Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Into the White Lands (Triple Goddess Series, #1)

  1 The Sisters

  2 Dangerous Liaison

  3 The Trade

  4 Bittersweet Revenge

  5 Eighteenth Samhain

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  Also By Bethany Strobel

  When Zac realizes he has the ability to pass into other realms instead of being stuck in his boring high school history class, he's all for it, until he meets her.

  ​Then all he can think about is how he can get back to help her. He's never been to the same realm more than once.

  ​He's dying to save Morragan from the White Lands after her sisters sold her to ensure their own survival. It doesn't matter to him if he has to fight pure evil to get her back, or that she's a one of the Gods and sister to the Triple Goddess the three Fates...

  Long ago, Morragan's sisters traded her to the God Dagda for powers to defeat the Fomorian army and their God Balor who threatened to destroy their kingdom. She's been trapped in Dagda's never changing realm the White Lands for ages and she doesn't even know why.

  But something has changed. Somehow, there's a tear in the veil, and when a young man wearing strange clothes like Dagda steps through the veil to her realm, even if it's just for a moment, she lets her heart hope for freedom for the first time...

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  Into the White Lands

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  Before the Fates By Bethany Strobel

  1 The Sisters

  FOMORIANS. GIANTS. Standing nine to ten feet tall, with skin so pale it carries a white-blue sheen and bodies so powerful they ripple with muscle from head to toe. They tower over men, sometimes more than three feet, and pulverize them with one hit of their mighty weapons. Beasts – some of them half man and half animal with cloven hooves and horns upon their heads, others are creatures baring only one eye centered in their foreheads. All of them washed up from the ocean and set upon Éire with a single goal. Conquer and destroy. These massive beings bring death and destruction, sparing nothing and no one in their quest. They are ruled by King Balor. A God so evil it is said to gaze upon his eye is to bring death upon oneself.

  THE MONSTROUS BLUE-grey clouds above work to blot out the backdrop of cherry red sky that mirrors the land below. Rivulets of disturbed and broken earth run crimson with blood. In the early morning hours, the wind rushes through the cliffside mountains, carrying with it the stench of death and the cries of the mortally wounded as they lay dying in the valley below. A lone woman stands high on a hilltop. Her long hair, red as the embers of a burning fire, billows in the breeze as she gazes down on the war-torn valley. Reapers flit about the dead or dying and decide who among them may live and who will journey to the Under Realm.

  She watches with intent as a reaper zeros-in on a dying warrior, one of her warriors. The reaper flies toward him and comes to a reckless stop directly above him. Hoovering there, unseen by the warrior, the reaper quivers as if in anticipation. The reaper opens its mouth, its jawline almost completely disappearing, its face distorted, mortifying, and lets out a blood-curdling scream. Terror fills the warrior’s eyes; sweat drips from his brow, and he trembles in his final moments here on earth, unable to control his reaction to the frightening sound. The reaper opens its jaws wider and in a great sucking vortex rips the soul from the trembling man, leaving only a shell of a body without breath and with a void in his open but unblinking eyes.

  She turns away, unable to bear the suffering of her people, unable to stop their pain. The Fomorians had proven themselves fearless, blundering oafs today. Unafraid of dying, they threw thousands of their warriors into the fray without weapons or shields, simply as a means to tire and divert her warriors. Her warriors fought hard and long and bravely against the giants, but now the tides had turned. Now, the Fomorians outnumbered her people three to one.

  “Don’t like to watch, sister?” Badb speaks from her side, interrupting her thoughts, and she turns to greet her sister.

  “As Mother Goddess to these people, it brings anguish to my heart and despair to my soul to see so many of our warriors have fallen this day,” Macha says, but continues to face her sister instead of following her gaze back down into the valley of carnage again.

  “I think the bean sidhe (ban-shee) deserves our respect, sister,” Badb says, with a hint of a smile in her voice.

  “Perhaps.” She brings her hands together under her thick robe, and her jaw clinches. It will do no good to fight with her sister, and she decides to keep her mouth shut.

  “Make it stop!” Nemain whines and causes them both to turn as she takes long strides to climb the hill to stand beside her sisters. Her hands cover her ears, and her long flowing dress catches under her feet as she climbs, discoloring the beautiful blue cloth.

  “We can’t.” A wicked smile crosses Badb’s lips as she speaks. “It’s their right to claim the souls of the fallen.” She bounces lightly on her toes, and it’s evident she’s thoroughly enjoying the horrid scene below.

  Another scream wrenches through the damp morning air, and two of the sisters cringe. Badb shakes her dark brown hair and giggles, delighted with her sisters’ uneasiness. Macha and Nemain cover their ears, knowing another louder scream is yet to come, but it doesn’t. When the bean-sidhe is silenced eerily early, Macha is the first to look around the hilltop. She’s the first to notice their little sister is not with them. She moves her hand to Nemain’s arm, scaring her sister’s eyes open, and gives her a motherly look filled with disappointment.

  “Where is she?” Macha asks, her voice full of irritation.

  Nemain looks around. “She was just here. I swear it, sister.” Her shoulders slump. Macha squeezes her sister’s arm and lets it go.

  She moves toward the edge of the hilltop and peers down into the valley below, her eyes squinting as she scans the field of bodies. There, in the center of the blood-soaked field, in the deepest part of the carnage, Macha spies a small black crow that seems to be facing off with a reaper. The crow rests upon a chest that barely rises as it labors for breath of a bloodied warrior. It flaps and caws in an obvious attempt to scare away the reaper. Full of bluster, the little crow refuses to back down. Finally, after several minutes, the reaper turns and heads to its next victim. The little black crow caws loudly again and looks as if it will fly to the next warrior and try to protect it too.

  “Morragan, come here. Come here, little one.” Macha coaxes, the wind carrying her voice to the little crow.

  The crow turns and doesn’t hesitate to fly towards her. Macha watches with bight eyes as the little crow follows her directions.

  Her baby sister, Morragan, is many things. She is fierce and headstrong and beautiful, but she is also kind and obedient. It has been one of Macha’s greatest pleasures raising her little sister but also one of her greatest pains. Macha’s head drops slightly as she remembers the pain of watching her mother suffer and die during childbirth. One minute her mother was there, screaming in pain and fighting for the life within her, and the next minute she was gone. In her place was a tiny wiggling little infant. Macha wanted nothing more than to run and cry, but the tiny little being let out a whimpering cry, and Macha knew she couldn’t leave the labor of her mother’s dying breath to fate.

  So, she had leaned in close – the infant’s little white fingers curling around her flaming hair – and cooed to the tiny being. She hummed softly as she brought the child to her chest and cradled it gently in her arms. The corners of her lips curved up as she looked down on the babe, and she shook her head slightly in awe of the fairest skin she had ever seen and the already growing blue-black hair on the infant’s tiny head.

  “You shall be called Morragan. Goddess of Éire. Sister of Macha. Fair one.”

  The little crow lands softly in front of Macha and rustles its feathers as if trying to shake off the stench of death. Macha watches as the bird starts to stretch and grow. In a flurry of wings beneath a veil of mist the crow disappears. Out of the mist steps a small child. Her skin is as fair as the day she was born, and her hair reaches the ground in flowing waves of midnight black that catch rays from the rising sun and shimmer with streaks of deepest blue.

  “Morragan, what have I told you about interfering with the reapers?” Macha’s voice is motherly and firm.

  Morragan looks down, saddened by the scolding. “I’m sorry, sister. I couldn’t stand for the reaper to take him. He is Byru. His soul is pure, and he fought mightily this day. He has much left to give this world.”

  “We cannot save every warrior the reapers want to take, little one.” She places a soft finger on Morragan’s chin, and gently prods it upwards.

  “I know, sister. I will try harder to resist the urge next time,” Morragan whispers.

  “Very well. Run and play, little one.” Macha nods her head down the hill in the opposite direction of the war-ravaged valley, and she watches with a sigh as her youngest sister skips away in a flurry of energy.

  “You should have punished her,” Badb taunts.

  “She doesn’t know any better,” Nemain responds, and her fingers crackle with power as she fists them tightly at her sides in defense of Morragan.

  “She does. She’s been taught, and she should be punished.” Badb’s face reddens with anger and

her deep brown hair flies out around her face, her powers conjuring air.

  “Stop it you two. She does know better, Nemain,” Macha said with a sigh, “but she shouldn’t be punished for having too soft a heart, Babd. She feels the need to protect them as do I. They are her warriors as much as they are yours and mine.”

  “What are we to do sister? We can’t face the Fomorians again tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Badb’s right. If we face them tomorrow, the giants will win. Why hasn’t father sent us help?”

  “The Fomorians are mortal. Father is a God, and he can’t intervene.” Macha hears the hint of malevolence in her own voice, and she’s glad the others don’t pick up on it.

  “Yes, but they are led by a God, an evil one, with an evil eye. It’s said he uses his evil eye to strike his enemies dead.” Nemain’s voice quivers as she speaks.

  “Well, he hasn’t used it yet, and Father won’t help,” Macha snaps and turns her back on her sisters to pace a short distance away.

  “We’ll have to beat them using our powers,” Babd says. At her words, Macha turns just in time to see Babd crouch low to the ground, scoop her hands down, and then bring them up in a circular motion as she rises. She gyrates her arms in an arch, and a massive wave of wind rips through the trees that line the edge of the woods to the left of the hilltop.

  “Yes, Badb, we’ll kill them with air. That’ll surely do the trick.”

  Macha groans, tired of her sister’s bickering and pulls her long hair over her shoulder. She likes to stroke it while she thinks. If father won’t help them, they’ll need the help of someone else. Another God. A God with powers greater than their own. A God who could perhaps be persuaded with a bribe. A God like Dagda. Macha’s eyes narrow and she stops pacing. Her sisters, seeing the change in her demeanor, walk toward her.

  “What is it, sister?”

  “Yes, tell us.”

  “We’ll go to Dagda and beg for his help. Quickly, fetch Morragan. We’ve no time to lose.” Macha claps her hands as she speaks, used to being obeyed.

  “But will he help us, sister?” Badb whispers over her shoulder as Nemain runs to fetch their little sister.

  “If we barter with him, he will,” Macha says with surety as she watches Morragan jump into the air a girl and fly forward a crow. The crow swoops down and lands on Nemain’s shoulder and settles there.

  “What do we have that a God like Dagda will want?” Badb’s voice is still doubtful.

  Macha whirls around to face her, her eyes narrowing. “We’ll give him whatever he asks for, Badb. No matter the cost. Because if we don’t, the Fomorians will destroy us tomorrow. Now, come on.”

  “Yes, Macha,” she says, showing the first signs of submissiveness since she arrived on the hilltop.

  Macha doesn’t like to order her sisters around. As triplets, they’re all the same age. It just so happens that she was born first, and she’s more dominant than the others. While her sisters seem to fight their way through life, she claims her right to rule, and the moment she walks into a room she owns it. Since their mortal mother’s death, and their immortal father’s untimely disappearance, her sisters have looked to her for guidance. She only hopes she’s doing the right thing. For as they walk together down the hill, Macha can’t help but think that she knows exactly what price they will have to pay Dagda. With him and Danu not on speaking terms again, he’ll be missing a companion. He’ll want to claim one of them as his own. The question is, which one? And for how long?

  2 Dangerous Liaison

  A FEW DAYS EARLIER

  Macha pushes the flap back just enough to enter and steps inside her lover’s tent. The camp is silent this time of night. The only sounds that followed her through the dampness of the midnight hour were the hiss and crackle of the dying embers of strategically placed camp fires. She lifts a bare foot, pulls her dress robe higher, and takes a quiet step forward. Her footfall lands on the cool earth below, and she curls her toes into the dirt, savoring the feel of the dark soil beneath her toes, savoring her connection to the earth.

  “Macha?” he whispers from somewhere across the makeshift room.

  She stands still, letting her eyes adjust, and tries to focus on the sound of his voice.

  “Where were you today? I waited for you.” There is no accusation in his voice and yet she feels the challenge of his words.

  She turns towards the sound. There in the corner, she can just barely make out the outline of the fur bedding bundled on the floor and the silhouette of the man she loves. She moves in his direction, unafraid.

  “I made no promises, lover.” Her voice is firm. She needs him to understand that no man, or God will ever control her. She is a Goddess.

  “Yes, well, I had great need of you earlier.” His voice is husky, demanding. She can feel his need even now.

  Macha pulls the hood from her head that conceals her bright hair, and it tumbles around her shoulders as she moves forward. Her body sways sensually as she releases the ties, and the robe drops to the earthen floor revealing her startling alabaster skin. The sliver of moonlight that filters into the tent from some obscure crack in the canvas baths her foot in light, and as she steps forward again the light moves up her smooth leg to her inner thigh.

  She rolls her neck in a sensual circle, feeling the gentle caress of her hair as it grazes against the skin of her back and wishes it was her lover’s touch. She moans in remembrance, her need filling the space and mingling with his. If she closes her eyes, she can still feel his fingers as they roam her skin, sending flames of passion that engulf her senses and have her writhing for more. She moves her hand up, gently, intentionally, across her bared breasts, caressing and tracing the path her lover’s hand has taken before and moans again.

  “Come closer, my love. I need you in my arms,” he says, his voice laden with intent as he stands to meet her.

  Her eyes adjusting, she watches as he takes a few slow steps towards her. His face, although shadowed by the night, is set and determined. She loves his face. Loves his long and strong jaw. Loves the hard lines of his cheekbones that jut recklessly into his dark hairline and careen down into his full thick beard, getting lost in its black and silver depths. His bushy eyebrows – one barely discernable above the velvety red patch covering one eye – nicely accentuate his shimmering amber eye.

  His warm mocha-colored skin stretches taunt and firm over his rock-hard muscles. She follows the long line of his neck with her eyes, pausing at his sculpted shoulders, then continues down his chest, past his abs, and finally stops when she reaches his manhood. She stares at him hungrily, desire building in the pit of her stomach and fanning out to all reaches of her body.

  He’s close enough for her to breathe his intoxicating scent. A mixture of Teakwood and Ash mingle closely with the scent of raw masculinity, and her body quivers with anticipation. His large hand hovers just above her shoulder, sending waves of heat into her skin. On fire, she steps forward and into his strong arms. The tension of the day leaves her body as his broad hands span her naked back and pull her closer to his solid chest.

  When she is cradled in his strong embrace with one of his hands on her back and one pulling at her hair, just firm enough to guide her face towards his, her shoulders dip ever so slightly, her back losses its rigid set, and she lets out the breath she has been holding.

  “Mmm,” he half groans into her mouth. “You feel like paradise.”

  She raises her mouth just a bit, just enough for him to crush his lips to hers in a demanding kiss, but it doesn’t happen. Instead, he lowers his mouth to her neck, the grizzly hairs of his beard scratching at her tender skin, and he burns a trail down her shoulder to the soft mound of her breast with his moist breath. He moves one hand to cup her left breast as he takes the right one rather roughly into his mouth. His hot tongue plays with her nipple. With a gentle nibble and a long sucking motion, he pulls his mouth away from her breast, moving slowly to prolong the action. The cold air hits the wetness left there and elicits a small gasp of pleasure from her.

  “Balor, we must talk first.” Macha pushes at him half heartedly.

  “No,” his voice closely resembles a growl. “First, we make fire,” he says and sucks her nipple back into his mouth.

 

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