Trierna (The TriAlpha Chronicles Book 5)

  The right of Gemma Mazurke to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Copyright © Gemma Mazurke 2018

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  Trierna

  TriAlpha Chronicles Book Five

  Serena Akeroyd

  Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  The Void

  Mare

  As Terra wept in his arms, Mare wanted to release a scream that would shake the very realm Vulcun wished to destroy.

  Only knowing that such a scream would trigger tidal waves and more disasters Earth was already struggling to cope with, made him withhold his rage.

  He sucked down a sharp breath in an attempt to calm himself but Terra’s misery, her grief, was so overwhelming that he felt it in his core.

  This day had been coming for eons, and yet, they’d never been ready for it. Not truly. Planning for it, preparing . . . it was never enough.

  Bowing his head, he pressed a kiss to Terra’s temple as her tears drenched his throat. “Dearling, you’ll make yourself sick.”

  “I can’t believe he did it,” she said on a whimper, and Mare saw his brother mates, Aer and Caelus, flinch at that.

  Terra had always had a soft spot for Lux, their brother who had become Vulcun as his gifts had twisted him, the creative force of Fire morphing into one of destruction.

  There was no need to be jealous, though. Something Lux had never understood. Terra’s tenderness was wasted on that fool, her love for him a sentiment the bastard didn’t deserve . . . .

  He cut off that line of thought.

  It would do him no good to traverse that path.

  Terra loved them equally for a reason, even if it was undeserved by them.

  “Sometimes, I wish I hated him,” she whispered into his throat, her arms clinging to him. “I wish I could loathe him, but I can’t. He needs us.”

  What Vulcun needed, was a kick in the ass. A beating to end all beatings.

  The grim looks on his brother mates’ faces said they agreed with his silent condemnation.

  A shudder worked through Terra’s form. “The task is too big for her. I never foresaw this.”

  “You lie,” Mare whispered gently, watching as, from the right, Aer approached the day bed on which they reposed, and Caelus moved in from the left. They surrounded her with their love and their faith in her and the Universe.

  Even their belief in the Fates.

  “I don’t lie,” Terra huffed, making him smile.

  “You do. We knew a day such as this was approaching. We planned for it, and that is why Thalia was born.”

  “She’s not strong enough,” his mate whimpered.

  “She’s plenty strong,” Caelus countered.

  “She is forged in your image for a reason, my mate. Even the Fates agree that the time has come for Vulcun to be stopped,” Aer soothed, but it didn’t work.

  When Terra’s sobs deepened, Mare closed his eyes and hugged her tighter.

  With Vulcun in self-imposed exile in the Forge, his abode, there was nothing they could do to resolve the situation. The destiny of billions rested on the shoulders of their daughter and her daughter. Mare could only pray that Thalia was as strong as they believed her to be.

  For, if she wasn’t, Earth would be no more, and the human and Lyken children born from their loins millennia ago would wither to dust.

  1

  Thalia

  “Is it just me, or does he have more than two wings?”

  Thalia Lyndhoven grimaced at her mate. Mikkel had a remarkable way of bringing a situation into focus. Rather like a bull in a china shop, he had the innate ability of keeping shit real.

  There was no shit more real than the sight of Morningstar, and his henchmen, zooming toward them at a speed that had Thalia’s eyes narrowing in surprise.

  “He does,” Theo croaked, and that her Fae mate, the male most accustomed to seeing creatures flying around like giant Tinkerbells, was taken aback, didn’t exactly put her at ease.

  “You didn’t know that, huh?” she asked, shooting him a quick look and, from his blanched features, she figured that yeah, he hadn’t known that.

  Fuck a duck. That boded well.

  Quickly turning back to pinpoint Morningstar in the periwinkle-blue sky, she wondered if wings enabled a person to break the laws of physics.

  They seriously should not be able to move so fast.

  Caelus.

  “Three sets,” her third mate, Raphael, whispered, then his voice deepened as he blurted out, “Six wings? How is that even possible?”

  “Talk about excessive,” she grumbled, folding her arms across her chest. Rafe and Theo’s concern dripped from their words, but disdain fell from hers.

  That was exactly what Morningstar would want. To get in their heads. But Thalia wouldn’t allow it. Terra, the Mother Goddess, had given her a task, and she intended on fulfilling it. There was no room for fear. They had a purpose, and they had to find strength in that.

  “Excessive?” Theo picked up on her comment and shook his head, but the gesture was more dazed than an outright rejection. “Understatement. How did I not know?”

  “How old were you when Morningstar fell?” she asked, totally aware that he hadn’t been alive back then. Shit, his mother probably hadn’t been alive, and that old bat was staring fifty thousand years in the face.

  The Fae had a way of making you feel very, very young.

  Zygote, young.

  Twinkle in your great-grandparents’ eye young.

  Caelus, twinkle in your great–great–great-great-grandparents’ eye even.

  And Thalia already had enough hang-ups about her age.

  Approaching thirty, she’d just been crowned Queen of the Fae. The first non-Fae female to ever hold such a title and, with the birth of her child unlocking the kingdom of Heden for her, Serafina’s arrival had also opened the gates to the North American Pack as well.

  Although, as she switched focus from the Devil himself to her current environs, she wasn’t sure what was remaining of the Pack.

  It was like they’d crash-landed in a YA dystopian novel or something. She half-expected Jennifer Lawrence to come and sickle her à la Hunger Games.

  Truth was, Thalia wished she would.

  If that happened, then this was all a dream. Not a nightmare come to life.

  “When Morningstar fell, my mother hadn’t been born,” Theo admitted huskily, his delayed resp
onse speaking of the intensity of his shock at Morningstar’s ‘attributes.’

  She cocked a brow at him. “I thought as much. Theo, I only get mad at you for withholding information from me. There’s nothing to get mad about when you’re as out of the loop as we are.”

  “I should have more information on him. Should know more about his habits. Instead, we all buried our heads in the sand and avoided thinking of him unless he made waves. Talk about fucking naïve.” He reached for her hand; his fingers were sweaty as he squeezed hers. “I can get us out of here.”

  Thalia frowned up at him. Her usually brave mate was looking a little green around the gills, a storm of panic making his eyes flash silver. “What is it, Theo? What’s going on?”

  “I swear, Thalia, I didn’t know. Not until . . . this.”

  “Didn’t know what?” she asked, scowling now.

  “That I’m Seraphim.”

  The voice echoed on the wind. Whispering through the empty lanes of Interstate 75, Tampa’s once-busiest highway, swirling around the abandoned cars, the downed streetlamps, and fallen traffic lights.

  It made the branches of the burned out trees flutter, and the glass shards on the cracked asphalt tinkle as they danced in the breeze Morningstar’s words had stirred.

  Considering the man was over eight hundred yards away, as well as over two hundred feet in the sky, that was saying something.

  All that, however, wasn’t what concerned her.

  Seraphim.

  His mention of that particular breed of angels did send unease smashing through her veins.

  According to Theo, Seraphim were a type of angel found in the Bible, and they were fictional. As in, not real. Gods damn it! Yet, here Morningstar was, claiming to be one. Six wings on his back that made him look like some kind of human butterfly—better than a human centipede, she guessed—and with the oddest glow about him, as well as a speed that far surpassed anything she’d seen on Heden. Even his own people lagged behind him as he flew toward them.

  But that glow? It reminded her that the Seraphim’s name meant ‘burning ones.’

  Two days before, when their child had been born, Mikkel had uttered the name their daughter would carry for a lifetime—Serafina. Thalia had agreed because why wouldn’t she? The name was beautiful. But it was too uncanny.

  Wasn’t it?

  Serafina was derived from Seraphim. And here Morningstar was . . . the male who was fated to Thalia’s daughter . . . .

  This all felt too contrived. Too weird to be real.

  Talk about the story of her fucking life at the moment.

  A sick feeling swirled in her stomach as she whispered, “What have you done, Morningstar? Are you the reason for this chaos?”

  Laughter fell from the male’s lips, and though he was growing nearer, he was still far away. Far enough away to make her realize that, along with his wings, Morningstar had also gained access to his glamor, otherwise they’d never have been able to hear him.

  “What? This little mess?” the Devil asked, moving his hands to encompass the catastrophe below him. “Not my fault, Thalia Lyndhoven. You can blame the ancient ones for this disaster zone.”

  “The ancient ones?” Thalia shot Theo a look, but for once, her seemingly all-knowing mate appeared as in the dark as she, Mikkel, and Rafe were.

  “Like my kind?” Mikkel asked, his voice gruff.

  Theo nodded, but his mouth was tight with his unfamiliarity of the situation—he was a not-so-self-confessed know-it-all. “I’d assume so.”

  “Is Morningstar’s true race something else you’ve been keeping from us?” Rafe asked, the question annoyed, as he focused it on Theo. He apparently didn’t believe her Fae mate’s claims of ignorance. And she couldn’t blame him. Theo hadn’t exactly been open with them—he’d give Oprah a coronary.

  But Theo was shaking his head. “No. No! I didn’t know, I swear. I don’t even . . . .” He swallowed. Thickly. “Isaura would have mentioned it when we named—” He shot them meaningful glances. “Had Mother known Morningstar was of this breed, she’d have, I’m certain, advised against taking that route.”

  “Nobody knew,” Morningstar called out, his voice ridiculously cheerful. “It was a well-kept secret among myself, the gods, and my Legios.”

  Thalia tilted her head back and absorbed the male’s proximity. He was close now. Twenty feet above them but maybe ten feet away.

  Gods, he’d reached them quickly. Shit, with six damned wings, why wouldn’t he?

  “Why?” she asked, surprising herself with the lack of fear she felt. But then, Thalia was accustomed to rolling with the punches.

  She had to be.

  She’d just torn herself away from her newborn daughter, left Serafina in a realm that wasn’t Thalia’s, and with the prospect of never seeing her again if their original plan to take this bastard out went to shit.

  Her grandparents might have died—she and her mates’ original destination had been their home, and they’d arrived at their mansion, only to find it a burned-out shell.

  And she was, according to the Mother Goddess, the means of bringing a Dark God to his knees.

  Thalia was learning that she really didn’t have much say in the matter of whether or not this was too much for any one woman to bear.

  The gods had decided otherwise, but they’d given her three mates to share the burden. Thalia guessed she couldn’t complain when she loved them as much as she did.

  “Why hide them? And why reveal them now?” Theo asked Morningstar, gesturing to the wings.

  “Because my powers were bountiful enough without needing to show my kingdom how truly different I was.”

  “I don’t understand,” Thalia mumbled, then she gasped as Morningstar surged down, diving toward them with unerring precision before coming to an abrupt halt a handful of steps away.

  The shock, combined with a greater will than her own, had her wings flaring into existence. The limbs shaking out, the muscles stretching, the feathers unfurling in response as she staggered back a few steps. Mikkel’s arm reached out to grab her around the waist, where he propped her upright until she dealt with the sudden weight of the wings on her back.

  Morningstar stared at her, then his eyes glittered as he looked at her wings. “My Legios informed me you’d sprouted wings.” His smile, bizarrely enough, wasn’t wicked or cruel. It was pleased. Content. And on that handsome face, it was too pleasant a sight to behold.

  The Devil should have been grotesque. Like the human religions painted him. Bright red, horned, repugnant. He shouldn’t look like a GQ cover model. Especially not with his leather vest that had chainmail adorning it, more out of decoration than protection, Thalia thought. He could have looked flamboyant with his dark-black jeans and the ornamental vest, alongside the heavy boots. Could have looked like something from The Village People, but, damn him, he didn’t.

  He looked beautiful.

  Now, Thalia knew her mates were gorgeous. And Theo? He was about as exquisite as any woman could handle without starting to suffer self-esteem issues. But Morningstar? There was something about him. And that something was only enhanced with the golden wings sprouting from his back.

  “I see I was right,” Morningstar murmured. “Your child is my fated, and she spared you both.” His nostrils flared and as he scented her, his head tilted to the side as his eyes widened. “But . . . how can this be? You are no longer with child.”

  She’d mostly seen him affable. Thalia recognized that now.

  Even when he’d been cutting Magda’s wings off, he’d done it with a careless ease that would have been more fitting if he’d been playing a game on his phone rather than amputating someone’s limbs from their body.

  That affability disappeared now, and in his eyes, a rage burned that would have scorched her.

  If she was frightened of him.

  Which she wasn’t.

  Okay, so maybe she was. Just a smidgen. She refused to show him that, though. That was all the
bastard needed for his ego to explode.

  “You’re no longer with child.” The words were spoken with a false calmness, one that had her jolting in surprise because she’d expected rage. The air around her seemed to shudder into stillness, as the Earth itself seemed to reverberate with his anger. Then, just as everything froze, it fucking defrosted, and the shit hit the fan.

  His hands shot out, the fingers flaring wide as though preparing to attack, and knowing how fast he moved, that felt like a definite possibility.

  In a split second, everything changed.

  She almost felt the digits around her throat, knew that was his intention, to steal her life like, she surmised, he thought she’d done with his fated’s.

  Thalia wanted to clutch at her neck to protect herself, but around her, her mates jerked into action; Mikkel going on the offensive, Theo attempting to shield her, and, she saw from the corner of her eye, Rafe dropping to the ground in a crouch.

  Before she knew what the fuck was going on, a wall of fire had appeared around them. It sputtered before roaring into a glorious fiery wave that soared higher than Theo, her tallest mate.

  “You think fire can stop me?” Morningstar screamed the words, then he just plain screamed.

  His fury combined with the flames seemed to set the world ticking once more, and Thalia whipped around to look at Rafe. His hand was on the cracked tarmac of the Interstate, and it was from him the wall of fire had appeared.

  It blockaded them in. A cube of spitting flames that morphed, before her very eyes, from regular amber and gold, to silver.

  Blue and silver.

  “What the fuck?” Mikkel bit off, even as he raised a hand and swiped his brow where the sweat was gathering already. “You’ll fucking melt us, Rafe,” he growled.

  But Rafe wasn’t listening. Both hands were on the ground now, and the wall had soared another twenty feet. Encompassing them in a cell of their own making, while, Thalia feared, boiling them alive.

  “You think this can stop me?” Morningstar raged.

  “Vulcun’s flame is probably the only thing that can!” Theo hollered, the flickering of the roaring inferno making it hard to think, never mind be heard—only with their supernatural senses had they heard Morningstar’s threat at all.