“Stark must lie on yon stone. Young Warrior Kevin, sit beside him,” Seoras instructed as he walked to the head of the huge rock.
Kevin cracked his knuckles and did as he was told, perching on the side of the stone as Stark laid down across it.
“Now, two things need to happen at once,” said Sgiach. “Kevin, you must call spirit to you as Seoras cuts Stark. Concentrate on your love—that is of the utmost importance. Do not let any negative thoughts enter your mind. You are calling the Black Bull, the embodiment of Light and love and all that is good—and goodness does not flourish where there are dark thoughts.”
Kevin nodded. “I understand. I can do that.”
“Excellent. Then, if spirit comes and Stark’s sacrifice is great enough, the bull will accept it and grant you passage to Nyx’s Realm.”
“How will we know if we’ve done everything right?” Stark asked.
“It willnae be hard to know. A great bull, black as the deepest depths of yon ocean, will rise,” said Seoras as he unsheathed the dirk at his waist. “Roll up yer sleeve, laddie.”
Stark rolled up the sleeve of his shirt and then pressed his hands so tightly against the stone that his knuckles went white.
“Now, I’ll cut yer arm—here, just below the shoulder.” Seoras touched the tip of the razor-edged knife to Stark’s right shoulder.
“Okay. Got it. Um, is it normal that this rock is warm and … pulsing ?”
There was a smile in the queen’s voice when she told Seoras, “So, my love, if you had any doubt left that certainly clears it up.”
“What does that mean?” Kevin asked.
“It means he’s definitely a MacUallis. Only one of that blood can feel the living Seat of the Soul.”
Stark’s lips quirked up in a crooked grin that looked pretty damn cocky for a guy who was ready to be carved up by an ancient vampyre Warrior. “I like that I’m part of your clan, my queen.”
Seoras smacked Stark’s shoulder with the flat edge of the dirk. “Naw wain, yer not of the queen’s clan. I’m the MacUallis Chieftain. You belong to me.”
Stark swallowed. “Oh. Shit.”
“Aye,” agreed Seoras. “Now stop yer blathering and let me concentrate. I have to be carvin’ into yer flesh—and need to see what I’m doin’.”
And then the old Warrior pressed the tip of the dirk to the top of Stark’s bicep, just below his shoulder, and closed his eyes.
“Hey, uh, Chieftain. I thought you said you needed to see to cut me,” Stark whispered.
Seoras seemed not to hear, but the queen answered for him. “He’s looking with his third eye, Stark. Ready yourself. When it begins my Warrior will cut you fast and deep. You must not move. Your blood will fill the grooves, and that will call the bull.” She looked at Kevin. “When he makes his first cut, you must begin to summon spirit.”
“Do you have a purple candle I can light?”
“You sit on the Seat of the Soul. You need no candle to call spirit,” she told him. “Ready yourself. It begins.”
With his eyes closed, Seoras cut into Stark’s arm. Stark grunted at the first slash but didn’t move and didn’t make another sound. Except for his ragged breathing, he might have been napping.
Kevin only watched for an instant, but that instant was astounding. Seoras’s hand moved so quickly it blurred. It seemed to Kevin that the Warrior was creating a pattern of blood and flesh, but he couldn’t tell what it was, and he realized he had no time to decipher it. He, too, closed his eyes.
Kevin breathed deeply, centering himself as he called aloud. “Spirit, I ask that you come to me. I need you today like I’ve never needed you before.”
The element to which he was most firmly connected responded immediately. Kevin felt it swirl around him, rustling his hair and playing against his skin. He smiled as it filled him with a sense of rightness that was better than power—it filled him with joy. Kevin followed that joy to his heart, which opened, allowing memories of Aphrodite to rush unhindered through his veins and into his mind.
He remembered Aphrodite’s laugh and how it changed as she fell in love with him and became more open—more real. He thought about her eyes and how they were much more than beautiful—they reflected her soul and the wondrous wealth of love that had waited there, dormant, until she’d allowed him to release it.
Kevin thought about how it had felt to hold her in his arms. She had been gorgeous and sexy—more beautiful than any woman he’d ever known—but the sensation that he remembered most wasn’t about lust or need. What he remembered was that holding Aphrodite had felt like coming home.
The scent of Stark’s blood hit him then—thick and warm. Kevin ignored it and imagined that he was holding out his hand, and that Aphrodite was taking it, one last time, and twining her fingers with his and smiling up at him with that expression on her beautiful face that told him she trusted him, she believed in him, she loved him.
A roar filled the room and Kevin’s eyes opened—only he wasn’t in the queen’s throne room anymore. He and Stark, who was sitting beside him, his right arm completely scarlet with blood that poured down the side of his body with every beat of his heart, were in total darkness. There was no stone—they sat on nothing. They were nowhere.
Panic pecked at Kevin’s mind, but Stark met his gaze and said, “Don’t lose it. Hold onto spirit. Whatever you’re doing is working!”
Kevin nodded shakily and concentrated. “Spirit, stay with me. Help me find her again. Help me call Aphrodite.”
The moment he said her name the world changed. From beneath them something enormous and dark surged up, lifting them with it. It was warm and solid, and the instant it touched him, Kevin’s panic disappeared.
“It’s him.” Stark’s voice was filled with the same wonder Kevin felt. “We’re riding the Black Bull.”
And they
