face this shit!”
Keran, scratching her forehead and grimacing, said, “Uhhh . . . Gemma?”
* * *
Keeley waved away the loud gnat flying around her and went back to petting her friend.
She loved it here. All green and lush with a lovely stream and big boulders for her to sit on. Why would she ever leave?
“Oy! You! Woman!”
Keeley continued to pet her friend and ignored the male voice barking at her. He’d been barking at her for a while and she kept trying to ignore him, but he was starting to get on her nerves.
A big hand waved in front of her face. Long fingers snapped a few times.
“I know you can hear me!”
Her friend growled and the male voice said, “That’s not even supposed to be here.”
Finally, grudgingly, Keeley looked up—and up—at the being in front of her.
“What do you want?” she asked, not even attempting to be polite. She was in no mood to be polite.
“Why are you still here?” he asked.
“Why do you have eight legs?”
“What?” He looked down at himself. The horse part. “What are you babbling about?”
“You have eight legs.”
“So?”
“It’s strange. Don’t you think it’s strange?”
“I’m a centaur god. So no, I don’t think it’s strange.”
“But the centaurs only have four legs, soooo—”
“Can we stop talking about my legs?”
Keeley was about to tell him not to yell at her, but her furry friend did it for her. Rolling onto his belly, snarling and snapping at the god; eyes of fire blazing.
The centaur god leaned down from his extremely high position and bellowed, “You’re not even supposed to be here!”
“Why not?” she asked.
“It’s not one of the hells.”
“So? He’s here for me.”
“Your ancestors wait over there,” the god pointed out.
“I know. I can hear them. But I am not ready to face them.” Keeley bowed her head. “In my shame.”
“Oh, for the love of me, stop it! You are not to blame for your sister, idiot woman.”
“Then who is? I raised her more than my parents did. They were busy trying to put food on the table. So I took over . . . and she is what I created.”
“Is that why you sit here? Feeling sorry for yourself? When others wait for you. Wait for your return!”
“Why would they wait for me? I’m a failure.”
“Dammit, woman, how could you raise a creature that had no soul to begin with? Your sister was born the way she is. A soulless thing with only one ambition. To fill up the emptiness inside her with power. Nothing else will mean anything to her. You were taught blacksmithing by your mother and to respect the power of animals by your father. But your love of nature and people . . . that came from within you. From your soul. Your sister will never have that.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m dead now.”
“You are not”—he cleared his throat, stopped bellowing—“You are not dead, woman. That’s why you sit here and not with your ancestors. Because you’re not dead. You just refuse to go back. So you sit here, on your rock with your pet demon wolf god—”
“Are you a god?” she happily asked her fur-covered friend. “Aren’t you the prettiest god ever?”
“—and pretend that you can just stay here forever rather than facing the remainder of your life!”
“What do you want me to do?” Keeley finally asked.
“To face your future and your sister.”
“I won’t kill my sister. Despite what she’s done, she’s still family.”
“She tried to kill you. If she were slightly stronger or you were a little weaker . . . you’d be dead now.”
“She’s blood. I won’t kill my own blood. Besides”—she sighed out—“I won’t say I deserved it, but sometimes I can be difficult. A little hard-headed. Sometimes unreasonable.”
“Wow.” The god blinked wide. “You really do care about your family. I’ve had several of my siblings attempt to destroy me and I’ve never made excuses for them.”
“But you are kind of an asshole, so is it really surprising they tried to—”
“You can stop now.” He glared down at the wheezing demon wolf god that seemed to be laughing at him. “Both of you can stop.”
“Are you sure I’m supposed to live?” Keeley wanted to know. “Are you sure you haven’t done something to me? You and my sister bringing me back, half human and rotting.”
“Trust me, woman, when I say that you are not my first choice for anything. If you had died, I’d have let you die. It would have meant nothing to me. But,” he added, “a wound