wished she accept the twists and turns of life as Leigh had done. She’d be happier.
He glanced at her, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. “Ready? You don’t want to be late.”
“I guess.” She tucked a loose strand of her mousy brown hair behind her ear. “I don’t really want to celebrate.”
“Caer deserves a distraction. To be honest, we all need a break.” He glanced at the dried blood caking his fingers. “But first, I want a shower.”
“You’re coming?”
“Of course,” Leigh said, arching his brow as they both made their way inside the front of the van.
“I assumed you had other plans,” Ali grumbled as she fastened her seat belt.
He frowned, his hand on the ignition as he started the van. “Do me one favor? When we arrive, pretend to be in a good mood for Caer.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“The party won’t be that bad,” he said. “The cake is chocolate.”
She exhaled, wondering how Leigh remained so positive. He could step in a pile of fresh manure and find a silver lining. “Fine. I’ll go for the cake, but only because it’s chocolate.”
***
“Happy Birthday Ali!” Caer yelled, her long blonde hair pulled back into a braid, highlighting her oval face and green eyes. She stood in the center of a small dining room under an inflated gold balloon in the shape of the number seventeen.
“Thank you,” Ali said, her voice forcefully sweet.
Caer gave her a wry grin. “I presume this false pleasantness is Leigh’s influence?”
“Seems probable.” Ali shrugged, then glanced at her brother-in-law, Red, whose blonde beard was about an inch thick. “Any chance you and Leigh are the only party guests?”
Red gestured toward a few other empty chairs at the table, his vacant blue eyes suggesting he wanted to attend this party even less than she did. “We’re waiting on a few more.”
She’d grown closer to Red over the past eight months. Not that they spoke often, or much at all. Rather, they both preferred training, solitude, and wallowing in Jessica’s death. As Jessica’s widow, Red was the only other person whose grief rivaled hers, and she found comfort in his quiet, brotherly companionship.
Per usual, Red forced his unbrushed hair into a messy bun. These days, Red looked the way she felt—distant and disheveled—a contrast to his clean-cut image last year. Red had been goofy before Jessica’s death, and completely in love. A far cry from the broken man before her.
“Well,” Ali said, glancing at the empty chairs. “Let’s keep this party brief.”
&n
Ali slipped her hand into her pocket, hiding the silver ring. Its companion was a bracelet which was buried with Jessica.
Caer’s warm smile faltered, and she cleared her throat, catching Ali’s attention. “I planned nothing elaborate. Tonight is intimate.”
“Small is perfect.” Ali sat across from Red, hoping for an uneventful evening.
“Aye, Caer. She’s not one for frivolity.” Her father, Galvyn, sauntered into the room. He’d already cracked the whiskey, which meant he’d be cracking wise-ass comments soon.
Not so quiet after all.
Caer gave Galvyn a curt smile, doing nothing to disguise her disapproving stare as he collapsed into a chair. “Good to see you in attendance.”
“I wouldn’t miss my little girl’s birthday.”
Ali bit her tongue, wanting to avoid an argument. In fact, Galvyn had missed every birthday prior to this one. For Caer’s sake, she’d wait as long as possible before the fireworks started—and they would. Ali and Galvyn rarely escaped an encounter without quarreling. Leigh attributed their disputes to shared stubbornness. However, Ali thought Galvyn was a degenerate who conveniently acted as a father when it suited him. The steady stream of alcohol down his gullet didn’t help.
Ali diverted her attention to the ornate frosted cake at the center of the table decorated with white pearls and pink swirls. Her heart sank.
“Strawberry?”
“I thought we’d do something special,” Caer said, brightening.
Figures. Not that she disliked strawberries, but chocolate was her only vice. She screwed on a smile. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
“I assume you would prefer we do not sing that silly birthday song?” Caer asked.
“Correct.”
Caer grabbed a little plate before plunging a knife through the cake like it owed her money.
“Aren’t we waiting for Sawyer and Nash?” Ali asked, glancing at the remaining empty chairs.
She might be a pariah amongst the Tuatha de Danann, but Sawyer and Nash still treated her like family. Of course, Sawyer was nine and under the impression Ali did no wrong. Nash just “didn’t give a damn about the haters”—a motto she attempted, and failed, to embrace.
“Sawyer returns tomorrow,” Red said, slouching further into his chair. “Malvina invited him to join a redcap hunt. I’m not sure about Nash.”
Ali sighed. She and Leigh weren’t the only ones eager to abandon the palace walls. This pristine sanctuary was a prison from which they all needed a reprieve.
“Sawyer promised he’d visit you tomorrow,” Red said.
Ali pursed her lips. “He wants me to save him a piece of cake, doesn’t he?”
Red smirked. “He might have mentioned something like that.”
At the sight of Red’s grin, her heart warmed.
“Where is Leigh?” Red asked, accepting a piece of cake from Caer.
“Shower,” Ali said. “He smelled like a yak.”
“And you don’t?” Red asked, a meager smile touching the corner of his mouth. “I’m surprised you didn’t shower.”
“I’m the guest of honor.”
“I see.”
She grinned. In fact, she had skipped the shower because she planned to use it as a justification to leave early. A ploy Red had certainly deduced.
“Here,” Caer said, handing Ali a piece of cake, which Ali slid down the table to her father.
Galvyn inspected the slice, leaving it untouched. He was nothing like she expected upon meeting him eight months ago. A stocky man with a scraggly beard, he reminded her of an old hipster rather than a father figure. He wasted his time drinking, smoking, and misquoting philosophers.
Her father clutched his whiskey glass and leaned into his chair. “Do you have birthday plans tonight?”
“Nope.”
“You should make more friends.”
Ali sighed. This commentary was exactly the type of unsolicited, fatherly advice he had no right to utter. “I have enough friends.”
Galvyn sipped his drink. The sickly-sweet stench from hours of drinking had already settled into his sweat, perfuming the surrounding air. “You can never know too many people. In poverty and other misfortunes of life, genuine friends are a sure refuge.”
“I’m fine.” Ali sighed, annoyed that he had already launched into unwanted life-advice of which he had no experience or right to impart.
“Why isn’t this table filled with people your age?”
“I have enough acquaintances.”
“You need to expand your social circle. When I lived in Hawaii, I befriended most of the locals. This group came together in times of need, a real blessing. You need a community.”
Ali’s neck flushed as she blurted out the first response which came to her. “My friends and family tend to die.”
Galvyn blinked at her, his mouth opening and closing, likely forming his next argument.
She hated admitting that aloud, but she wanted Galvyn to shut up.
“Did we miss the song?”
Ali glanced over her shoulder. Leigh stood behind her, holding hands with his girlfriend, Deirdre.
Petite and pretty, Ali envied Deirdre’s copper hair. It was beautiful, unlike Ali’s mud-colored, bland hair. Traits which mirrored their personalities. Deirdre was popular and outgoing, much like Leigh, and the polar opposite of Ali, who preferred seclusion. Though, as uncomfortable as Ali felt watching the two of them together, Ali attempted to befriend Deirdre, whom she liked well enough. However, it was obvious Dierdre barely tolerated Ali, and usually contrived a reason to leave within a few minutes of their encounters.
“Hey,” Ali said. “Glad you made it.”
“Where’s the kid?” Leigh asked, plopping into the chair next to her.
“Hunting.”
Ali grabbed two slices of cake and handed them to Leigh. “I hope you both like strawberry.”
Leigh grimaced, an unspoken apology in his eyes.
Even the cake flavor was wrong these days.
To keep Caer happy, Ali crammed a bite of cake into her mouth. The juice from the strawberry sweet, but not chocolate.
“Why don’t you kids’ hangout tonight?” Galvyn asked, leaning backwards into his chair. He tipped too far, and the chair teetered before he caught his balance and sat upright, spilling his whisky. The drops dribbled down his shirt, which he barely wiped as he took another sip. “Go be teenagers and cause trouble.”
“Oh…” Deirdre’s eyes enlarged. “Leigh and I have plans. I am sure Ali understands.”
Heat flushed Ali’s cheeks, and she took another large bite, nearly choking on a strawberry as she chewed. With all eyes on her, she mumbled, the half-eaten cake still in her mouth. “Me too… other plans.”
“What are you getting into tonight?” Leigh asked.
“Bed.”
Red snorted.
“Come hang with us,” Leigh offered.
Next to him, Deirdre’s brows furrowed.
To be honest, Ali wasn’t clear on the exact reason Deirdre disliked her, though she had plenty of options to choose from. At first, Ali assumed her romantic history with Leigh presented the issue. But most of the Tuatha de Danann blamed Ali for the fall of the Otherworld gate. So, Deirdre might just follow the status quo and plain hated her guts, along with the other ninety-nine percent of the population.
Wishing to melt into the gold tapestry hanging along the back wall, Ali contrived her next excuse. “It’s nice of you to offer, but—”
“Ali must be exhausted,” Deirdre cut in.
Face tightening, Ali nodded. “Exactly, I’m tired.”
Leigh glanced between them, then shrugged. “Hit us up if you change your mind.”
“But…” Caer sat up, her fingers toying with her silver feather necklace. “I hoped we might converse this evening. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Ali outside of mealtimes.”
Ali’s eyes lingered on the silver feather hanging about Caer’s neck. Her chest constricted. Caer’s husband and owner of the necklace, Aengus, had been a captive of the Sons for eight months now—if he lived. The news of his inevitable death was a frequent fear she wrestled with most nights.
“Another time,” Ali said, squashing her guilt as she averted her gaze and stood. “I need to shower and hit the sack. Training starts at six.”
“Surely you can delay training for one day?” Caer asked.
